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600066497.

THE ABBOT

THE ABBOT

BEING A SEQUEL TO THE MONASTERY

SIR WALTER SCOTT, Baet.

XSitt lUnilntiini

MARCUS WARD & CO., 67 & 68, CHANDOS STREET

5 ROYAL ULSTER WORKS, BELFAST

■f-^-'. />'. .V£

Marcus Ward & Co.

ROYAL ULSTER WORKS

ScUB0t

L-^v. A ^v ^r* >i\. '• -rtv

INTRODUCTION.

§EOK wbat is said in the Introdnctioii to Thx Mohasikbt, it m
neceaaarily be inferred that the author considered that n
as somethiDg vetj like a failure. It is true the booksellere
did not comphun of the sale, because, uuleaa on very felicitous octa-
sioiis, or on those which are equally tiio reverse, litei&ry populari^
ia not gained or lost by a Bingle publication. Leisure must be allowed
for the tide both to flow and ebb. Eat I was oonsciouB that, ta my
situation, not to advance was in some degree to recede, and being
naturally unwilling to think that the principle of decay lay in
myself, I was at least deairoua to know of a certainty, whether tlie
degree of discountenance which I had incurred was now owing to
an ill-managed story, or an ill-choaen gobject.

I was never, I confess, one of those who are willing to euppoae
the brains of an author to be a kind of milk, which will not stand
above a single creaming, and who are eternally harping to young
authots to husband their efforte, and to be chary of their reputation,
lest it grow hackneyed in the eyes of men. Ferbape I was, and
have alwi^a been, the more indifferent to the degree of estimation
in which I might be held as an author, because I did not put so bi^
a value as many others upon what is termed literaiy reputation in
the abstract, or at least upon the species of popularity which had
fallen to my share; for though it were worse than affectation to
deny that my vanity was satisfied at my success in t^e department
in which chance had in some measure enlisted me, I was, never-
theless, far from thinking that the novelist or romanoe-writer
stands high in the ranks of literature. But I spare the reader
farther egotism on tliis subject, as Z have expressed my opinion
very fully in the Introduobu? Epigtle to the ^OMTMbs o? "Svsm^

6 INTRODUCTION.

first edition; and^ although it be composed in an imaginary cha-
racter, it is as sincere and candid as if had been written " without
my gown and band.**

In a word, when I considered myself as having been unsuccessful
in The Monastert, I was tempted to try whether I could not restore,
even at the risk of totally losing, my so-called reputation, by a new
hazard — I looked round my library, and could not but observe
that, from the time of Chaucer to that of B3nron, the most popular
authors had been the most prolific. Even the aristarch Johnson
allowed that the quality of readiness and profusion had a merit in
itself, independent of the intrinsic value of the composition.
Talking of Churchill, I believe, who had little merit in his pre-
judiced eyes, he allowed him that of fertility, with some such
qualification as this, '^ A crab-apple can bear but crabs after all ; but
there is a great difference in favour of that which bears a large
•quantity of fruity however indifferent, and that which produces only
a few."

Looking more attentively at the patriarchs of literature, whose
career was aa long as it was brilliant, I thought I perceived that in
the busy and prolonged course of exertion, there were no doubt
occasional failures, but that still those who were favourites of their
age triumphed over these miscarriages. By the new efforts which
they made, their errors were obliterated, they became identified
witli the literature of their country, and after having long received
law from the critics, came in some degree to impose it. And
when such a writer was at length called from the scene, his death
first made the public sensible what a large share he had occupied
in their attention. I recollected a passage in Grimm's Correspond-
ence, that while the unexhausted Yoltaire sent forth tract after
tract to the very close of a long life, the first impression made by
each as it appeared, was, that it was inferior to its predecessoss;
an opinion adopted from the general idea that the Patriarch of
Femey must at last find the point from which he was to decline.
But the opinion of the public finally ranked in succession the last
of Yoltaire's Essays on the same footing with those which had
formerly charmed the French nation. The inference from this and
similar facts seemed to me to be, that new works were often judged
of by the public, not so much from their own intrinsic merit, as
from extrinsic ideas which readers had previously formed with
regard to them, and over which a writer might hope to triumph by
patience and by exertion. There is a risk in the attempt;

"i/ he /aU in, good night, or sink or swim."

INTRODUCTION. 7

But this is a duuice incident to every literary attempt, and by
which men of a sanguine temper are little moved.

I may illustrate what I mean, by the feelings of most men in
travelling. If we have found any stage particularly tedious, or in
an especial degree interesting^ particularly short, or much longer
than we expected, our imaginations are so apt to exaggerate the
original impressioD, that, on repeating the journey, we usually find
that we have considerably over-rated the predominating quality,
and the road appears to be duller or more pleasant, shorter or
more tedious, than what we expected, and, consequently, than
what is the actual case. It requires a third or fourth journey to
enable us to form an accurate judgment of its beauty, its length, or
its other attributes.

In the same manner, the public, judging of a new work, which
it receives perhaps with little expectation, if surprised into applause,
becomes very often ecstatic, gives a great deal more approbation
than is due, and elevates the child of its immediate favour to a
rank which, as it affects the author, it is equally difficult to keep,
and painful to lose. If, on this occasion, the author trembles at the
height to which he is raised, and becomes afraid of the shadow of
his own renown, he may indeed retire from the lottery with the
prize which he has drawn, but, in future ages, his honour will be
only in proportion to his labours. If, on the contrary, he rushes
again into the lists, he is sure to be judged with severity propor-
tioned to the former favour of the public. If he be daunted by a
bad reception on this second occasion, he may again become a
stranger to the arena. If, on the contrary, he can keep his ground,
and stand the shuttlecock's fate, of being struck up and down, he
will probably, at length, hold with some certainty the level in public
opinion which he may be found to deserve; and he may perhaps
boast of arresting the general attention, in the same manner as the
Bachelor Samson Carrasco, of fixing the weather-cock La GiraJda of
Seville for weeks, months, or years, that is, for as long as the wind
shall uniformly blow from one quarter. To this degree of popularity
the author had the hardihood to aspire, while, in order to attain it,
he assimied the daring resolution to keep himself in the view of the
public by frequent appearances before them.

It must be added, that the author's incognito gave him the
greater courage to renew his attempts to please the public, and an
advantage similar to that which Jack the Giant-killer received from
his coat of darkness. In sending The Abbot forth so soon after The
Monastery, he had used -the well-known practice recommended by
Bassanio: —

8 orrsoDucnoN.

*t

In my acbool dajB, wlien I Ind kei one ftaSL,
I shot another of the adf same ffigfat^
T!\m^ BfSd same waj, with move adriaed va*d^
To find the other fortii.''

And, to oontmue the sunile, his shaftB, Hke those of the leaaer Ajax,
were diadiaiged more lesdily that the jundier was as inaocessihle to
critidfliii, personally speaking, as the Grecian archer under his
brother's sevenfold shield.

Should the reader desire to know upon what principles The Abbot
was e^)ected to amend the fortune of Thx Monastebt, I have first
to request his atten1a<m to tiie Introductory Epistle addressed to
the imaginary Oaptain Qutterbuck; a mode by which, like bis
predecessors in this walk of fiction, the real author makes one of
his dramatis persona Ibe means of commnnifating bis own aenti-
mentet to tiie public, somewhat more artificially than by a direct
address to the readers. A pleasing French writer of fairy tales,
Monsieur Pajon, author of the History of Prince Soly, has set a
diverting example of the same machinery, where be introduces the
presiding Genius of the land of Bomance conversing with one of the
personages of the tale.

In this Introductory Epistle the author communicates, in con-
fidence to Captain Qutterbuck, bis sense that the White Lady bad
not met the taste of the times, and his reason for withdrawing her
from the scene. The author did not deem it equally necessary to
be candid respecting another alteration. Thb Monastery was
designed, at first, to have contained some supernatural agency,
arising out of the fact, that Melrose bad been the place of deposit
of the great Bobert Brace's heart The writer shrunk, however,
from filling up, in this particular, the sketch as it was originally
traced; nor did he venture to resume, in the continuation, the
subject which he bad left unattempted in the original work. Thus,
the incident of the discovery of the heart, which occupies the greater
part of the Introduction to the Monastery, is a mystery unnecessarily
introduced, and which remains at last very imperfectly explained.
In this particular, I was happy to shroud myself by the example of
the author of "Caleb Williams," who never condescends to inform us
of the actual contents of that Iron Chest which makes such a figure
in his interesting work, and gives the name to Mr. Colman's drama.

The public had some claim to inquire into this matter, but it
seemed indifferent policy in the author to give the explanation.
For, whatever praise may be due to' the ingenuity which brings to
a general combination all the loose threads of a narrative, like the
knitter at the finishing of her stocking, I am greatly deceived if in

INTRODUCTION. 9

many cases a superior advantage is not attained, hj the air of
reality which the deficiency of explanation attaches to a work
written on a different system. In life itself, many things befall
every mortal, of which tiie individual never knows the real cause
or origin; and were we to point out the most marked distinction
between a real and a fictitious narrative, we would say, that the
former, in reference to the remote causes of the events it relates, is
obscure, doubtful, and mysterious; whereas, in the latter case, it
is a part of the author's duty to afford satisfactory details upon the
causes of the separate events he has recorded, and, in a word, to
account for everything. The reader, like Mungo in the Padlock,
will not be satisfied with hearing what he is not made fully to
comprehend.

I omitted, therefore, in the Introduction to Thb Abbot, any
attempt to explain the previous story, or to apologize for unin-
telligibility.

Neither would it have been prudent to have endeavoured to
proclaim, in the Introduction to The Abbot, the real spring, by
which I hoped it might attract a greater degree of interest than its
immediate predecessor. A taking title, or the announcement of a
popular subject, is a recipe for success much in favour with book-
sellers, but which authors will not always find efficacious. The
cause is worth a moment's- examination.

There occur in every country some peculiar historical characters,
which are like a spell or charm, sovereign to excite curiosity and
attract attention, since every one in the slightest degree interested
in the land which they belong to has heard much of them, and
longs to hear more. A tale turning on the fortunes of Alfred or
Elizabeth in England, or of Wallace or Bruce in Scotland, is sure
by the very announcement to excite public curiosity to a consider-
able degree, and ensure the publisher's being relieved of the greater
part of an impression, even before the contents of the work are
known. This is of the last importance to the bookseller, who is at
once, to use a technical phrase, "brought home," all his outlay
being repaid. But it is a different case with the author, since it
cannot be denied that we are apt to feel least satisfied with the
works of which we have been induced, by titles and laudatory
advertisements, to entertain exaggerated expectations. The inten-
tion of the work has been anticipated, and misconceived or mis-
represented, and although the difficulty of executing the work again
reminds us of Hotspur's task of "o'erwalking a current roaring loud,"
yet the adventurer must look for more ridicule if he fails^ than
applause if he executes, his undertaking.

10 INTRODUCTION.

Notwithstanding a risk which should make authors pause ere
they adopt a theme which^ exciting general interest and curiosity,
is often the preparative for disappointment, yet it would be an
injudicious regulation which should deter the poet or painter from
attempting to introduce historical portraits, merely from the
difficulty of executing the task in a satisfactory manner. Some-
thing must be trusted to the generous impulse, which often thrusts
an artist upon feats of which he knows the difficulty, while he
trusts courage and exertion may afford the means of surmounting it.

It is especially when he is sensible of losing ground with the
public, that an author may be justified in using with address, such
selection of subject or title as is most likely to procure a rehearing.
It was with these feelings of hope and apprehension that I ventured
to awaken, in a work of fiction, the memory of Queen Mary, so
interesting by her wit, her beauty, her misfortunes, and the mystery
which still does, and probably always will, overhang her history.
In doing so, I was aware that failure woidd be a conclusive disaster,
so that my task was something like that of an enchanter who raises
a spirit over whom he is uncertain of possessing an effectual control ;
and I naturally paid attention to such principles of composition as I
conceived were best suited to the historical novel.

Enough has been already said to explain the purpose of compos-
ing The Abbot. The historical references are, as usual, explained in
the notes. That which relates to Queen Mary's escape from Loch-
leven Castle^ is a more minute account of that romantic adventure
than is to be found in the histories of the period.

Abbotsford,
Ist Jarmary, 1831.

INTRODTJOTORT EPISTLE

.FBOM

THE AUTHOR OF "WAVERLBY,"

TO

CAPTAIN CLUTTERBUCK,

OF HIS UAJESTT'S REGIMENT OF INFANTBT.

Deak OaftaiK;

I am sorry to observe, by your last favour, that you dis-
approve of the numerous retrenchments and alterations which I have
been under the necessity of making on the Manuscript of your friend,
the Benedictine, and I willingly make you the medium of apology
to many, who have honoured me more than I deserve.

I admit that my retrenchments have been numerous, and leave
gaps in the story, which, in your original manuscript, would have
run well-nigh to a fourth volume, as my printer assures me. I am
sensible, besides, that, in consequence of the liberty of curtailment
you have allowed me, some parts of the story have been huddled up
without the necessary details. But, after all, it is better that the
travellers shoidd have to step over a ditch, than to wade through a
morass — ^that the reader should have to suppose what may easily be
inferred, than be obliged to creep through pages of dull explanation.
I have struck out, for example, the whole machinery of the White
Lady, and the poetry by which it is so ably supported, in the original
manuscript. But you must allow that the public taste gives little
encouragement to those legendary superstitions, which formed
alternately the delight and the terror of our predecessors. In like
manner, much is omitted illustrative of the impulse of enthusiasm
in favour of the ancient religion in Mother Magdalen and the
Abbot. But we do not feel deep sympathy at this period with what
was once the most powerful and animating principle in Europe, with
the exception of that of the Reformation, by which it was success-
fully opposed.

12 INTRODOCTORV EPISTLE. "

You rightly obeerve, that theee retrenchmenta have rendered tbe
title no longer applicable to the subject, and that some other would
have been more suitable to the Work, in its present state, than that
of The Abbot, who made so much greater figure in the original, and
for whom, jour friend, the Benedictine, seems to have inspired 70a
with a sympathetic respect. I must plead guilty to this accusation,
observing, at the same time, in manner of extenuation, that though
the objection might have been easily removed, by giving a new title
to the Work, yet, in doing so, I should have destroyed the neceasary
cohesion between the present history, and its predecessor The
MoNABTERT, which I was unwilling to do, as the period, and several
of the personages, were the same.

After all, my good friend, it is of little consequence what tlie work
is called, or on what interest it turns, provided it catehes the pubUc
attention; for the quality of the wine (could wa but ensure it) may^
according to the old proverb, render the bush unnecessary, or of
little consequence.

I congratulate you upon your having found it consistent with
prudence to establish your Tilbury, and approve of the colour, and
of your boy's livery (siibdued green and pink). As you talk of com-
pleting your descriptive poem on the "Buins of Kesnaquhair,
with notes by an Antiquary," I hope you have procured a steady
horse. — I remain, with compliments to all friends, dear Captain,
very much

Youth, &c. &c &o.
Thb Aitthor or "Wavbrlby."

THE ABBOT.

Dommn man&U — lanam/teil.

Ancient Bomaii Epitaph.
Slie keepit doss tha hoos, and birlit at th« qohele.

Gawain Dodolu.

fHE time which passes over our heads bo imperceptiUj, makes
the SBIDB gnulnal change in habits, manneis, and character, u
in petsonal appearance. At the revolutioii of evBry five jean
we find oatselves another, and yet tlie same — there is a change of
views, ajid no less of the light in which we regard them; a change of
motives aa well as oi actions. Nearly twice that space had gUded
away over the head of Halbert Glendinning and his lady, betwixt
the period of our former narrative, in which Utey played a distin-
goiahed part, and the date at which our present tale commences.

Two circumstances only had embittered their union, which waa
otherwise as haj^y as mutual affection could render it. The first
of these was indeed the common calamity of Scotland, being the
distract«d state of that unhappy country, where every man's sword
was directed against his neighbour's bosom. Glendinning had
proved what Mnrray expect«d of him, a steady friend, strong in
battle, and wise in counsel, adhering to him, from motives of gra-
titude, in tdtoationa where by his own unbiassed will he would
either have stood neuter, or have joined the opposite party. Hence,
when danger was near — and it was seldom far distant — Sir Halbert
Glendinning, for he now bore the rank of knighthood, was perpe-
tually Bommoued t« attend his patron on distant expeditions, or on
perilous enterprises, or to assist him with his counsel in the doubt-
ful intrigues of a half-barbarous court. He waa thus frequently,
and for a long space, absent from his caatle and from his lady; and
to this ground of regret we must add, that theii union haA'niAVfeiai

14 THE ABBOT.

blessed with children, to occupy the^attention of the Lady of Avenel,
while she was thus deprived of her husband's domestic society.

On such occasions she lived almost entirely secluded from the
world, within the walls of her paternal mansion. Visiting amongst
neighbours was a matter entirely out of the question, unless on occa-
sions of solemn festival, and then it was chiefly confined to near
kindred. Of these the Lady of Aven^ had none who survived, and
the dames of the neighbouring barons affected to regard her less as
the heiress of the House of Avenel, than as the wife of a peasant,
the son of a church-vassal^ raised up to mushroom eminence by the
capricious favour of Murray.

The pride of ancestry, which rankled in the bosom of the ancient
gentry, was more openly expressed by their ladies, and was, more-
over, embittered not a little by the political feuds of the time, for
most of the Southron chiefs were friends to the authority of the
Queen, and very jealous of the power of Murray. The Castle of
Avenel was, therefore, on all these accounts, as melancholy and
solitary a residence for its lady as could well be imagined. Still it
had the essential recommendation of great security. The reader is
already aware that the fortress was built upon an islet in a smaU
lake, and was only accessible by a causeway, intersected by a double
ditch, defended by two drawbridges, so that, without artillery, it
might in those days be considered as impregnable. It was only
necessary, therefore, to secure against surprise, and the service of
six able men within the castle was sufficient for that purpose. If
more serious danger threatened, an ample garrison was supplied by
the male inhabitants of a little hamlet^ which, under the auspices of
Halbert Glendinning, had arisen on a small piece of level ground,
betwixt the lake and the hill, nearly adjoining to the spot where the
causeway joined the mainland. The Lord of Avenel had found it
an easy matter to procure inhabitants, as he was not only a kind
and beneficent over-lord, but well qualified, both by his experience
in arms, his high character for wisdom and integrity, and his fiivour
with the powerful Earl of Murray, to protect and defend those who
dwelt under his banner. In leaving his castle for any length of time,
he had, therefore, the consolation to reflect, that this village afforded,
on the slightest notice, a band of thirty stout men, which was more
than sufficient for its defence; while the families of the villagers, as
was usual on such occasions, fled to the recesses of the mountains,
drove their cattle to the same places of shelter, and left the enemy
to work their will on their miserable cottages.

One guest only resided generally, if not constantly, at the Castle
of AveneL This was Henry Warden, who now felt himself less

THE ABBOT. 15

able for the stonny task impoeed on the reforming clergy; and
having by his zeal given personal offence to many of the leading
nobles and chiefe, did not consider himself as perfectly safe, nnless
when within the walls of the strong mansion of some assured friend.
He ceased not, however, to serve his canse as eagerly with his pen,
as he had formerly done with his tongue, and had engaged in a
furious and acrimonious contest, concerning the sacrifice of the mass,
as it was termed, with the Abbot Eustatius, formerly the Sub-Prior
of Kennaquhair. Answers, repHes, dupHes, triplies, quadruplies,
followed thick upon each other, and displayed, as is not unusual in
controversy, fully as much zeal as Christian charity. The disputa-
tion very soon became as celebrated as that of John Knox and the
Abbot of Croeraguel, raged nearly as fiercely, and, for aught I know,
the publications to which it gave rise may be as precious in the eyes
of bibliographers.t But the engrossing nature of his occupation
rendered the theologian not the most interesting companion for a
solitary female; and his grave, stem, and absorbed deportment,
which seldom showed any interest except in that which concerned
his religious profession, made his presence rather add to than
diminish the gloom which hung over the Castle of Avenel. To
superintend the tasks of numerous female domestics, was the principal
part of the Lady's daily employment; her spindle and distaff, her
Bible, and a solitary 'WEdk upon the battlements of the castle, or
upon the causeway, or occasionally, but more seldom, upon the
banks of the little lake, consumed the rest of the day. But so great
was the insecurity of the period, that when she ventured to extend
her walk beyond the hamlet, the warder on the watch-tower was
directed to keep a sharp look-out in eveiy direction, and four or five
men held themselves in readiness to mount and sally forth from the
castle on the slightest appearance of alarm.

Thus stood affairs at the castle, when, after an absence of several
weeks, the Knight of Avenel, which was now the title most fre-
quently given to Sir Halbert Glendinning, was daily expected to
return home. Day after day, however, passed away, and he re-
turned not. Letters in those days were rarely written, and the
Knight must have resorted to a secretary to express his intentions
in that manner; besides, intercourse of all kinds was precarious and
unsafe, and no man cared to give any public intimation of the time
and direction of a journey, since, if his route were publicly known,
it was always likely he might in that case meet with more enemies

t The tracts which appeared in the Disputatioii between the Scottish Reformer and
Qaentin Kennedy, Abbot of Orosragnel, are among the acaroeet in Scottish Bibliography.
See M'Ori^t L{f$ <^Knox, p. 268.

16 THE ABBOT.

than friends upon the road. The precise day, therefore, of Sir
Halbert's return was not fixed, but that which his lady's fond ex-
pectation had calculated upon in her own mind had long since passed,
and hope delayed began to make the heart sick.

It was upon the evening of a sultry summer's day, when the son
was half sunk behind the distant western mountains of Liddeadale»
that the Lady took her solitary walk on the battlements of a range
of buildings, which formed the front of the castle, where a flat roof
of flag-stones presented a broad and convenient promenade. Tlie
level surface of the lake, undisturbed except by the occasional dip-
ping of a teal-duck, or coot, was gilded with the beams of the
setting luminary, and reflected, as if in a golden mirror, the hiUs
amongst which it lay embosomed. The scene, otherwise so lonely^
was occasionally enlivened by the voices of the children in the
village, which, softened by distance, reached the ear of the Lady in
her solitary walk, or by the distant call of the herdsman, as he
guided his cattle from the glen in which they had pastured all day,
to place them in greater security for the night, in the immediate
vicinity of the village. The deep lowing of the cows seemed to
demand the attendance of the milk-maidens, who, singing shrilly
and merrily, strolled forth, each with her pail on her head, to attend
to the duty of the evening. The Lady of Avenel looked and
listened; the soimds which she heard reminded her of former days,
when her most important employment, as well as her greatest
delight, was to assist Dame Glendinning and Tibb Tacket in milk-
ing the cows at Glendearg. The thought was fraught with melan-
choly.

** Why was I not,'' she said, *^ the peasant girl which in all men's
eyes I seemed to be? Halbert and I had then spent our life peace-
fully in his native glen, undisturbed by the phantoms either of fear
or of ambition. His greatest pride had then been to show the
fairest herd in the Halidome; his greatest danger to repel some
pilfering snatcher from ihe Border; and the utmost distance which
would have divided us, would have been the chase of some outlying
deer. But, alas! what avails the blood which Halbert has shed, and
the dangers which he encounters, to support a name and rank, dear
to him because he has it from me, but which we shall never transmit
to our posterity! — ^with me the name of Avenel must expire."

She sighed as these reflections arose, and, looking towards the
shore of the lake, her eye was attracted by a group of children of
various ages, assembled to see a little ship, constructed by some
village artist, perform its flrst voyage on the water. It was
launched amid the shouts of tiny voices and the clapping of little

THE ABBOT. 17

bands, and shot bravely forth on its voyage with a favouring wind,
which promised to carry it to the other side of the lake. Some
of the bigger boys ran round to receive and secure it on the farther
shore, trying their speed against each other as they sprang like young
fawns along the shingly verge of the lake. The rest, for whom such
a journey seemed too arduous, remained watching the motions of the
fairy vessel from the spot where it had been launched. The sight
of their sports pressed on the mind of the childless Lady of AveneL

"Why are none of these prattlers mine?'* she continued, pursuing
the tenor of her melancholy reflections. " Their parents can scarce
find them the coarsest food — and I, who could nurse them in plenty,
I am doomed never to hear a child call me mother \"

The thought sunk on her heart with a bitterness which resembled
envy, so deeply is the desire of offspring implanted in the female
breast She pressed her hands together as if she were wringing
them in the extremity of her desolate feeling, as one whom Heaven
had written childless. A large stag-hound of the greyhound species
approached at this moment^ and, attracted perhaps by the gesture,
Hcked her hands and pressed his large head against them. He
obtained the desired caress in retiun, but still the sad impression
remained.

" Wolf," she said, as if the animal could have understood her com-
plaints, " thou art a noble and a beautiful animal; but, alas ! the love
and affection that I long to bestow, is of a quality higher than can
&I1 to thy share, though I love thee much."

And, as if she were apologizing to Wolf for withholding from him
any part of her regard, she caressed his proud head and crest, while,
looking in her eyes, he seemed to ask her what she wanted, or what
he could do to show his attachment. At this moment a shriek of
distress was heard on the shore, from the playful group which had
been lately so joviaL The Lady looked, and saw the cause with
great agony.

The little ship, the object of the children's delighted attention, had
stuck among some tufts of the plant which bears the water-lily, that
marked a shoal in the lake about an arrow-flight from the shore.
A hardy little boy, who had taken the lead in the race round the
margin of the lake, did not hesitate a moment to strip off his wylie-
eoat, plunge into the water, and swim towards the object of their
common solicitude. The first movement of the lady was to call for
help; but she observed that the boy swam strongly and fearlessly,
* and as she saw that one or two villagers, who were distant spectators
of the incident, seemed to give themselves no uneasiness on his
account, she supposed that he was accustomed to the exercise^ and

that asps w«B no danger. But whether, in awimming, the b<^ had

itruok hi) breari; against a, mnken rock, or whether he waa soddenly
token with cramp, or whether he had orer-caloulated hia own
Btrengtb, it m happened, that when he had disembarrassed the Uttle
plaything from the flags in which it was entangled, and gent it for-
ward on ita course, he had scarce awam a few yarda in his way to
the shore, whan he raised himself suddenly from the watw and
screamed aloud, clapping hia hauda at the Bame time with an esqiree-
BJon of fear and pain.

The Lady of Avenel, instantly taking the alarm, called hastily to
the attendiata to get the boat ready. But this was an affoir of
some time. The only boat permitted to be need on the lake waa
moored within the second cut which intersected tbe canal, and it
was Beveral minutes ^re it could be unmoored and got under way.
Meantime, the Lady of Avenel, with agonizing anxiei;, saw that
the efforts which the poor boy made to keep himself afloat, were
now exchanged for a faint struggling, which would soon have been
OVOT, but for aid equally prompt and unhoped for. WoU, who, like
some of that lai^ species of greyhonnd, was a practised water-dog,
had marked the object <rf her anxiety, and, quitting hia mistreee'a
mde, had sought the nearest pt^t from which he could yntb safely
plonge into the lake. With the wonderful Inatanct which these
nobl* animala have ao often displayed In the like circnmatanoeie^ he

THE ABBOT. 19

swam straight to the spot where his assistance was so much wanted^
and seizing the child's mider-dress in his mouth, he not only kept
him afloat, but towed him towards the causeway. The boat, haying
put off with a couple of men, met the dog half-way, and relieved
him of his burden. They landed on the causeway, close by the gate
of the castle, with their yet lifeless charge, and were there met by the
Lady of Avenel, attended by one or two of her maidens, eagerly
waiting to administer assistance to the sufferer.

He was borne into the castle, deposited upon a bed, and every
mode of recovery resorted to, which the knowledge of the times, and
the skill of Henry Warden, who professed some medical science,
could dictate. For some time it was all in vain, and the Lady
watched with unspeakable earnestness the pallid countenance of the
beautiful child. He seemed about ten years old. His dress was of
the meanest sort, but his long curled hair, and the noble cast of his
featuresy partook not of that poverty of appearance. The proudest
noble in Scotland might have been yet prouder could he have called
that child his heir. While, with breathless anxiety, the Lady of
Avenel gazed on his well-formed and expressive features, a slight
shade of colour returned gradually to the cheek; suspended animation
became restored by degrees, the child sighed deeply, opened his eyes,
which to the human countenance produces the effect of light upon
the natural landscape, stretched his arms towards the Lady, and
mattered the word '' Mother," that epithet, of all others, which is
dearest to the female ear.

'^God, madam/' said the preacher, ''has restored the child to your
wishes ; it must be yours so to bring him up, that he may not one
day wish that he had perished in his innocence."

*' It shall be my charge," said the Lady; and again throwing her
arms around the boy, she overwhelmed him with kisses and caresses,
so much was she agitated by the terror arising from the danger in
which he had been just placed, and by joy at his unexpected deliver-
ance.

''But you are not my mother," said the boy, recovering his recol-
lection, and endeavouring, though fainl^y, to escape from the caresses
of the Lady of Avenel; "you are not my mother — alas ! I have no
mother — only I have dreamt that I had one."

" I will read the dream for you, my love," answered the Lady of
Avenel; " and I will be myself your mother. Surely God has heard
my wishes, and, in His own marvellous manner, hath sent me an
object on which my affections may expand themselves." She looked
towards Warden as she spoke. The preacher hesitated what he
should reply to a burst of passionate feeling, which, perhaps, seemed

20 THE ABBOT.

to him more enthusiastic than the occasion demanded. In the mean-
while, the large stag-hound, Wolf, which, dripping wet as he was,
had followed his mistress into the apartment, and had sat by the
bedside, a patient and quiet spectator of all the means used for
resuscitation of the being whom he had preserved, now became im-
patient of remaining any longer unnoticed, and began to whine and
fawn upon the Lady with his great rough paws.

"Yes," she said, "good Wolf, and you shall be remembered also
for your day's work; and I will think the more of you for having
preserved the life of a creature so beautiful"

But Wolf was not quite satisfied with the share of attention which
he thus attracted; he persisted in whining and pawing upon his
mistress, his caresses rendered still more troublesome by his long
^^gy 1^^ being so much and thoroughly wetted, till she desired
one of the domestics, with whom he was familiar, to call the animal
out of the apartment. Wolf resisted every invitation to this purpose,
until his mistress positively commanded him to be gone, in an angry
tone; when, turning towards the bed on which the boy still lay, half
awake to sensation, half drowned in the meanders of a fluctuating
delirium, he uttered a deep and savage growl, curled up his nose and
lips, showing his full range of white and sharpened teeth, which
might have matched those of an actual wolf, and then, turning round,
sullenly followed the domestic out of the apartment.

"It is singular," said the Lady, addressing Warden; "the animal
is not only so good-natured to all, but so particularly fond of
children. What can ail him at the little fellow whose life he has
saved?"

" Dogs," replied the preacher, " are but too like the human race in
their foibles, though their instinct be less erring than the reason of
poor mortal man when relying upon his own unassisted powers.
Jealousy, my good lady, is a passion not unknown to them, and they
often evince it, not only with respect to the preferences which they
see given by their masters to individuals of their own species, but
even when their rivals are children. You have caressed that child
much and eagerly, and the dog considers himself as a discarded
favourite."

"It is a strange instinct," said the Lady; " and from the gravity
with which you mention it, my reverend friend, I would almost say
that you supposed this singular jealousy of my favourite. Wolf, was
not only well founded, but justifiable. But perhaps you speak in
jest?"

"I seldom jest," answered the preacher; "life was not lent to us
to be expended in that idle mirth which resembles the crackling of

THE ABBOT. 21

thorns under the pot. I would only have yon derive, if it so please
you, this lesson from what I have said, that the best of our feelings,
when indulged to excess, may give pain to others. There is but one
in which we may indulge to the utmost limit of vehemence of which
our bosom is capable, secure that excess cannot exist in the greatest
intensity to which it can be excited — I mean the love of our Maker."

" Surely/' said the Lady of Avenel, " we are commanded by the
same authority to love our neighbour?"

" Ay, madam," said Warden, " but our love to God is to be un-
bounded — ^we are to love Him with our whole heart, our whole soul,
and our whole strength. The love which the precept commands us
to bear to our neighbour has affixed to it a direct limit and qualifi-
cation — ^we are to love our neighbour as ourself ; as it is elsewhere
explained by the great commandment, that we must do unto him as
we would that he should do unto us. Here there is a limit and a
bound, even to the most praiseworthy of our affections, so far as they
are turned upon sublunary and terrestrial objects. We are to render
to our neighbour, whatever be his rank or degree, that corresponding
portion of affection with which we could rationally expect we should
ourselves be regarded by those standing in the same relation to us.
Hence, neither husband nor wife, neither son nor daughter, neither
friend nor relation, are lawfully to be made the objects of our idolatry.
The Lord our God is a jealous God, and will not endure that we
bestow on the creature that extremity of devotion which He who
made us demands as His own share. I say to you. Lady, that, even
in the fairest and piurest and most honourable feelings of our nature,
there is that original taint of sin which ought to make us pause and
hesitate, ere we indulge them to excess."

" I understand not this, reverend sir," said the Lady; " nor do I
guess what I can have now said or done, to draw down on me an
admonition which has something a taste of reproof."

"Lady," said Warden, "I crave your pardon, if I have urged
aught beyond the limits of my duty. But consider, whether in the
sacred promise to be not only a protectress, but a mother, to this
poor child, yoxir purpose may meet the wishes of the noble knight
your husband. The fondness which you have lavished on the unfor-
tunate, and, I own, most lovely child, has met something like a
reproof in tiie bearing of your household dog. Displease not your
noble husband. Men, as well as animals, are jealous of the affections
of those they love."

" This is too much, reverend sir," said the Lady of Avenel, greatly
offended. " You have been long our guest, and have received from
the Knight of Avenel and myself that honour and regjaxd' ^Ic^ok

22 THE ABBOT.

your chaxacter and profession so justly demand. But I am yet to
learn that we have at any time authorized your interference in our
family arrangements, or placed you as a judge of our conduct towards
each other. I pray this may be forborne in future.**

" Lady/' replied the preacher, with the boldness peculiar to the
clergy of his persuasion at that time, "when you weary of my
admonitions — ^when I see that my services are no longer acceptable
to you, and the noble knight your husband, I shall know that my
Master wills me no longer to abide here; and, praying for a continu-
ance of His best blessings on your family, I will then, were the season
the depth of winter, and the hour midnight, walk out on yonder
waste, and travel forth through these wild mountains, as lonely and
unaided, though far more helpless, than when I first met your hus-
band in the valley of Glendearg. But while I remain here, I will
not see you err from the true path, no, not a hair's breadth, without
making the old man's voice and remonstrance heard.''

" Nay, but," said the Lady, who both loved and respected the good
man, though sometimes a little offended at what she conceived to be
an exuberant degree of zeal, " we will not part this way, my good
friend. Women are quick and hasty in their feelings; but, believe
me, my wishes and my purposes towards this child are such as both
my husband and you will approve of." The clergyman bowed, and
retreated to his own apartment.

CHAPTER n.

How steadfastly he fix'd his eyes on me —
His dark eyes shining through forgotten tears —
Then stretch'd his little arms, and call'd me mother 1
What could I do ? I took the bantling home —
I could not tell the imp he had no mother.

Count Basil,

#

When Warden had left the apartment, the Lady of Avenel gave
way to the feelings of tenderness which the sight of the boy, his
sudden danger, and his recent escape, had inspired; and no longer
awed by the sternness, as she deemed it, of the preacher, heaped
with caresses the lovely and interesting child. He was now, in some
measure, recovered from the consequences of his accident, and received
passively, though not without wonder, the tokens of TrinHnftwa with
which he was thus loaded. The face of the lady was strange to
him, and her dress different and far m(»re sumptuous than any he
remembered. But the boy was naturally of an undaunted temper;

THB ABBOT. S3

and indeed children are generally acute physiognomistB, and not only
pleased by that which is beautiful in itself , but peculiarly quick in
distinguishing and replying to the attentions of those who really love
them. If they see a person in company, though a perfect stranger,
who is by nature fond of children, the little imps seem to discover it
by a sort of freemasonry, while the awkward attempts of those who
make advances to them for the purpose of recommending themselves
to the parents, usually fail in attracting their redprood attention.
The littie boy, therefore, appeared in some degree sensible of the
lady's caresses, and it was with difSlculty she withdrew herself from
his pillow, to afford him leisure for necessary repose.

'*To whom belongs our littie rescued varlet?'' was the first ques-
tion which the Lady of Avenel put to her handmaiden Lilias, when
they had retired to the halL

"To an old woman in the hamlet,'' said Lilias, "who is even now
come so far as the porter's lodge to inquire concerning his safety. Is
it your pleasure that she be admitted?''

" Is it my pleasure?" said the Lady of Avenel, echoing the question
with a strong accent of displeasure and surprise; "can you make
any doubt of it? What woman but must pity the agony of the
mother, whose heart is throbbing for the safety of a child so lovely !"

" Nay, but, madam," said Lilias, "this woman is too old to be the
mother of the child; I rather think she must be his grandmother, or
some more distant relation."

"Be she who she will, lilias," replied the Lady, "she must have
an aching heart while the safety of a creature so lovely is uncertain.
Go instantiy and bring her hither. Besides, I would willingly learn
something concerning his birth."

Lilias left the hall, and presently afterwards returned, ushering
in a tall female very poorly dressed, yet with more pretension to
decency and cleanliness than was usually combined with such coarse
garments. The Lady of Avenel knew her figure the instant she
presented herself. It was the fashion of the family, that upon every
Sabbath, and on two evenings in the week besides, Henry Warden
preached or lectured in the chapel at the castie. The extension
of the Protestant faith was, upon principle, as well as in good policy,
a primary object with the Knight of Avenel. The inhabitants
of the village were therefore invited to attend upon the instructions
of Henry Warden, and many of them were speedily won to the
doctrine which their master and protector approved. These sermons,
homilies, and lectures, had made a great impression on the mind
of the Abbot Eustace, or Eustatius, and were a sufGlcient spur to the
severity and sharpness of his controversy with his old fellow-

i4 THS ABBOfT.

ocXleg^aie; and, ere Queen Maiy ins dediraiedy and while the
GsdfeolicB still had oonsidaable antfaoritj in the Boidar proyinoes,
he nK»e than onoe threaftoied to levy his Yaasalsy and assail and
level with the earth that stron^Mld ol hores^, the Castle of AveneL
But notwithstanding the Abbot's impotent resentment^ and notwith-
standing abo the disindinatiim ol the ooantryto favoor the new
religion^ Heniy Warden pnweeded without remission in his labours,
and made we^y oonverts from the hdih. of Borne to that of the
refonned dmidi. Amongst those who gave most earnest and
constant attendance aa his ministiy, was the aged woman^ whose
form, tall, and otherwise too remarkable to be forgotten, the Lady
had of late observed frequently as being conspicaous amongst the
little audience. She had indeed more than once desired to know
who that stately-looking woman was, whose appearance was so much
above the poverty of her vestments. But the reply had always been,
that she was an Englishwoman, who was tanrying for a season at the
hamlet, and that no one knew more concerning her. She now asked
her after her name and birth.

''Magdalen Graeme is my name," said the woman; ^ I come of the
Graemes of Heatheigill, in Nicol-f crest, t a people of ancient blood."

''And what make you," continued the Lady, " so far distant from
your home?"

" I have no home," said Magdalen Graeme, " it was burnt by your
Border-riders — my husband and my son were slain — ^there is not a
drop's blood left in the veins of any one which is of kin to mine."

"That is no uncommon fate in these wild times, and in this
unsettled land," said the Lady; " the English hands have been as
deeply dyed in our blood as ever those of Scotsmen have been in
yours."

" You have right to say it. Lady," answered Magdalen Graeme ;
"for men tell of a time when this castle was not strong enough to
save your father's life, or to afford your mother and her infant a
place of refuge. And why ask ye me, then, wherefore I dwell not
in mine own home, and with mine own people?"

" It was indeed an idle question," answered the Lady, " where
misery so often makes wanderers; but wherefore take refuge in a
hostile country?"

"My neighbours were Popish and mass-mongers," said the old
woman ; " it has pleased Heaven to give me a clearer sight of the
gospel, and I have tarried here to enjoy the ministry of that worthy
man Henry Warden, who, to the praise and comfort of many,
teaoheth the Evangel in truth and in sincerity."

t A dkkziot of Ciimb«rl«nd» lying oloie to the Soottiflh Baides.

THE ABBOT. 25

^ Are you poorl '' again demanded the Lady of Avenel.

^ Yon hear me ask ahns of no one/' answered the Englishwoman.

Here there was a pause. The manner of the woman was, if not
disrespectfnly at least much less than gracious; and she appeared
to give no encouragement to farther communication. The Lady of
Avenel renewed the conversation on a different topic

''Yon have heard of the danger in which your boy has been
placedl"

''I have, Lady, and how by an especial providence he was
rescued from death. May Heaven make him thankful, and me I''

"What relation do you bear to him?'*

" I am his grandmother. Lady, if it so please you ; the only relation
he hath left upon earth to take charge of him."

" The burden of his maintenance must necessarily be grievous to
you in your deserted situation?" pursued the Lady.

" I have complained of it to no one," said Magdalen Graeme, with
the same unmoved, dry, and unconcerned tone of voice, in which
she had answered all the former questions.

"If," said the Lady of Avenel, "your grandchild could be
received into a noble family, would it not advantage both him and
you?"

"Keceived into a noble family!" said the old woman, drawing
herself up, and bending her brows imtil her forehead was wrinkled
into a frown of unusual severity ; " and for what purpose, I pray
you? — ^to be my lady's page, or my lord's jackman, to eat broken
victuals, and contend with other menials for the remnants of the
master's meal? Would you have him to fan the flies from my lady's
face while she sleeps, to carry her train while she walks, to hand her
trencher when she feeds, to ride before her on horseback, to walk
after her on foot, to sing when she lists, and to be silent when she
bids? — a very weathercock, which, though furnished in appearance
with wings and plumage, cannot soar into the air — cannot fly from
the spot where it is perched, but receives all its impulses, and
performs all its revolutions, obedient to the changeful breath of a
vain woman? When the eagle of Helvellyn perches on the tower
of Lanercost, and turns and changes his place to show how the wind
sits, Boland Grseme shall be what you would make him."

The woman spoke with a rapidity and vehemence which seemed
to have in it a touch of insanity; and a sudden sense of the danger
to which the child must necessarily be exposed in the charge of
such a keeper, increased the Lady's desire to keep him in the castle
if possible.

" You mistake me, dame," she said^ addressing the old womaoi in

26 THE ABBOT.

a soothing maimer; " I do not wish your boy to be in attendance
on myself, but upon the good knight, my husband. Were he him-
self the son of a belted earl, he could not better be trained to arms,
and all that befits a gentleman, than by the instructions and dis-
cipline of Sir Halbert Glendinning."

" Ay," answered the old woman, in the same style of bitter irony,
" I know the wages of that service; — ^a curse when the corslet is not
sufficiently brightened, — a blow when the girth is not tightly drawn,
— to be beaten because the hounds are at fault, — ^to be reviled
because the foray is unsuccessful, — ^to stain his hands for the master's
bidding in the blood alike of beast and of man, — ^to be a butcher
of harmless deer, a murderer and defacer of God's own image, not
at his own pleasure, but at that of his lord, — ^to live a brawling
ruffian, and a common stabber, — exposed to heat, to cold, to want
of food, to all the privations of an anchoret, not for the love of God,
but for the service of Satan, — ^to die by the gibbet, or in some
obscure skirmish, — ^to sleep out his brief life in carnal security, and
to awake in the eternal fire which is never quenched."

" Nay," said the Lady of Avenel, " but to such unhallowed course
of life your grandson will not be here exposed. My husband is just
and kind to those who live under his banner; and you yourself
weU know, that youth have here a strict as well as a good preceptor
in the person of our chaplain."

The old woman appeared to pause.

" You have named," she said, " the only, circumstance which can
move me. I must soon onward, the vision haa said it — ^I must not
tarry in the same spot — ^I must on — I must on, it is my weird. —
Swear, then, that you will protect the boy as if he were your own,
until I return hither and claim him, and I will consent for a space
to part with him. But especially swear, he shall not lack the
instruction of the godly man who hath placed the gospel-truth high
above those idolatrous shavelings the monks and friars."

'^Be satisfied, dame," said the Lady of Avenel; ''the boy shall
have as much care as if he were bom of my own blood. "Will you
see him now?"

" No," answered the old woman, sternly; "to part is enough. I go
forth on my own mission. I will not soften my heart by useless
tears and wailings, as one that is not called to a duty."

" Will you not accept of something to aid you in your pilgrimage?"
said the Lady of Avenel, putting into her hands two crowns of the
sun. The old woman flung them down on the table.

'' Am I of the race of Cain," she said, " proud Lady, that you ofler
me gold in exchange for my own flesh and blood?"

THE abbot'. S7

"I h&dso Buch meaning," aaid the I^y, gentlj; "nor am I the
proud Toman yon tenn me. Alas I mj own fortunes might hare
taught me humility, even had it not been bom with me."

The old woman seemed eomewhait to relax her tone of seYerity.

" You are of gentle blood," she said, " else we bad not psrlejed
thus long togetiiar. — Yon are of gentle blood, and to such," she
added, drawing up her
tall fonn as die spoke,
"pride is ae graceful as is
the plome npon the bon-
net. Bnt tor these pieces
of gold, Lady, jon must
needs resume them. I
need not monej. I am
well provided; and I
maj not care Cor myself
nor think bow, or by
whom, I shall be sus-
tained. Farewell, and
keep your word. Cause
jour gates to be opened,
and your bridges to be
lowered. I will set for-
ward this very night.
When I come again, I
will demand from you a
sbrict account, for I have
left with jon the jewel
of my life! Sleep will visit me but in snatches, food will not
refresh me, rest will not restore my strength, until I see Boland
Gneme. Once more, farewelL"

"Make yoni obeisance, dame," said Lilias to Magdalen Orseme,
as she retired, "make your obeisance to her ladyship, and thank her
for her goodness, as is bnt fitting and right."

The old woman turned short round on the officious waiting-niaid.
" Let her make her obeisance to me then, and I will return it. Why
should I bend to herl — is it because her kirtle is of silk, and mins
(A blue locketam) Qo to, my lady's waiting woman. Know that
the rank of the man rates that of the wife, and that she who marries
a churl's son, were she a king's daughter, is but a peasant's bride."

Lilias was about to reply in great indignation, bat her mistress
imposed silence on htx, and commanded that the old woman should
be safely condacted to Hut mainland.

28 THE ABBOT.

'' Conduct her safe!'' exclaimed the incensed waiting woman, while
Magdalen Graeme left the apartment; " I say, duck her in the loch,
and then we will see whether she is witch or not, as every body in
the village of Lochside will say and swear. I marvel your ladyship
could bear so long with her insolence/' But the conmiands of the
Lady were obeyed, and the old dame, dismissed from the castle, was
committed to her fortune. She kept her word, and did not long
abide in that place, leaving the hamlet on the very night succeeding
the interview, and wandering no one asked whither. The Lady
of Avenel inquired under what circumstances she had appeared
among them, but could only learn that she was believed to be the
widow of some man of consequence among the Graemes who then
inhabited the Debateable Land, a name given to a certain x)ortion
of territory which was the frequent subject of dispute betwixt
Scotland and England — ^that she had suffered great wrong in some
of the frequent forays by which that imf ortunate district was wasted,
and had been driven from her dwelling-place. She had arrived in
the hamlet no one knew for what purpose, and was held by some
to be a witch, by others a zealous Protestant, and by others again
a Catholic devotee. Her language was mysterious, and her manners
repulsive; and all that could be collected from her conversation
seemed to imply that she was under the influence either of a spell or
of a vow, — ^there was no saying which; since she talked as one who
acted under a powerful and external agency.

Such were the particulars which the Lady's inquiries were able
to collect concerning Magdalen Graeme, being far too meagre and
contradictory to authorize any satisfactory deduction. Li truth, the
miseries of the time, and the various turns of fate incidental to a fron-
tier country, were perpetually chasing from their habitations those
who had not the means of defence or protection. These wanderers in
the land were too often seen to excite much attention or sympathy.
They received the cold relief which was extorted by general feelings
of humanity; a little excited in some breasts, and perhaps rather
chilled in others, by the recollection that they who gave the charity
to-day might themselves want it to-morrow. Magdalen Graeme,
thei«f ore, came and departed like a shadow from the neighbourhood
of Avenel Castle.

The boy whom Providence, as she thought, had thus strangely
placed under her care, was at once established a favourite with the
Lady of the castle. How could it be otherwise? He became the
object of those affectionate feelings, which, finding formerly no
object on which to expand themselves, had increased the gloom of
the castle, and embittered the solitude of its mistress. To teach him

THE ABBOT. 29

reading and writing as far as her skill went, to attend to his childish
comforts, to watch his boyish sports, became the Lady's favourite
amusement. In her circamstances, where the ear only heard the
lowing of the cattle from the distant lulls, or the heavy step of the
warder as he walked upon his post, or the half -envied laugh of her
maiden as she turned her wheel, the appearance of the blooming and
beautiful boy gave an interest which can hardly be conceived by
those who live amid gayer or busier scenes. Young Boland was to
the Lady of Avenel what the flower, which occupies the window of
some solitary captive, is to the poor wight by whom it is nursed and
cultivated, — something which at once excited and repaid her care;
and in giving the boy her affection, she felt, as it were, grateful to
him for releasing her from the state of dull apathy in which she had
usually found herself during the absence of Sir Halbert Glendinning.
But even the charms of this blooming favourite were unable to
chase the recurring apprehensions which arose from her husband's
procrastinated return. Soon after Boland Grseme became a resident
at the castle, a groom, despatched by Sir Halbert, brought tidings
that business still delayed the Knight at the Court of Holyrood.
The more distant period which the messenger had assigned for
his master's arrival at length glided away, summer melted into
autumn, and autumn was about to give place to winter, and yet he
came not.

CHAPTEB HL

The waning hanrest-moon shone broad and bright,
The worder^B horn was heard at dead of night.
And while the folding portals wide were flung.
With trampling hoo& the rocky pavement rung.

Leyden,

"And you, too, would be a soldier, Boland?" said the Lady of
Avenel to her young charge, while, seated on a stone ch£»r at one
end of the battlements, she saw the boy attempt, with a long stick,
to mimic the motions of the warder, as he alternately shouldered, or
ported, or sloped pike.

" Yes, Lady,** said the boy, — ^f or he was now familiar, and replied
to her questions with readiness and alacrity, — "a soldier will I be;
for there ne'er was gentleman but who belted him with the brand."

''Thou a gentleman!" said Lilias, who, as usual, was in attend-
ance; '' such a gentleman as I would make of a bean-cod with a rusty
knife."

90 THE ABBOT.

^Nay, chide him not, Lilias," said the Lady of Avenel, ''for,
beshrew me, bat I think he comes of gentle blood — see how it
musters in his face at your injurious reproof."

''Had I my will, madam/' answered lilias, ''a good birchen wand
should make his colour muster to better purpose stilL''

"On my word, Lilias," said the Lady, "one would think you had
received harm from the poor boy— or is he so far on the frosty side
of your &,vour because he enjoys the sunny side of mine?''

"Over heavens forbode, my Ladyl" answered Lilias; "I have
lived too long with gentles, I praise my stars for it, to fight with
either follies or fantasies, whether they relate to beast, bird, or boy.**

Lilias was a favourite in her own class, a spoiled domestic, and
often accustomed to take more license than her mistress was at all
times willing to encourage. But what did not please the Lady of
Avenel, she did not choose to hear, and thus it was on the present
occasion. She resolved to look more dose and sharply after the boy,
who had hitherto been committed chiefly to the management of Lilias.
He must, she thought, be bom of gentle blood; it were shame to
think otherwise of a form so noble, and features so fair; — ^the very
wildness in which he occasionally indulged, his contempt of danger,
and impatience of restraint, had in them something noble; — assuredly
the child was bom of high rank. Such was her conclusion, and she
acted upon it accordingly. The domestics around her, less jealous,
or less scrupulous than Lilias, acted as servants usually do, following
the bias, and flattering, for their own purposes, the humour of the
Lady; and the boy soon took on him those airs of superiority, which
the sight of habitual deference seldom fails to inspire. It seemed,
in truth, as if to command were his natural sphere, so easily did he
use himself to exact and receive compliance with his hinnours. The
chaplain, indeed, might have interposed to check the air of assumption
which Boland Graeme so readily indulged^ and most probably would
have willingly rendered him that favour; but the necessity of adjust-
ing with his brethren some disputed points of church discipline had
withdrawn him for some time from the castle, and detained him in
a distant part of the kingdom.

Matters stood thus in the castle of Avenel, when a winded bugle
sent its shnll and prolonged notes from the shore of the lake, and
was replied to cheerily by the signal of the warder. The Lady of
Avenel knew the sounds of her husband, and rushed to the window
of the apartment in which she was sitting. A band of about thirty
spearmen, with a pennon displayed before them, winded along the
indented shores of the lake, and approached the causeway. A single
horseman rode at the head of the parfy, his bright arms catching a

THE ABBOT. 81

g^oe of the October Ban as he moved steadily aloog. Even at that
distanoe, the Lady reoognized the lofty plume, bearing the mingled
colours of her own liveries and those of Glendonwyne, blended with
ike holly-branch; and the firm seat and dignified demeanour of the
rider, joined to the stately motion of the dark-brown steed, suffi-
ciently announced Halbert Glendinning.

The Lady's first thought was that of rapturous joy at her husband's
return — ^her second was connected with a fear which had sometimes
intruded itself, that he might not altogether approve the peculiar
distinction with which she had treated her orphan ward. In this
fear there was implied a consciousness, that the favour she had shown
him was excessive; for Halbert Glendinning was at least as gentle
and indulgent, as he was firm and rational in the intercourse of his
household; and to her in particular, his conduct had ever been most
affectionately tender.

Yet she ^d fear, that, on the present occasion, her conduct might
incur Sir Halberfs censure; and hastily resolving that she would not
mention the anecdote of the boy until the next day, she ordered him
to be withdrawn from the apartment by Lilias.

« I wiU not go with Lilias, madam,'' answered the spoiled chUd,
who had more than once carried his point by perseverance, and who,
like his betters, delighted in the exercise of such authority, — ** I will
not go to Lilias* gousty room — ^I will stay and see that brave war-
rior who comes riding so gallantly along the drawbridge.''

^You must not stay, Boland," said the Lady, more positively
than she usually spoke to her little favourite.

''I will," reiterated the boy, who had already felt his consequence,
and the probable chance of success.

''You vnU, Boland !" answered the Lady, ''what manner of word
is that? I tell you, you must go."

" Will,'' answered the forward boy; " is a word for a man, and
miut is no word for a lady."

" You are saucy, sirrah," said the Lady — " Lilias, take him with
you instantly."

" I always thought," said LiHas, smiling, as she seized the reluc-
tant boy by the arm, " that my young master must give place to my
old one."

"And you, too, are malapert, mistress?" said the Lady; "hath the
moon clumged, that ye all of you thus forget yourselves?"

liilias made no reply, but led off the boy, who, too proud to offer
unavailing resistance, darted at his benefactress a glance, which in-
timated plainly, how willingly he would have defied her authority,
liad he possessed the power to make good his point.

32 THE ABBOT.

The Lady of Avenel was vexed to find how much this trifling
circumstance had discomposed her, at the moment when she ought
naturally to have been entirely engrossed by her husband's return.
But we do not recover composure by the mere feeling that agitation
is mistimed. The glow of displeasure had not left the Lady's cheek,
her ruffled deportment was not yet entirely composed, when her
husband, unhelmeted, but still wearing the rest of his arms, entered
the apartment. His appearance banished the thoughts of everything
else; she rushed to him, clasped his iron-sheathed &ame in her arms,
and kissed his martial and manly face with an affection which was
at once evident and sincere. The warrior returned her embrace and
her caress with the same fondness; for the time which had passed
since their union had diminished its romantic ardour, perhaps, but
it had rather increased its rational tenderness, and Sir Halbert
Glendinning's long and frequent absences from his castle had pre-
vented affection from degenerating by habit into indifference.

When the first eager greetings were paid and received, the Lady
gazed fondly on her husband's face as she remarked, '^You are
altered, Halbert — ^you have ridden hard and far to-day, or you have
been iU?"

" I have been well, Mary,** answered the Knight, " passing well
have I been; and a long ride is to me, thou well knowest, but a
thing of constant custom. Those who are bom noble may slumber
out their lives within the walls of their castles and manor-houses;
but he who hath achieved nobility by his own deeds must ever be in
the saddle, to show that he merits his advancement.''

While he spoke thus, the Lady gazed fondly on him, as if
endeavouring to read his inmost soul; for the tone in which he spoke
was that of melancholy depression.

Sir Halbert Glendinning was the same, yet a different person
from what he had appeared in his early years. Tlie fiery freedom
of the aspiring youth had given place to the steady-and stem com-
posure of the approved soldier and skilful politician. There were
deep traces of care on those noble features, over which each emotion
used formerly to pass, like light clouds across a sunmier sky. That
sky was now, not perhaps clouded, but still and grave, like that of
the sober autumn evening. The forehead was higher and more bare
than in early youth, and the locks which still clustered thick and
dark on the warrior's head, were worn away at the temples, not by
age, but by the constant pressure of the steel cap or helmet. His
beard, according to the fashion of the times, grew short and thick,
and was tamed into' moustacheB on the upper lip, and peaked at the
extremity. The cheek, weather-beaten and embrowned, had lost

THE ABBOT. 33

the glow of youth, but showed the vigorous complexion of active
and confirmed manhood. Halbert Glendinning was, in a word, a
knight to ride at a king's right hand, to bear his banner in war, and
to be his counsellor in time of peace; for his looks expressed the
considerate firmness which can resolve wisely and dare boldly. Still,
over these noble features there now spread an air of dejection, of
which, perhaps, the owner was not conscious, but which did not
escape the observation of his anxious and affectionate partner.

'' Something has happened, or is about to happen," said the Lady
of Avenel; "this sadness sits not on your brow without cause — mis-
fortune, national or particular, must needs be at hand."

" There is nothing new that I wot of," said Halbert Glendinning;
"but there is little of evil which can befall a kingdom, that may not
be apprehended in this unhappy and divided realm."

" Nay, then," said the Lady, " I see there hath really been some
fatal work on foot. My Lord of Murray has not so long detained
you at Holyrood, save that he wanted your help in some weighty
purpose."

" I have not been at Holyrood, Mary," answered the Knight; " I
have been several weeks abroad."

"Abroad ! and sent me no word?" replied the Lady.

" What would the knowledge have availed, but to have rendered
you unhappy, my love?" replied the Knight; "your thoughts would
have converted the slightest breeze that curled your own lake into
a tempest raging in the German ocean."

"And have you then really crossed the sea?" said the Lady, to
whom the very idea of an element which she had never seen conveyed
notions of terror and of wonder, — " really left your own native land,
and trodden distant shores, where the Scottish tongue is unheard and
unknown?"

" Really, and really," said the Bjiight, taking her hand in aflfec-
tionate playfulness, " I have done this marvellous deed — ^have rolled
on the ocean for three days and three nights, with the deep green
waves dashing by the side of my pillow, and but a thin plank to
divide me from it."

" Indeed, my Halbert," said the Lady, " that was a tempting of
Divine Providence. I never bade you imbuckle the sword from
your side, or lay the lance from your hand — I never bade you sit
still when your honour called you to rise and ride; but are not
blade and spear dangers enough for one man's life, and why would
you trust rough waves and raging seas?"

" We have in Germany, and in the Low Countries, as they are
called," answered Glendinning, "men who are united with us in

34 THE ABBOT.

faith, and with whom it is fitting we should unite in alliance. To
some of these I was despatched on business as important as it was
secret. I went in safety, and I returned in security; there is more
danger to a man's life betwixt this and Holyrood, than in all the
seas that wash the lowlaftds of Holland."

"And the country, my Halbert, and the people," said the Lady,
"are they like oiu: kindly Scots? or what bearing have they to
strangers?"

" They are a people, Mary, strong in their wealth, which renders
all other nations weak, and weak in those arts of war by which other
nations are strong."

" I do not imderstand you," said the Lady.

" The Hollander and the Fleming, Mary, pour forth their spirit
in trade, and not in war; their wealth purchases them the arms of
foreign soldiers, by whose aid they defend it. They erect dikes on
the sea-shore to protect the land which they have won, and they
levy regiments of the stubborn Switzers and hardy Germans to
protect the treasures which they have amassed. And thus they are
strong in their weakness'; for the very wealth which tempts their
masters to despoil them, arms strangers in their behalf."

"The slothful hinds!" exclaimed Mary, thinking and feeling like
a Scotswoman of the period; " have they hands, and fight not for the
land which bore them? They should be notched o£f at the elbow!"

"Nay, that were but hard justice," answered her husband; "for
their hands serve their country, though not in battle, like ours.
Look at these barren hills, Mary, and at that deep winding vale by
which the cattle are even now returning from their scanty browse.
The hand of the industrious Fleming would cover these mountains
with wood, and raise com where we now see a starved and scanty
sward of heath and ling. It grieves me, Mary, when I look on that
land, and think what benefit it might receive from such men as I
have lately seen — ^men who seek not the idle fame derived from
dead ancestors, or the bloody renown won in modem broils, but
tread along the land as preservers and improvers, not as tyrants and
destroyers."

" These amendments would here be but a vain fancy, my Halbert,"
answered the Lady of Avenel; " the trees would be burned by the
English foemen, ere they ceased to be shrubs, and the grain that
you raised would be gathered in by the first neighbour that
possessed more riders than follow your train. Why should you
repine at this? The fate that made you Scotsman by birth, gave
you head, and hearty and hand, to uphold the name as it must needs
be upheld."

THE ABBOT. 35

*^ It gave me no name to uphold/' said Halbert, pacing the floor
slowly; " my arm has been foremost in every strife — my voice has
been heard in every council, nor have the wisest rebuked me. The
crafty Lethington, the deep and dark Morton, have held secret council
with me, and Grange and Lindsay have owned that in the field I
did the devoir of a gallant knight — ^but let the emergence be passed
when they need my head and hand, and they only know me as son
of the obscure portioner of Glendeai^g."

This was a theme which the Lady always dreaded; for the rank
conferred on her husband, the favour in which he was held by the
powerful Earl of Murray, and the high talents by which he vindi-
cated his right to that rank and that favour, were qualities which
rather increased than diminished the envy which was harboured
against Sir Halbert Glendinning among a proud aristocracy, as a
person originally of inferior and obscure birth, who had risen to his
present eminence solely by his personal merit. The natural firmness
of his mind did not enable him to despise the ideal advantages of a
higher pedigree, which were held in such imiversal esteem by all
with whom he conversed; and so open are the noblest minds to
jealous inconsistencies^ that there were moments in which he felt
mortified that his lady should possess those advantages of birth and
high descent which he himself did not enjoy, and regretted that his
importance as the proprietor of Avenel was qualified by his possess-
ing it only as the husband of the heiress. He was not so unjust as
to permit any unworthy feelings to retain permanent possession of
his mind, but yet^they recurred from time to time, and did not
escape his lady's anxious observation.

''Had we been blessed with children," she was wont on such
occasions to say to herself, '* had our blood been united in a son who
might have joined my advantages of descent with my husband's
personal worth, these painful and irksome reflections had not dis-
turbed our union even for a moment. But the existence of such an
heir, in whom our aflections, as well as our pretensions, might have
centred, has been denied to us."

With such mutual feelings, it cannot be wondered that it gave
the Lady pain to hear her husband verging towards this topic of
mutual discontent. On the present, as on other similar occasions,
she endeavoured to divert the Knighfs thoughts from this painful
channeL

" How can you," she said, " suffer yourself to dwell upon things
which profit nothing? Have you indeed no name to uphold? You,
the good and the brave, the wise in council and the strong in battle,
have you not to support the reputation your own deeds bav^ N7oii^ «b

36 THE ABBOT.

reputation more honourable than mere ancestry can supply? Good
men love and honour you, the wicked fear, and the turbulent obey
you; and is it not necessary you should exert yourself to ensure the
endurance of that love, that honour, that wholesome fear, and that
necessary obedience ? ''

As she thus spoke, the eye of her husband caught from hers
courage and comfort, and it lightened as he took her hand and
replied, "It is most true, my Mary, and I deserve thy rebuke, who
forget what I am, in repining because I am not what I cannot be.
I am now what the most famed ancestors of those I envy were, the
mean man raised into eminence by his own exertions; and sure it is
a boafit as honourable to have those capacities which are necessary
to the foundation of a family, as to be descended from one who
possessed them some centuries before. The Hay of Loncarty, who
bequeathed his bloody yoke to his lineage, — ^the * dark gray man,'
who first founded the house of Douglas, had yet less of ancestry to
boast than I have. For thou knowest, Mary, that my name derives
itself from a line of ancient warriors, although my immediate fore-
fathers preferred the humble station in which thou didst first find
them; and war and counsel are not less proper to the house of Glen-
donwyne, even in its most remote descendants, than to the proudest
of their baronage.''*

He strode across the hall as he spoke; and the Lady smiled
internally to observe how much his mind dwelt upon the preroga-
tives of birth, and endeavoured to establish his claims, however
remote, to a share in them, at the very moment vhen he a£fected to
hold them in contempt. It will easily be guessed, however, that she
permitted no symptom to escape her that could show she was sensible
of the weakness of her husband, a perspicacity which perhaps his
proud spirit could not v^ry easily have brooked.

As he returned from the extremity of the hall, to which he had
stalked while in the act of vindicating the title of the House of
Glendonwyne in its most remote branches to the full privileges of
aristocracy, "Where," he said, "is Wolf? I have not seen him
since my return, and he was usually the first to welcome my home-
coming."

"Wolf," said the Lady, with a slight degree of embarrassment,
for which, perhaps, she would have f oimd it difficult to assign any
reason even to herself — " Wolf is chained up for the present. He
hath been surly to my page."

"Wolf chained up — and Wolf surly to your page!" answered Sir

* An asterisk in these pages signifies that a note upon the passage is to be found at the
«nd of the ^fAvaxM.

(

i,'>!^u^i^l

THE ABBOT. 37

Halbert Glendinning; "Wolf never was surly to any one; and the
chain will either break his spirit or render him savage — So ho, there
— set Wolf free directly."

He was obeyed; and the hyge dog rushed into the hall, disturb-
ing, by his unwieldly and boisterous gambols, the whole economy of
reels, rocks, and distaffs, with which the maidens of the household
were employed when the arrival of their lord was a signal to them
to withdraw, and extracting from Lilias, who was summoned to put
them again in order, the natural observation, " That the Laird's pet
waa as troublesome as the Lady's page."

''And who is this page, Mary?" said the Ejiight, his attention
again called to the subject by the observation of the waiting- woman,
— « Who is this page, whom every one seems to weigh in the balance
with my old friend and favourite. Wolf? — When did you aspire to
tlie dignity of keeping a page, or who is the boy?"

" I trust, my Halbert," said the Lady, not without a blush, " you
wiU not think your wife entitled to less attendance than other ladies
of her quality?"

"Nay, Dame Mary," answered the Knight, "it is enough you
desire such an attendant. — Yet I have never loved to nurse such
naelesB menials — ^a lady's page — ^it may weU suit the proud English
dames to have a slender youth to bear their trains from bower to
ball, fan them when they slumber, and touch the lute for them when
they please to listen; but our Scottish mak'ons were wont to be
abovB such vanities, and our Scottish youth ought to be bred to the
■pear and the stirrup."

'* Nay, butj my husband," said the Lady, " I did but jest when I
called this boy my i>age; he is in sooth a little orphan whom we
saved from perishing in the lake, and whom I have since kept in the
castle out of charity. — Lilias, bring little Boland hither."

Boland entered accordingly, and, flying to the Lady's side, took
hold of the plaits of her gown, and then turned round, and gazed
with an attention, not unmingled with fear, upon the stately form
of the Knight — " Boland," said the Lady, " go kiss the hand of the
noble Knight, and ask him to be thy protector." — But Boland
obeyed not, and, keeping his station, continued to gaze fixedly and
timidly on Sir Halbert Glendinning. — "Go to the Knight, boy,"
said the Lady; "what dost thou fear, child? Go, kiss Sir Halbert's
hand."

" I will kiss no hand save yours. Lady," answered the boy.

" Nay, but do as you are commanded, child," replied the Lady.

"He is dashed by your presence," she said, apologizing to her
husband; "but is he not a handsome boy?"

38 THE ABBOT.

"And so is "Wolf," said Sir Halbert, as lie patted his huge four-
footed favourite, "a handsome dog; but he has this double advan-
tage over your new favourite, that he does what he is commanded,
and hears not when he is praised.**

"Nay, now you are displeased with me," replied the Lady; "and
yet why should you be so? There is nothing wrong in relieving the
distressed orphan, or in loving that which is in itself lovely and
deserving of affection. But you have seen Mr. "Warden at Edinburgh,
and he has set you against the poor boy."

" My dear Mary," answered her husband, " Mr. "Warden better
knows his place than to presume to interfere either in your affairs
or in mine. I neither blame your relieving this boy, nor your kind-
ness for him. But, I think, considering his birth and prospects,
you ought not to treat him with injudicious fondness, which can
only end in rendering him unfit for the humble situation to which
Heaven has designed him."

" Nay, but, my Halbert, do but look at the boy," said the Lady,
" and see whether he has not the air of being intended by Heaven
for something nobler th^ a mere peasant. May he not be designed,
as others have been, to rise out of a humble situation into honour
and eminence?"

Thus far had she proceeded, when the consciousness that she was
treading upon delicate ground at once occurred to her, and induced
her to take the most natural, but the worst of all courses on such
occasions, whether in conversation or in actual bog, namely, that of
stopping suddenly short in the illustration which she had commenced.
Her brow crimsoned, and that of Sir Halbert Glendinning was
slightly overcast. But it was only for an instant; for he was
incapable of mistaking his lady's meaning, or supposing that she
meant intentional disrespect to him.

" Be it as you please, my love," he replied; " I owe you too much,
to contradict you in aught which may render your solitary mode of
life more endurable. Make of this youth what you will, and you
have my full authority for doing so. But remember he is your
charge, not mine — remember he hath limbs to do man service, a soul
and a tongue to worship God; breed him, therefore, to be true to his
country, and to Heaven; and for the rest, dispos eof him as you
list — it is, and shall rest, your own matter."

This conversation decided the fate of Boland Graeme, who from
thenceforward was little noticed by the master of the mansion of
Avenel, but indulged and favoured by its mistress.

This situation led to many important consequences, and, in truth,
tended to bzing forth the character of the youth in all its broad

THE ABBOT. 39

lights and deep shadows. As the Knight himself seemed tacitly to
diflc]a.iTn alike interest and control over the immediate favourite of
his lady, young Boland was, by circumstances, exempted from the
strict discipline to which, as the retainer of a Scottish man of rank,
he would otherwise have been subjected, according to all the rigour
of the age. But the steward, or master of the household — such was
the proud title assumed by the head domestic of each petty baron —
deemed it not advisable to interfere with the favourite of the Lady,
and especially since she had brought the estate into the present
family. Master Jasper Wingate was a man experienced, as he often
boasted, in the ways of great families, and knew how to keep the
steerage even, when wind and tide chanced to be in contradiction.

This prudent personage winked at much, and avoided giving
opportunity for farther offence, by requesting little of Boland Greeme
beyond the degree of attention which he was himself disposed to
pay; rightly conjecturing, that however lowly the place which the
youth might hold in the favour of the Knight of Avenel, still to
make an evil report of him would make an enemy of the Lady,
without securing the favour of her husband. With these pruden-
tial considerations, and doubtless not without an eye to his own
ease and convenience, he taught the boy as much, and only as much,
as he chose to learn, readily admitting whatever apology it pleased
his pupil to allege in excuse for idleness or negligence. As the
other persons in the castle, to whom such tasks were delegated,
readily imitated the prudential conduct of the majo]>domo, there
was little control used towards Boland Grs&me, who, of course,
learned no more than what a very active mind, and a total impatience
of absolute idleness, led him to acquire upon his own account, and
by dint of his own exertions. The latter were especially earnest,
when the Lady herself condescended to be his tutress, or to examine
his progress.

It followed also from his quality as my Lady's favourite, that
Boland was viewed with no peculiar good-will by the followers of
the Knight, many of whom, of the same age, and apparently similar
origin, with the fortunate page, were subjected to severe observance
of the ancient and rigorous discipline of a feudal retainer. To these,
Boland Graeme was of course an object of envy, and, in consequence,
of dislike and detraction; but the youth possessed qualities which
it was impossible to depreciate. Pride, and a sense of early ambition,
did for him what severity and constant instruction did for others.
In truth, the youthful Boland displayed that early flexibility both
of body and mind, which renders exercise, either mental or bodily,
rather matter of sport than of study; and it seemed && \i\v<bMfl^^

40 THE ABBOT.

accidentally, and by starts, those accomplishments, which earnest
and constant instruction, enforced by frequent reproof and occasional
chastisement^ had taught to others. Such military exercises, such
lessons of the period, as he found it agreeable or convenient to apply
tO) he learned so perfectly, as to confound those who were ignorant
how often the want of constant application is compensated by vivacity
of talent and ardent enthusiasm. The lads, therefore, who were
more regularly trained to arms, to horsemanship, and to other
necessary exercises of the period, while they envied Boland Graeme
the indulgence or negligence with which he seemed to be treated,
had little reason to boast of their own superior acquirements; a few
hours, with the powerful exertion of a most energetic will, seemed
to do for him more than the regular instruction of weeks could
accomplish for others.

Under these advantages, if, indeed, they were to be termed such,
the character of young Eoland began to develope itself. It was bold,
peremptory, decisive, and overbearing; generous, if neither withstood
nor contradicted; vehement and passionate, if censured or opposed.
He seemed to consider himself as attached to no one, and responsible
to no one, except his mistress; and even over her mind he had
gradually acquired that species of ascendency which indulgence is
so apt to occasion. And although the immediate followers and
dependente of Sir Halbert Glendiming saw his ascendency with
jealousy, and often took occasion to mortify his vanity, there wanted
not those who were willing to acquire the favour of the Lady of
Avenel by humouring and taking part with the youth whom she
protected; for although a favourite, as the poet assures us, has no
friend, he seldom fails to have both followers and flatterers.

The partisans of Boland Graeme were chiefly to be found amongst
the inhabitants of the little hamlet on the shore of the lake. These
villagers, who were sometimes tempted to compare their own situa-
tion with that of the immediate and constant followers of the
Knight, who attended him on his frequent journeys to Edinburgh
and elsewhere, delighted in considering and representing themselves
aa more properly the subjects of the Lady of Avenel than of her
husband. It is true, her wisdom and affection on all occasions
discountenanced the distinction which was here implied; but the
villagers persisted in thinking it must be agreeable to her to enjoy
their peculiar and undivided homage, or at least in acting as if they
thought so; and one chief mode by which they evinced their senti-
ments, was by the respect they paid to young Eoland Graeme, the
favourite attendant of the descendant of their ancient lords. This
was a mode of flatteiy too pleasing to encounter rebuke or censure;

THE ABBOT. 41

and the opportimity which it afforded the youth to form, as it were,
a party of his own within the limits of the ancient barony of Avenel,
added not a little to the audacity and decisive tone of a character,
which was by nature bold, impetuous, and incontrollable.

Of the two members of the household who had manifested an
early jealousy of Boland Graeme, the prejudices of "Wolf were easily
overcome; and in process of time the noble dog slept with Bran,
Luath, and the celebrated hounds of ancient days. But Mr.
Warden, the chaplain, lived, and retained his dislike to the youth.
That good man, single-minded and benevolent as he really was,
entertained rather more than a reasonable idea of the respect due
to him as a minister, and exacted from the inhabitants of the castle
more deference than the haughty young page, proud of his mistress's
favour, and petulant from youth and situation, was at all times
willing to pay. His bold and free demeanour, his attachment to rich
dress and decoration, his inaptitude to receive instruction, and his
hardening himself against rebuke, were circumstances which induced
the good old man, with more haste than charity, to set the forward
page down as a vessel of wrath, and to presage that the youth nursed
that pride and haughtiness of spirit which goes before ruin and
destruction. On the other hand, Boland evinced at times a marked
dislike, and even something like contempt, of the chaplain. Most
of the attendants and followers of Sir Halbert Glendinning enter-
tained the same charitable thoughts as the reverend Mr. Warden;
but while Eoland was favoured by their lady, and endured by their
lord, they saw no policy in making their opinions public.

Boland Graeme was sufficiently sensible of the unpleasant situa-
tion in which, he stood; but in the haughtiness of his heart he
retorted upon the other domestics the distant, cold, and sarcastic
manner in which they treated him, assumed an air of superiority
which compelled the most obstinate to obedience, and had the satis-
faction at least to be dreaded, if he was heartily hated.

The chaplain's marked dislike had the effect of recommending him
to the attention of Sir Halberf s brother, Edward, who now, under
the conventual appellation of Father Ambrose, continued to be one
of the few monks who, with the Abbot Eustatius, had, notwith-
standing the nearly total downfall of their faith under the regency
of Murray, been still permitted to linger in the cloisters at Kenna-
quhair. Bespect to Sir Halbert had prevented their being altogether
(bdven out of the Abbey, though their order was now in a great
measure suppressed, and they were interdicted the public exercise
of their ritual, and only allowed for their support a smaU pension
out of their once splendid revenues. Father Ambrose, thus situ&ted^

42 THE ABBOT.

was an occasional, though veiy rare visitant, at the Castle of Avenel,
and was at such times observed to pay particular attention to
Boland Graeme, who seemed to return it with more depth of feeling
than consisted with his usual habits.

Thus situated, years glided on, during which the Knight of
Avenel continued to act a frequent and important part in the con-
vulsions of his distracted country; while young Graeme anticipated,
both in wishes and personal accomplishments, the age which should
enable him to emerge from the obscurity of his present situation.

CHAPTER IV.

Amid their cups that freely flow'd,

Their revelry and mirth,
A youthful lord tax'd Valentine

With base and doubtful birth.

Valentine and Orson,

When Boland Graeme was a youth about seventeen years of age, he
chanced one summer morning to descend to the mew in which Sir
Halbert Glendinning kept his hawks, in order to superintend the
training of an eyas, or young hawk, which he himself, at the imminent
risk of neck and limbs, had taken from a celebrated eyry in the
neighbourhood, called Gledscraig. As he was by no means satisfied
with the attention which had been bestowed on his favourite bird,
he was not slack in testifying his displeasure to the falconer's lad,
whose duty it was to have attended upon it.

" What, ho ! sir knave," exclaimed Boland, " is it thus you feed the
eyas with unwashed meat, as if you were gorging the foul brancher
of a worthless hoodie-crow? by the mass, and thou hast neglected
its castings also for these two days ! Think'st thou I ventured my
neck to bring the bird down from the crag that thou shouldst spoil
her by thy neglect 1" And to add force to his remonstrances, he
conferred a cuff or two on the negligent attendant of the hawks,
who, shouting rather louder than was necessary under all the circum-
stances, brought the master falconer to his assistance.

Adam Woodcock, the falconer of Avenel, was an Englishman by
birth, but so long in the service of Glendinning, that he had lost
much of his national attachment in that which he had formed to his
master. He was a favourite in his department, jealous and conceited
of his skill, as masters of the game usually are; for the rest of his
character, he was a jester and a parcel poet (qualities which by no
means abated his natural conceit), a jolly fellow, who, though a

THE ABBOl'. 43

Mnmd Kot«stuit, loved a flagon of ale better than a long Bermou, a
Btont man of hia tiaade when need required, true to bia master, and
a little preBoming on hia interest with hini ,

Adam Woodcock, sach aa we have described him, hy no means
relished tiie freedom used \ij young Giienie, in chastiBiiig his aaeistajit.
"Hey, bej, my Lady's page," said he, Ert«pping between his own boy
and Roland, " fair and softly, an it lite your gilt jacket^hands ofl
is foir play — if my boy has done amiss, I can beat liitn myself, and
then you may keep yonr hands soft"

" I will beat him and thee too," answered Boland, without hesita-
tion, " an ye look not better after your businesa. See how the bird
is cast away between you. I found the careless lurdane feeding her
with unwashed flesh, and she an eyas.t

" Go to," said the falconer, " thou art but an eyafl thyself, child
Boland. — What knoweat thou of feeding? I say that the eyas should
have her meat unwashed, imtil she becomes a brancher — 'twere the
ready way to give her the frounce, to wash her meat sooner, and bo
knows every one who knows a gled from a falcon."

"It is thine own laziness, thou false English blood, that dost

t TIHT4 El A dlflennoe amobgBt bathoritles hon long the natliDf b»ivk abould b« f«d
witti deih whJoli liu pnrlouJj bwo vubed.

44 THE ABBOT.

nothing but drink and sleep/' retorted the page, '^ and leaves that
lither lad to do the work, which he minds as little as thou."

" And am I so idle then," said the falconer, " that have three cast
of hawks to look after, at perch and mew, and to fly them in the
field to boot? — and is my Lady's page so busy a man that he must
take me up short? — and am I of false English blood? — ^I marvel
what blood thou art — ^neither Englander nor Scot — fish nor flesh — a
bastard from the Debateable Land, without either kith, kin, or ally! —
Marry, out upon thee, foul kite, that would fain be a tercel gentle !"

The reply to this sarcasm was a box on the ear, so well applied,
that it overthrew the falconer into the cistern in which water was
kept for the benefit of the hawks. Up started Adam "Woodcock,
his wrath nowise appeased by the cold immersion, and seizing on a
truncheon which stood by, would have soon requited the injury he
had received, had not Eonald laid his hand on his poniard, and
sworn by all that was sacred, that if he offered a stroke towards him,
he would sheath the blade in his bowels. The noise was now so
great, that more than one of the household came in, and amongst
others the major-domo, a grave personage, already mentioned, whose
gold chain and white wand intimated his authority. At the appear-
ance of this dignitary, the strife was for the present appeased. He
embraced, however, so favourable an opportunity, to read Bolsoid
Graeme a shrewd lecture on the impropriety of his deportment to his
feUow-menials, and to assure him, that, should he communicate this
fray to his master (who, though now on one of his frequent expedi-
tions, was speedily expected to return), which but for respect to his
Lady he would most certainly do, the residence of the culprit in the
Castle of Avenel would be but of brief duration. "But, however,''
added ^e prudent master of the household, "I will repcfl*t the matter
first to my Lady."

"Very just, very right. Master Wingate," exclaimed several voices
together; " my Lady will consider if daggers are to be drawn on us
for every idle word, and whether we are to live in a well ordered
household, where there is the fear of God, or amongst drawn dirks and
sharp knives."

The object of this general resentment darted an angry glance
around him, and suppressing with difficulty the desire which urged
him to reply in furious or in contemptuous language, returned his
dagger into the scabbard, looked disdainfully around upon the
assembled menials, turned short upon his heel, and pushing aside
those who stood betwixt him and the door, left the apartment.

" This wiU be no tree for my nest," said the falconer, " if this cock-
sparrow is to crow over us as he seems to do."

THE ABBOT. 46

** He struck me with his switch yesterday," said one of the grooms,
''because the tail of his worship's gelding was not trimmed altogether
so as suited his humour."

" And I promise you," said the laundress, " my young master wiU
stick nothing to call an honest woman slut and quean, if there be
but a speck of soot upon his band-collar "

"If Master "Wingate do not his errand to my Lady," was the
general result, "there will be no tarrying in the same house with
Eoland Graeme."

The master of the household heard them all for some time, and
then, motioning for universal silence, he addressed them with all the
dignity of Malvolio himself. — "My masters, — not forgetting you,
my mistresses, — do not think the worse of me that I proceed with
as much care as haste in this matter. Our master is a gallant knight,
and will have his sway at home and abroad, in wood and field, in
hall and bower, as the saying is. Our Lady, my benison upon her,
is also a noble person of long descent, and rightful heir of this place
and barony, and she also loves her will; as for that matter, show me
the woman who doth not. Now, she hath favoured, doth favour,
and will favour, this jack-an-ape, — ^for what good part about him I
know not, save that as one noble lady will love a messan dog, and
another a screaming popinjay, and a third a Barbary ape, so doth it
please our noble dame to set her aflfections upon this stray elf of a
page, for nought that I can think of, save that she was the cause of his
being saved (the more's the pity) from drowning." And here Master
Wingate made a pause.

"I would have been his caution for a grey groat, against salt water
or fresh," said Eoland's adversary, the falconer; " marry, if he crack
not a rope for stabbing or for snatching, I will be content never to
hood hawk again."

"Peace, Adam "Woodcock," said "Wingate, waving his hand; "I
prithee, peace, man — Now, my Lady, liking this springald, as afore-
said, diflfers therein from my Lord, who loves never a bone in his
skin. Now, is it for me to stir up strife betwixt them, and put as
'twere my finger betwixt the bark and the tree, on account of a
pragmatical youngster, whom, nevertheless, I would willingly see
whipped forth of the barony? Have patience, and this boil will
break without our meddling. I have been in service since I wore
a beard on my chin, till now that that beard has turned grey, and I
have seldom known any one better themselves, even by taking the
lady's part against the lord's; but never one who did not dirk him-
self, if he took the lord's against the lady's."

" And so," said Lilias, " we are to be crowed over, every one of ua^

46 THE ABBOT.

men and women, cx)ck and hen, by this little upstart? — I will try
titles with him first, I promise you. — I fancy, Master "Wingate, for
as wise as you look, you will be pleased to tell what you have seen
to-day, if my Lady commands youl"

'^ To speak the truth when my Lady commands me," answered the
prudential major-domo, ''is in some measure my duty. Mistress Lilias;
always providing for and excepting those cases in which it cannot
be spoken without breeding mischief and inconvenience to myself
or my feUow-servants; for the tongue of a tale-bearer breaketh bones
as well as a Jeddart staff."t

" But this imp of Satan is none of your friends or fellow-servants,"
said Lilias; ''and I trust you mean not to stand up for him against
the whole family besides?"

"Credit me, Mrs. Lilias," replied the senior, "should I see the
time fitting, I would with right good-will give him a lick with the
rough side of my tongue."

"Enough said. Master "Wingate," answered Lilias; "then trust
me, his song shaU soon be laid. If my mistress does not ask me
whkt is the matter below stairs before she be ten minutes of time
older, she is no bom woman, and my name is not Lilias Bradboume."

In pursuance of her plan, Mistress Lilias failed not to present
herself before her mistress with all the exterior of one who is pos-
sessed of an important secret, — that is, she had the comers of her
mouth turned down, her eyes raised up, her lips pressed as fast to-
gether as if they had been sewed up, te prevent her blabbing, and
an air of prim mystical importance diffused over her whole person
and demeanour, which seemed te intimate, "I know something
which I am resolved not to tell you !"

Lilias had rightly read her mistress's temper, who, wise and good
as she was, was yet a daughter of grandam Eve, and could not wit-
ness this mysterious bearing on the part of her waiting-woman with-
out longing to ascertain the secret cause. For a space, Mrs. Lilias
was obdurate to all inquiries, sighed, turned her eyes up higher yet
to heaven, hoped for the best, but had nothing particular to com-
municate. All this, as was most natural and proper, only stimulated
the Lady's curiosity; neither was her importunity to be parried with,
— " Thank God, I am no makebate — ^no tale-bearer, — thank Gkxi, I
never envied any one's favour, or was anxious to propale their mis-
demeanour — only, thank Grod, there has been no bloodshed and
murder in the house — ^that is aU."

"Bloodshed and murder!" exclaimed the Lady, "what does the

f A species of battle-axe, so called as being in especial use in that andent buigb, whose
Mmorial bearings still represent an armed horseman brandishing snch a weapon.

THE ABBOT. 47

quean mean? — ^if yon speak not plain out, you shall have something
you will scarce be thankful for.^

'* Nay, my Lady," answered lilias, eager to disburden her mind,
or, in Chaucer's phrase, to " imbuckle her mail," " if you bid me
speak out the truth, you must not be moved with what might dis-
please you — Boland Graeme has dirked Adam Woodcock — that is all."

" Good heaven !" said the Lady, turning pale as ashes, ** is the man
slain?"

'' No, madam," replied Lilias, '' but slain he would have been, if
there had not been ready help; but may be, it is your Ladyship's
pleasure that this young esquire shall poniard the servants, as weU as
switch and baton them."

" Gro to, minion," said the Lady, "you are saucy — tell the master
of the household to attend me instantly."

Lilias hastened to seek out Mr. Wingate, and hurry him to his
lady's presence, speaking as a word in season to him on the way,
'' I have set the stone a-trowling, look that you do not let it stand
stilL"

The steward, too prudential a person to commit himself otherwise,
answered by a sly look and a nod of intelligence, and presently after
stood in the presence of the Lady of Avenel, with a look of great
respect for his lady, partly real, partly aflFected, and an air of great
sagacity, which inferred no ordinary conceit of himself.

" How is this, Wingate," said the Lady, " and what rule do you
keep in the castle, that the domestics of Sir Halbert Glendinning
draw the dagger on each other as in a cavexn of thieves and mur-
derers? — ^is tibe wounded man much hurt? and what — what hath
become of the tmhappy boy?"

"There is no one wounded as yet, madam," replied he of the
golden chain; "it passes my poor skill to say how many may be
wounded before Pasche [Easter], if some rule be not taken with this
youth — not but the youth is a fair youth," he added, correcting
himself, '^ and able at his exercise ; but somewhat too ready with
the ends of his fingers, the butt of his riding-switch, and the point
of his dagger?"

" And whose fault is that," said the Lady, "but yours, who should
have taught him better discipline, than to brawl or to draw his
dagger?"

"If it please your Ladyship so to impose the blame on me,"
answered the steward, " it is my part, doubtless, to bear it — only I
submit to your consideration, that unless I nailed his weapon to the
scabbard, I could no more keep it still than I could fix quicksilver,
which defied even the skill of Baymond Ltillius."

48 THE ABBOT.

"Tell me not of Baymond Lullius," said the Lady, losing patience,
" but send me the chaplain hither. You grow all of you too wise
for me during your lord's long and repeated absences. I would to
Grod his affairs would permit him to remain at home and rule his
own household, for it passes my wit and skill !'*

"God forbid, my lady!" said the old domestic, "that you should
sincerely think what you are now pleased to say: your old servants
might well hope, that after so many years' duty you would do their
service more justice than to distrust their grey hairs, because they
cannot rule Hie peevish humour of a green head, which the owner
carries, it may be, a brace of inches higher than becomes him.**

" Leave me,'' said the Lady; " Sir Halbert's return must now be
expected daily, and he will look into these matters himself — cleave
me, I say, Wingate, without saying more of it. I know you are
honest, and I believe the boy is petulant; and yet I think it is my
favour which hath set all of you against him."

The steward bowed and retired, after having been silenced in a
second attempt to explain the motives on which he acted.

The chaplain arrived; but neither from him did the Lady receive
much comfort On the contrary, she found him disposed, in plain
terms, to lay to the door of her indulgence all the disturbances which
the fiery temper of Boland Graeme had already occasioned, or might
hereafter occasion, in the family. " I would," he said, " honoured
Lady, that you had deigned to be ruled by me in the outset of this
matter, sith it is easy to stem evil in the fountain, but hard to
struggle against it in the stream. Tou, honoured madam (a word
which I do not use according to the vain forms of this world, but
because I have ever loved and honoured you as an honourable and
an elect Lady,) — ^you, I say, madam, have been pleased, contrary to
my poor but earnest counsel, to raise this boy from his station into
one approaching to your own."

"What mean you, reverend sir?" said the Lady; "I have made
this youth a page — is there aught in my doing so that does not
become my character and quality?"

" I dispute not, madam," said ^the pertinacious preacher, " your
benevolent purpose in taking charge of this youth, or your title to
give him this idle character of page, if such was your pleasure;
though what the education of a boy in the train of a female can tend
to, save to engraft foppery and effeminacy on conceit and arrogance,
it passes my knowledge to discover. But I blame you more directly
for having taken little care to guard him against the perils of his
condition^ or to tame and humble a spirit naturally haughty, over-
bearing, and impatient. Tou have brought into your bower a lion's

THE ABBOT. 49

cub; delighted with the beauty of his fur, and the grace of his
gambols, you have bound him with no fetters befitting the fierceness
of his disposition. Tou have let him grow up as unawed as if he
had been still a tenant of the forest, and now you are surprised, and
call out for assistance, when he begins to ramp, rend, and tear,
according to his proper nature."

"Mr. "Warden," said the Lady, considerably offended, "you are
my husband's ancient friend, and I believe your love sincere to him
and to his household. Yet let me say, that when I asked you for
counsel, I expected not this asperity of rebuke. If I have done
wrong in loving this poor orphan lad more than others of his class,
I scarce think the error merited such severe censure; and if stricter
discipline were required to keep his fiery temper in order, it ought,
I think, to be considered, that I am a woman, and that if I have
erred in this matter, it becomes a friend's part rather to aid than to
rebuke me. I would these evils were taken order with before my
lord's return. He loves not domestic discord or domestic brawls;
and I would not willingly that he thought such could arise from one
whom I have favoured — What do you counsel me to do?"

"Dismiss this youth from your service, madam," replied the
preacher.

" You cannot bid me do so," said the Lady; " you cannot, as a
Ohnstian and a man of humanity, bid me turn away an unpro-
tected creature, against whom my favour, my injudicious favour if
you will, has reared up so many enemies."

" It is not necessary you should altogether abandon him, though
you diflmisfl him to another service, or to a calling better suiting his
station and character,* said the preacher; " elsewhere he may be an
useful and profitable member of the commonweal — ^here he is but a
makebate, and a stumbling-block of offence. The youth has snatches
of sense and of intelligence, though he lacks industry. I will myself
give him letters commendatory to Olearius Schinderhausen, a learned
professor at the famous university of Leyden, where they lack an
under- janitor — where, besides gratis instruction, if God give him the
grace to seek it, he will enjoy five merks by the year, and the pro-
feasor's cast^flf mdt, which he disparts with biennially.''

" This will never do, good Mr. Warden," said the Lady, scarce able
to suppress a smile; " we will think more at large upon this matter.
In the meanwhile, I trust to your remonstrances with this wild boy
and with the family, for restraining these violent and imseemly
jealousies and bursts of passion; and I entreat you to press on him
and them their duty in this respect towards God, and towards their
master"

1[i

60 THS ABBOT.

''You shall be obeyed, madam,'' said Warden. ''On the next
Thursday I exhort the family, and will, with Gkxi's blessing, so
wrestle with the demon of wrath and violence, which bath entered
into my little flock, that I trust to hound the wolf out of the fold as
if he were chased away with ban-<logs/'

This was the part of the conference from which Mr. Warden derived
the greatest pleasure. The pulpit was at that time the same power-
ful engine for affecting popular feeling which the press has since
become, and he had been no unsuccessful preacher, aa we have already
seen. It followed as a natural consequence, that he rather over-
estimated the powers of his own oratory, and, like some of his
brethren about the period, was ^ad of an opportunity to handle any
matters of importance, whether public or private^ the discussion of
which could be dragged into his discourse. In that rude age the
delicacy was imknown which prescribed time and place to personal
exhortations; and as the court-preacher often addressed the King
individually, and dictated to him the conduct he ought to observe
in matters of state, so the nobleman himself, or any of his retainers,
were, in the chapel of the feudal castle, often incensed or appalled,
as the case might be, by the discussion of their private faults in the
evening exercise, and by spiritual censures directed against them,
speciflcally, personally, and by name.

The sermon, by means of which Henry Warden purposed to restore
concord and good order to the Castle of Avenel, bore for text the
well-known words, " He who striketh with the sword shall perish by
the sword,^' and was a singular mixture of good sense and powerful
oratory with pedantry and bad taste. He enlarged a good deal on
the word striketh, which he assured his hearers comprehended blows
given with the point as well as with the edge, and more generally,
shooting with hand-gun, cross-bow, or long-bow, thrusting with a
lance, or doing any thing whatever by which death might be occa-
sioned to the adversary. In the same manner, he proved satisfao-
torily, that the word sword comprehended all descriptions, whether
back-sword or basket-hilt, cut-and-thrust or rapier, falchion or
scimitar. ''But if,'' he continued with still greater animation, " the
text includeth in its anathema those who strike with any of those
weapons which man hath devised for the exercise of his open hos-
tility, still more doth it comprehend such as from their form and
size are devised rather for the gratiflcation of privy malice by
treachery, than for the destruction of an enemy prepared and stand*
ing upon his defence. Such," he proceeded, looking sternly at the
place where the page was seated on a cushion at the feet of his mis-
tress, and wearing in. his crimson belt a gay dagger with a gilded

THE ABBOT. 61

hilt^ — ** such, more especially, I hold to be those implements of death,
which, in our modem and fantastic times, are worn not only by
thieyes and cut-throats, to whom they most properly belong, but
even by those who attend upon women, and wait in the chambers of
honourable ladies. Yes, my friends, — every species of this unhappy
weapon, framed for all evil and for no good, is comprehended under
this deadly denunciation, whether it be a stilet^ which we have
borrowed from the treacherous Italian, or a dirk, which is borne by
the savage Highland man, or a whinger, which is carried by our own
Border-thieves and cut-throats, or a dudgeon-dagger, all are alike
engines invented by the devil himself, for ready implements of deadly
wrath, sudden to execute, and difficult to be parried. Even the
common sword-and-buckler brawler despises the use of such a
treacherous and malignant instrument, which is therefore fit to be
used, not by men or soldiers, but by those who, trained under female
discipline, become themselves effeminate hermaphrodites, having
female spite and female cowardice added to the infirmities and evil
passions of their masculine nature."

The effect which this oration produced upon the assembled con-
gregation of Avenel cannot very easily be described. The Lady
seemed at once embarrassed and offended; the menials could hardly
contain, under an affectation of deep attention, the joy with which
they heard the chaplain launch his thunders at the head of the un-
popular favourite, and the weapon which they considered as a badge of
affectation and finery. Mrs. Lilias crested and drew up her head with
all the deep-felt pride of gratified resentment; while the steward, ob-
serving a slaict neutrality of aspect, fixed his eyes upon an old scutcheon
on the opposite side of the wall, which he seemed to examine with
the utmost accuracy, more willing, perhaps, to incur the censure of
being inattentive to the sermon, than that of seeming to listen with
marked approbation to what appeared so distasteful to his mistress.

The unfortunate subject of the harangue, whom nature had
endowed with passions which had hitherto found no effectual restraint,
could not disguise the resentment which he felt at being thus directly
held up to the scorn, as weU as the censure, of the assembled inhabi-
tants of the little world in which he lived. His brow grew red, his
lips grew pale, he set his teeth, he clenched his hand, and then with
mechanical readiness grasped the weapon of which the clergyman
had given so hideous a character; and at length, as the preacher
heightened the colouring of his invective, he felt his rage become so
ungovernable, that, feai^Eul of being hurried into some deed of des-
perate violence, he rose up, traversed the chapel with hasty steps,
and left the congregation.

52 THE ABBOT.

The preacher was surprised into a sudden pause, while the fieiy
youth ^ot across him like a flash of lightning, regarding him as he
passed, as if he had wished to dart from his eyes the same power
of blighting and of consuming. But no sooner had he crossed the
chapel, and shut with violence behind him the door of the vaulted
entrance by which it conununicated with the casfle, than the impro-
priety of his conduct supplied Warden with one of those happier
subjects for eloquence of which he knew how to take advantage for
making a suitable impression on his hearers. He paused for an
instant, and then pronounced, in a slow and solemn voice, the deep
anathema: ** He hath gone out from us because he was not of us —
the sick man hath been offended at the wholesome bitter of the
medicine — ^the wounded patient hath flinched from the friendly
knife of the surgeon — the sheep hath fled from the sheepfold and
delivered himself to the wolf, because he could not assume the quiet
and humble conduct demanded of us by the great Shepherd. Ah !
my brethren, beware of wrath — beware of pride — ^beware of the
deadly and destroying sin which so often shows itself to our frail
eyes in the garments of light ! What is our earthly honour? Pride,
and pride only — What our earthly gifts and graces? Pride and
vanity. Voyagers speak of Indian men who deck themselves with
shells, and anoint themselves with pigments, and boast of their attire
as we do of our miserable carnal advantages — ^Pride could draw
down the morning-star from Heaven even to the verge of the pit —
Pride and self-opinion kindled the flaming sword which waves us
off from Paradise — Pride made Adam mortal, and a weary wanderer
on the face of the earth, which he had else been at this day the
immortal lord of — Pride brought amongst us sin, and doubles every
sin it has brought. It is the outpost which the devil and the flesh
most stubbornly maintain against the assaiQts of grace; and until it
be subdued, and its barriers levelled with the very earth, there is
more hope of a fool than of the sinner. Bend, then, from your
bosoms this accursed shoot of the fatal apple; tear it up by the roots,
though it be twisted with the chords of your life. Profit by the
example of the miserable sinner that has passed from us, and
embrace the means of grace while it is called to-day — ere your con-
science is seared as with a firebrand, and your ears deafened like
those of the adder, and your heart hardened like the nether mill-stone.
Up, then, and be doing— wrestie and overcome; resist, and the enemy
shall flee from you — ^Watch and pray, lest ye faU into temptation,
and let the stumbling of others be your warning and your example.
Above all, rely not on yourselves, for such self-confldence is even the
worst symptom of the disorder itself. The Pharisee perhaps deemed

THE ABBOT. 53

himself humble whfle he stooped in the Temple, and thanked God
that he was not as other men, and even as the publican. But while
his knees touched the marble pavement, his head was as high as the
topmost pinnacle of the Temple. Do not, therefore, deceive your-
selves, and ofifer false coin, where the purest you can present is but as
dross — ^think not that such will pass the assay of Qnmipotent Wisdom.
Yet shrink not from the task, because, as is my bounden duty, I do
not disguise from you its difficulties. Self -searching can do much —
Meditation can do much — Grace can do all.''

And he concluded with a touching and animating exhortation to
his hearers to seek divine grace, which is perfected in human
weakness.

The audience did not listen to this address without being consider^
ably affected; though it might be doubted whether the feelings of
triumph, excited by the disgraceful retreat of the favourite page, did
not greatly qualify in the minds of many the exhortations of the
preacher to charity and to humility. And, in fact, the expression
of their countenances much resembled the satisfied, triumphant air
of a set of children, who, having just seen a companion punished for
a fault in which they had no share, con their task with double glee,
both because they themselves are out of the scrape, and because the
culprit is in it.

With very dififerent feelings did the Lady of Avenel seek her own
apartment. She felt angry at Warden having made a domestic
matter, in which she took a personal interest, the subject of such
public discussion. But this she knew the good man claimed as a
branch of his Christian liberty as a preacher, and also that it was
vindicated by the universal custom of his brethren. But the self-
willed conduct of her prot6g6 afforded her yet deeper concern.
That he had l»x>ken through, in so remarkable a degree, not only
the respect due to her presence, but that which was paid to religious
admonition in those days with such peculiar reverence, argued a
spirit as untamable as his enemies had represented him to possess.
And yet, so far as he had been under her own eye, she had seen no
more of that fiery spirit than appeared to her to become his yeass
and his vivacity. This opinion might be founded in some degree on
partiality; in some degree, too, it might be owing to the kindness
and indulgence which she had always extended to him; but still she
thought it impossible that she could be totally mistaken in the
estimate she had formed of his character. The extreme of violence
is scarce consistent with a course of continued hypocrisy (although
Xdlias charitably hinted that in some instances they were happily
united), and therefore she could not exactly trust the report of others

54 THE ABBOT.

against her own experience and observation. The thoughts of this
orphan boy dung to her heart-strings with a fondness for which she
herself was unable to account. He seemed to have been sent to
her by Heaven, to fill up those intervals of langaor and vacuity
which deprived her of much enjoyment. Perhaps he was not less
dear to her, because she well saw that he was a favourite with no
one else, and because she felt that to give him up was to afford the
judgment of her husband and others a triumph over her own; a
circumstance not quite indifferent to the best of spouses of either sex.
In short, the Lady of Avenel formed the internal resolution, that
she would not desert her page while her page could be rationally
protected; and, with the view of ascertaining how far this might be
done, she caused him to be summoned to her presence.

CHAPTEE V.

In the wild storm,

The seaman hews his mast down, and the merchant

Heaves to the billows wares he once deem*d precious;

So prince and peer, 'mid popular contentions.

Cast off their favourites. Old Play,

It was some time ere Boland Graeme appeared. The messenger (his
old friend lilias) had at first attempted to open the door of his little
apartment with the charitable purpose, doubtless, of enjoying the
confusion, and marking the demeanour, of the culprit. But an oblong
bit of iron, yclept a bolt, was passed across the door on the inside,
and prevented her benign intentions. Lilias knocked, and called
at intervals, ** Itoland — ^Boland Graeme — Master Boland Graeme," (an
emphasis on the word Master,) ''will you be pleased to imdo the
doorl What ails you? — are you at your prayers in private, to com-
plete the devotion which you left unfinished in public? — Surely we
must have a screened seat for you in the chapel, that your gentility
may be free from the eyes of common folks !" Still no whisper was
heard in reply. " Well, Master Boland,'' said the waiting-maid, " I
must tell my mistress, that if she would have an answer, she must
either come herself, or send those on errand to you who can beat the
door down."

" What says your Ladyl** answered the page from within.

'' Marry, open the door, and you shall hear," answered the wait-
ing-maid. '' I trow it becomes my Lady's message to be listened to
face to face ; and I will not, for your idle pleasure, whistle it through
a key-hole."

"Tour mistrean^ name," wid the page, opening the door, "ia too
fair A cover for your impertiaenoe — ^Wh»t aaja my Ladyl"

'"BitX yoa will be pleaoed to cotne to her directly, in the with-
drawing-room," uuweied liliaa. " I preaume ahe has some direo-
tions for you oouoenung the fonoa to be observed in leaving ohapel

" S&y to nif lAdy, th&t I will directly wait on her," answered the
page; and, retorning into his apartment, he once more looked
the door in the face
of the waitjng-maid*

"Bare ootute^I"
mattered Liliaa; uid,
returning to her mia-
treaa, acquainted her 9
that Boland Qneme ^
would wait on her |
when it suited hia S

"Whatl is that hia 1
phraae, or your (
addition, Lilias!" aaid
the Ladf , coolly.

" Nay, madam,"
plied the attendant, i
not directly answer- |
ing the queetioii, " ~
looked aa if he could
have aaid much more
impertinent thinga
than that, if I had
been willing to hear
them. — But here he
comes to answer for
himself."

lioland Orseme entered the apartment with a loftier mien, and
somewhat a higher colour, tiian bis wont; there was embarraasment
in his manner, but it was neither that of fear nor of penitence.

"Young man," said the Uidy, "what trow you I am to think of
your conduct this day]"

"If it has offended you, madam, I am deeply grieved," said Ihe

" To haTe offended me alone," repUed the Lady, " were but littJe
—Yon have been guilty of conduct which will highly offend your

66 THE ABBOT.

master — of violence to your fellow-servants, and of disrespect to God
Himself, in the person of his ambassadcn:."

"Permit me again to reply," said the page, "that if I have
offended my oni;S.eas. frie;d, and bene^as, it includes ti^e
sum of my guilt, and deserves the sum of my penitence — Sir Halbert
Glenduming calls me not servant, nor do I call him master — ^he is
not entitled to blame me for chastising an iosolent groom—nor do
I fear the wrath of Heaven for treating with scorn the unauthorized
interference of a meddling preacher.''

The Lady of Avenel had before this seen symptoms in her favourite
of boyish petulance, and of impatience of censure or reproof. But
his present demeanour was of a graver and more determined char-
acter, and she was for a moment at a loss how she should treat the
youth, who seemed to have at once assumed the character not only
of a man, but of a bold and determined one. She paused an instant,
and then assuming the dignity which was natural to her, she said,
"Is it to me, Eoland, that you hold this language 1 Is it for the
purpose of making me repent the favour I have shown you, that yon
declare yourself independent, both of an earthly and a Heavenly
master? Have you forgotten what you were, and to what the loss
of my protection would speedily again reduce you?"

" Lady," said the page, " I have forgot nothing; I remember but
too much. I know, that but for you, I should have perished in yon
blue waves," pointing, as he spoke, to the lake, which was seen
through the window, agitated by the western wind. " Your good-
ness has gone farther, madam — ^you have protected me against the
malice of others, and against my own folly. You are free, if you
are willing, to abandon the orphan you have reared. You have left
nothing undone by him, and he complains of nothing. And yet.
Lady, do not think I have been ungrateful — I have endured some-
thing on my part, which I would have borne for the sake of no one
but my benefactress."

"For my sake!" said the Lady; "and what is it that I can have
subjected you to endure, which can be remembered with other feel-
ings than those of thanks and gratitude?"

"You are too just, madam, to require me to be thankful for the cold
neglect with which your husband has uniformly treated me — neglect
not unmingled with fixed aversion. You are too just, madam, to
require me to be grateful for the constant and imceasing marks of
scorn and malevolence with which I have been treated by others,
or for such a homily as that with which your reverend chaplain has,
at my expense, this very day regaled the assembled household."

"Heard mortal ears the like of this!" said the waiting-maid, with

THE ABBOT. 57

her hands expanded, and her eyes tamed up to heaven; ''he speaks
as if he were son of an earl, or of a belted knight the least penny!"

The page glanced on her a look of supreme contempt, but vouch-
safed no other answer. His mistress, who began to feel herself
seriously offended, aud yet sorry for the youth's folly, took up the
same tone.

'' Indeed, Boland, you forget yourself so strangely," said she, " that
you will tempt me to take serious measures to lower you in your
own opinion by reducing you to your proper station in society."

^' And that," added Lilias, '' would be best done by turning him
out the same beggar's brat that your ladyship took him in."

''lilias speaks too rudely," continued the Lady, "but she has
spoken the truth, young man; nor do I think I ought to spare that
pride which hath so completely turned your head. You have been
tricked up with fine garments, and treated like the son of a gentle-
man, until you have forgot the fountain of your churlish blood."

" Graving your pardon, most honourable madam, Lilias hath not
spoken truth, nor does your ladyship know aught of my descent,
which should entitle you to treat it with such decided scorn. I am
no beggar's brat — ^my grandmother begged from no one, here nor
elsewhere — she would have perished sooner on the bare moor. We
were harried out and driven from our home — a chance which has
happed elsewhere, and to others. Avenel Castle, with its lake and
its towers, was not at all times able to protect its inhabitants from
want and desolation."

"Hear but his assurance!" said Lilias, "he upbraids my Lady
with the distresses of her family!"

" It had indeed been a theme more gratefully spared," said the
Lady, affected nevertheless by the allusion.

"It was necessary, madam, for my vindication," said the page,
"or I had not even hinted at a word that might give you pain.
But believe, honoured Lady, I am of no churl's blood. My proper
descent I know not; but my only relation has said, and my heart
has echoed it back and attested the truth, that I am sprung of gentle
blood, and deserve gentle usage."

" And upon an assurance so vague as this," said the Lady, "do you
propose to expect all the regard, all the privileges, befitting high
rank and distinguished birth, and become a contender for conces-
sions which are only due to the noble 1 Go to, sir, know yourself,
or the master of the household shall make you know you are liable
to the scourge as a malapert boy. Tou have tasted too little the
discipline fit for your age and station."

" The master of the household shall taste of my dagger, er^ \\;ai&\j^

58 THE ABBOT.

of his discipline," said the pa^) giving way to his restrained passion.
'' Lady, I have been too long the vassal of a pantonfle, and the slave
of a silver whistle. You must henceforth find some other to answer
yonr call; and let him be of birth and spirit mean eiiioogh to brook
the scorn of your menials, and to call a church vassal his master.''

^'I have deserved this insult/' said the Lady, colouring deeply,
''for so long enduring and fostering your petulance. Begone, sir.
Leave this castle to-night — I will send you the means of subsistence
till you find some honest mode of support, though I fear your
imaginary grandeur will be above all others, save those of rapine and
violence. Begone, sir, and see my face no more."

The page threw himself at her feet in an agony of sorrow. '' My
dear and honoured mistress " — ^he said, but was unable to bring out
another syllable.

''Arise, sir," said the Lady, "and let go my mantle — ^hypocrisy is
a poor doak for ingratitude."

"I am incapable of either, madam," said the page, springing up
with the hasty start of passion which belonged to his rapid and
impetuous temper. " Think not I meant to implore permission to
reside here; it has been long my determination to leave Avenel, and
I will never forgive myself for having permitted yon to say the
word begonSy ere I said, ' I leave you.' I did but kneel to ask your
forgiveness for an ill-considered word used in the height of dis-
pleasure, but which ill became my mouth, as addressed to you.
Other grace I asked not — ^you have done much for me — ^but I repeat,
that you better know what you yourself have done, than what I
have suffered."

"Boland," said the Lady, somewhat appeased, and relenting
towards her favourite, "you had me to appeal to when you were
aggrieved. You were neither called upon to suffer wrong, nor
entitled to resent it, when you were under my protection."

" And what," said the youth, " if I sustained wrong from those
you loved and favoured, was I to disturb your peace with idle tale-
bearings and eternal complaints? No, madam; I have borne my
own burden in silence, and without disturbing you with murmurs;
and the respect which you accuse me of wanting, furnishes the only
reason why I have neitiier appealed to you, nor taken vengeance at
my own hand in a manner far more effectual. It is well, however,
that we part. I was not bom to be a stipendiary, favoured by his
mistress, until ruined by the calumnies of others. May Heaven
multiply its choicest blessings on your honoured head; and, for your
sake, upon all that are dear to youl"

jffe was SkboMt U> leave the apartment, when the Lady called upon

THE ABBOT. 59

him to retnm. He stood still, while she thus addressed him: ''It
was not my intentioii, nor would it be just, even in the height of my
displeasure, to dismiss you without the means of support; take this
purse of gold."

^ Forgive me, Lady,'' said the boy, ''and let me go hence with the
consciousness that I have not been degraded to the point of accept-
ing alms. If my poor services can be placed against the expense of
my apparel and my maintenance, I only remain debtor to you for
my life, and that alone is a debt which I can never repay; put up
then that purse, and only say, instead, that you do not part from me
in anger."

"No, not in anger," said the Lady, "in sorrow rather for your
wilfulness; but take the gold, you cannot but need it."

" May God evermore bless you for the kind tone and the kind
word! but the gold I cannot take. I am able of body, and do not
lack friends so wholly as you may think; for the time may come
that I may yet show myself more thankful than by mere words."
He threw himself on his knees, kissed the hand which she did not
withdraw, and then hastily left the apartment.

Lilias, for a moment or two, kept her eye fixed on her mistress,
who looked so unusually pale, that she seemed about to faint; but
the Lady instantly recovered herself, and declining the assistance
which her attendant offered her, walked to her own apartment

CHAPTEE VI.

Thou hast each secret of the household, Francig.
I dare be sworn thou hast been in the buttery
Steeping thy curious humour in fat ale,
And in the butler's tattle — ay, or chatting
With the glib waiting- woman o*er her comfits —
These bear the key to each domestic mystery.

OU Play.

Upon the morrow succeeding the scene we have described, the dis-
graced favourite left the castle; and at breakfast-time the cautious
old steward and Mrs. Lilias sat in the apartment of the latter person-
age, holding grave converse on the important event of the day,
sweetened by a small treat of comfits, to which the providence of
Mr. Wingate had added a little flask of racy canary.

^ He is gone at last," said the abigail, sipping her glass; '^ and here
is to his good journey."

60 THE ABBOT.

^' Amen," answered the steward, gravely; ^I wish the poor deserted
ladnoilL"

" And he is gone like a wild-duck, as he came," continiied Mrs.
lilias; ''no lowering of drawbridges, or pacing along caDseways,
for him. My master has pushed off in the boat whidi they call ^e
little Herod (more shame to them for giving the name of a Ghiich
tian to wood and iron), and has rowed himself by liimaAlf to the
farther side of the loch, and off and away with himself, and left all
his finery strewed about his room. I wonder who is to dean his
trumpery out after him — ^though the things are worth lifting,
too."

'' Doubtless, Mistress Lilias,'' answered the master of the household;
'' in the which case, I am free to think, they will not long cumber
the floor."

''And now tell me, Master Wingate,'' continued the damsel, "do
not the very cockles of your heart rejoice at the house being rid of
this upstart whelp, that flimg us all into shadowl"

" Why, Mistress Lilias," replied Wingate, " as to rejoicing — ^thoee
who have lived as long in great families as has been my lot, will be
in no hurry to rejoice at any thing. And for Boland Graeme, though
he may be a good riddance in the main, yet what says the very
sooth proverb, ' Seldom comes a better.' "

"Seldom comes a better, indeed!" echoed Mrs. Lilias. - "I say,
never can come a worse, or one half so bad. He might have be^
the ruin of our poor dear mistress " (here she used her kerchieQ,
"body and soul, and estate too; for she spent more coin on his
apparel than on any four servants about the house."

"Mistress Lilias," said the sage steward, "I do opine that our
mistress requireth not this pity at your hands, being in all respects
competent to take care of her own body, soul, and estate into the
bargain."

" You would not mayhap have said so," answered the waiting-
woman, " had you seen how like Lofs wife she looked when young
master took his leave. My mistress is a good lady, and a virtuous,
and a well-doing lady, and a well-spoken of — ^but I would not Sir
Halbert had seen her last evening for two and a plack."

"Oh, foy! foy! foy!" reiterated the steward; "servants should
hear and see, and say nothing. Besides that, my Lady is utterly
devoted to Sir Halbert, as well she may, being, as he is, the most
renowned knight in these parts."

" Well, well," said the abigail, " I mean no more harm; but they
that seek least renown abroad, are most apt to find quiet at home,
that's all; and my Lady's lonesome situation is to be considered, that

THE ABBOT. 61

made her ^lin to take up with the first beggar's brat that a dog
brought her out of the loch/'

" And therefore,** said the steward, " I say, rejoice not too much,
or too hastily. Mistress Lilias; for if your Lady wished a favourite to
pass away the time^ depend upon it, the time will not pass lighter
now that he is gone. So she will have another favourite to choose,
for herself, and be assured, if she wishes such a toy^ she will not lack
one.**

** And where should she choose one, but among her own tried and
faithful servants," said Mrs. Lilias, "who have broken her bread,
and drunk her drink, for so many years? I have known many a lady
as high as she, that never thought either of a friend or favourite
beyond their own waiting- woman — ^always having a proper respect,
at the same time, for their old and faithful master of the household.
Master Wingate.'*

" Truly, Mistress LOias," replied the steward, " I do partly see
the mark at which you shoot, but I doubt your bolt wiU fall short.
Matters being with our Lady as it likes you to suppose, it will neither
be your crimped pinners, Mrs. Lilias (speaking of them with due
respect), nor my silver hair, or golden chain, that will fill up the void
which Eoland Graeme must needs leave in our Lady's leisure. There
will be a learned young divine with some new doctrine — a learned
leech with some new drug — ^a bold cavalier, who will not be refused
the favour of wearing her colours at a running at the ring — a cun-
ning harper that could harp the heart out of woman's breast, as they
say Signer David Bizzio did to our poor Queen; — ^these are the sort
of folk who supply the loss of a well-favoured favourite, and not an
old steward, or a middle-aged waiting-woman."

"WeU," replied Lilias, "you have experience. Master Wingate,
and truly I would my master would leave off his pricking hither and
thither, and look better after the affairs of his household. There
WiU be a papistrie among us next, for what should I see among
master's clothes but a string of gold beads? I promise you, aves and
credos both! — I seized on them like a falcon."

"I doubt it not, I doubt it not," said the steward, sagaciously
nodding his head; ^I have often noticed that the boy had strange
observances which savoured of popery, and that he was very jealous
to conceal them. But you will find the Catholic under the Presby-
terian doak as often as the knave under the friar's hood — what
then? we are all mortal. — Bight proper beads they are," he added,
looking attentively at them, " and may weigh four ounces of fine gold."

"And I will have them melted down presently," she said, "before
they be the misguiding of some poor blinded soul."

62 THE ABBOT.

" Very cautions, indeed, MistreBS lilias," said the stei^ard, nodding
his head in assent.

'^ I will have them made," said Mrs. LUias, ** into a pair of shoe-
buckles; I would not wear the Pope's trinkets, or whatever has once
borne the shape of them, one inch above my instep, were they
jdiamonds instead of gold. — ^But this is what has come of Father
Ambrose coming about the castle, as deminre as a cat that is about
to steal cream.''

'' Father Ambrose is our master's brother," said the steward,
gravely.

<< Very true. Master Wingate," replied the dame; ''but is that a
good reason why he should pervert the King's liege subjects to
papistriel"

'' Heaven forbid, Mistress Lilias," answered the sententious major-
domo; " but yet there are worse folk than the Papists."

" I wonder where they are to be found," said the waiting-woman,
with some asperity; ** but I b^eve. Master Wingate, if one were to
speak to you about the devil himself, you would say there were worse
people than Satan."

''Assuredly I might say so," rej^ed the steward, "supposing that
I saw Satan standing at my elbow."

The waiting-woman started, and having exclaimed, "God bless
us!" added, "I wonder, Master Wingate, you can take pleasure in
frightening one thus."

"Nay, Mistress Lilias, I had no such purpose," was the reply;
" but look you here — ^the Papists are put down for the present, but
who knows how long this word present will lastl There are two great
popish earls in the north of England, that abominate the veiy word
reformation; I mean the Northumberland and Westmoreland Earls,
men of power enough to shake any throne in Christendom. Then,
though our Scottish king be, Gkxi bless him, a true Protestant, yet
he is but a boy; and here is his mother that was our queen — I trust
there is no harm to say God bless her too — ^and she is a Catholic; and
many begin to think she has had but hard measure, such as the Hamil-
tons in the west, and some of our Border dans here, and the Gordons
in the north, who are all wishing to see a new world; and if such a
new world should chance to come up, it is like that the Queen wiU
take back her own crown, and that the mass and the cross will come
up, and then down go pulpits, Geneva gowns, and black silk skull-
caps."

" And have you, Master Jasper Wingate, who have heard the word,
and listened unto pure and precious Mr. Henry Warden, have you,
I say, the patience to speak, or but to think, of popery coming down

THE ABBOT. 63

<Hi nB like a etana, or of the woduu Maiy again nmlring the royal
aeat of Scotland a thione of abominatioii) No ntarvel that you are
BO dvil to the cowled monk, Father Ambroae, when he comee hither
with hie downcast ejea that he nerar laiaw to my Lady's face, and
with his low swae^toned voice, and hia benedidtea, and hia beniscme;
and who bo ready to take them kindly as Master Wingatol"

" Miatreaa Lliiaa," replied the butler, with an air which was intended
to doee the debate, " there are reaaons for all things. If I received
Father Ambrose debonairly,
and BofTered him to ateal
a word now and then with
tjiie same Boland Gneme,
it was not that I cared a
brass bodle for hie benison
or malison either, but only
becaoae I respected my maa-
ter's blood. And who can
answer, if Alary come in
again, whether he may not j
be aa atont a tree to lean '
to as ever his brother hath {
proved to ual For down
goes the Earl of Murray ,
when the Queen comes hy .
her own again; and good is
his luck if he can keep the
head on his own shoulders.
And down goes our Enigbt,
yrilh the Earl, his patron;
and who so like to mount into his empty saddle as this same Father
Ambrose 1 The Pope of Borne can soon dispense with his vows,
and then we should have Sir Edward the soldier, instead of Ambrose
the piest."

Anger and astonishment kept Mrs. Lilias silent, while her old
friend, in hia self-complaoent manner, was makiDg known to her his
political apecolations. At length her reeentment found utterance in
words of great ire and scorn. "What, Master Wingatel have yon
eaten my mistress's bread, to say nothing of my master's, so many
years, that you eould live to think of her being dispossessed of her
own Castle of Avenel, by a wretched monk, who is not a drop^B blood
to her in the way of relation! I, that am but a woman, would try
first whether my rock ot his cowl were the better metaL Shame on
yon, Master Wing&te 1 If I had sot held you aa bo old an itx^oMxiir-

64 THE ABBOT.

ance, this ahould have gone to my Lady's ears, thoogli I liad been
called pickthank and tale-pyet for my painsy as when I told of Boland
Graeme shooting the wild swan."

Master Wingate was somewhat dismayed at perceiving that the
detail which he had given of his far-sighted political views had pro-
duced on his hearer rather suspicion of his fidelity than admiration
of his wisdom, and endeavoured, as hastily as possible, to apologise
and to explain, although internally extremely offended at the un-
reasonable view, as he deemed it, which it had pleased Mistress Lilias
BradboTime to take of his expressions; and mentally convinced, that
her disapprobation of his sentiments arose solely out of the consider-
ation, that though Father Ambrose, supposing him to become the
master of the castle, would certainly require the services of a steward,
yet those of a waiting- woman would, in the supposed circumstances,
be altogether superfluous.

After his explanation had been received as explanations usually
are, the two friends separated; Lilias to attend the silver whistle
which called her to her mistress's chamber, and the sapient major-
domo to the duties of his own department. They parted with less
than their usual degree of reverence and regard; for the steward felt
that his worldly wisdom was rebuked by the more disinterested
attachment of the waiting-woman, and Mistress Lilias Bradboume
was compelled to consider her old friend as something little better
than a time-server.

CHAPTEE VIL

When I hae a saxpence under my thumb,
Then I get credit in ilka town;
But when I am puir, they bid me gae by —
Oh, poverty piirts good company 1

Old Song.

While the departure of the page afforded subject for the conversa-
tion which we have detailed in our last chapter, the late favourite
was far advanced on his solitary journey, without well knowing what
was its object, or what was likely to be its end. He had rowed the
skiff in which he left the castle to the side of the lake most dis-
tant from the village, with the desire of escaping from the notice of
the inhabitants. His pride whispered, that he would be, in his dis-
carded state, only the subject of their wonder and compassion; and
his generosity told him, that any mark of sympathy which his situa-
tion should excite, might be unfavourably reported at the castle. A
trifling incident convinced him he had little to fear for his friends

THE ABBOT. 66

on the latter score. He was met by a young man some years older
than himself, who had on former occasions been but too happy to
be permitted to share in his sports in the subordinate character of
his assistant. Balph Eisher approached to greet him, with all the
alacrity of an hxmible friend.

*' What, Master Boland, abroad on this side, and without either
hawk or hound?"

" Hawk or hound,*' said Boland, " I will never perhaps hollo to
again. I have been dismissed — that is, I have left the castle.**

Balph was surprised. '* What ! you are to pass into the Knight's
service, and take the black jack and the lance I**

** Indeed,** replied Boland Graeme, " I am not — I am now leaving
the service of Avenel for ever."

^ And whither are you going, theni** said the yoimg peasant.

" Nay, that is a question which it craves time to answer — I have
that matter to determine yet," replied the disgraced favourite.

" Nay, nay," said Balph, " I warrant yon it is the same to you
which way you go — ^my Lady would not dismiss you till she had put
some lining into the pouches of your doublet."

''Sordid slave!" said Boland Graeme, ''dost thou think I would
have accepted a boon from one who was giving me over a prey to
detraction and to ruin, at the instigation of a canting priest and a
meddling serving- woman? The bread that I had bought with such
an alms would have choked me at the first mouthful."

Balph looked at his quondam friend with an air of wonder not
unmixed with contempt. " Well," he said at length, " no occasion
for passion — each man knows his own stomach best — but, were I on
a black moor at this time of day, not knowing whither I was going,
I should be glad to have a broad piece or two in my pouch, come by
them as I could. — ^But perhaps you will go with me to my father's —
that is, for a night, for to-morrow we expect my imde Menelaus and
all his folk; but, as I said, for one night ^"

The cold-blooded limitation of the offered shelter to one night only,
and that tendered most unwillingly, offended the pride of the dis-
carded favourite.

" I would rather sleep on the fresh heather, as I have done many
a night on less occasion," said Boland Graeme, " than in the smoky
garret of your father, that smells of peat-smoke and usquebaugh like
a highlander's plaid."

" You may choose, my master, if you are so nice," replied Balph
Fisher; "you may be glad to smell a peat-fire, and usquebaugh too,
if you journey long in the fashion you propose. You might have said
God-a-mercy for your proffer, though — it is not every ona nhSl \w&

ee THE ABBOT.

themselves in the way of ill-will by harbouring a discarded serving-
man."

"Ealph," said Roland Graeme, " I would pray yon to remember that
I have switched yon before now, and this is j^e same riding-wand
which you have tasted."

Ealph, who was a thickset clownish figure, arrived at his fiiU
strength^ and conscious of the most complete personal superiority,
laughed contemptuously at the threats of the slight-made strip-
ling.

''It may be the same wand," he said, ''but not the same hand;
and that is as good rhyme as if it were in a ballad. Look you, my
Lady's page that was, when your switch was up, it was no fear of
you, but of your betters, that kept mine down — and I wot not what
hinders me from clearing old scores with this hazel rung, and show-
ing you it was your Lady's livery-coat which I spared, and not your
flesh and blood. Master Boland."

In the midst of his rage, Boland Grseme was just wise enough to
see, that by continuing this altercation, he would subject himself to
very rude treatment from the boor, who was so much older and
stronger than himself; and while his antagonist, with a sort of
jeering laugh of defiance, seemed to provoke the contest, he felt the
full bitterness of his own degraded condition, and burst into a
passion of tears, which he in vain endeavoxured to conceal with both
his hands.

Even the rough churl was moved with the distress of his quondam
companion.

" Nay, Master Boland," he said, " I did but as 'twere jest with
thee — I would not harm thee, man, were it but for old acquaintance
sake. But ever look to a man's inches ere you talk of switching —
why, thine arm, man, is but like a spindle compared to mine. — ^But
hark, I hear old Adam Woodcock holloing to his hawk — Come along,
man, we will have a merry afternoon, and go jollily to my father's,
in spite of the peat-smoke and usquebaugh to boot. Maybe we may
put you into some honest way of winning your bread, though if s
hard to come by in these broken times."

The unfortunate page made no answer, nor did he withdraw his
hands from his face, and Fisher continued in what he imagined a
suitable tone of comfort

"Why, man, when you were my Lady's minion, men held you
proud, and some thought you a Papist, and I wot not what; and so,
now that you have no one to bear you out, you must be companion-
able and hearty, and wait on the minister's examinations, and put
these things out of folk's head; and if he says you are in fault, you

THE ABBOT. 97

most jook jour head to the stream; and if a gentJeinan, or a gentle-
man's gentleman, give you a rough word, or a light blow, you mnat
only Bay, thank jon for dusting my doublet, or the like, aa I bare
done by you.— But hark to Woodcook'a whistle again. Come, aad I
vill teach you all the trick on't as we go on,"

" I thank you," said Boland Greeme, endeavonring to assume to
air of indifference and of superiority; "but I bave another path
before nw, and were it otherwise, I could not tread in youra."

A ,-?■

"Very true, Master Boland," replied the clown; "and every man
knows hia own matters beet, and so I will not keep you from the
path, as you say. Give ua a grip of your hand, man, for auld lang
syne. — What! not clap palms ere we parti — well, so be it — a wilful
man will have tiis way, and so, farewell, and the blessing of the
morning to you."

"Good-morrow-'good-morrow," said Boland hastily; and the
clown walked lif^tly off, whistling M he went, and ^lad, K^'guvE^ )

68 THE ABBOT.

to be rid of an acquaintance, whose claims might be troublesome,
and who had no longer the means to be serviceable to^ihim.

Eoland Graeme compelled himself to walk on while they were
within sight of each other, that his former intimate might not angur
any vacillation of purpose, or uncertainty of object, from his re-
maining on the same spot; but the effort was a painful one. He
seemed stunned, as it were, and giddy; the earth on which he stood
felt as if unsound, and quaking under his feet like the surface of a
bog; and he had once or twice nearly fallen, though the path he
trode was of firm greensward. He kept resolutely moving forward,
in spite of the internal agitation to which these symptoms belonged,
until the distant form of his acquaintance disappeared behind the
slope of a hill, when his heart failed at once; and, sitting down
on the turf, remote from human ken, he gave way to the natural
expressions of wounded pride, grief, and fear, and wept with
unrestrained profusion and unqualified bitterness.

When the first violent paroxysm of his feelings had subsided, the
deserted and friendless youth felt that mental relief which usually
follows such discharges of sorrow. The tears continued to chase
each other down his cheeks, but they were no longer accompanied
by the same sense of desolation; an afflicting yet milder sentiment
was awakened in his mind, by the recollection of his benefactress
of the unwearied kindness which had attached her to him, in spite
of many acts of provoking petulance — ^now recollected as offences
of a deep dye— which had protected him against the machinations of
others, as well as against the consequences of his own folly, and
would have continued to do so, had not the excess of his presump-
tion compelled her to withdraw her protection.

" Whatever indignity I have borne,*' he said, " has been the just
reward of my own ingratitude. And have I done well to accept
the hospitality, the more than maternal kindness, of my protectress,
yet to detain from her the knowledge of my religion? — but she shall
know that a Catholic has as much gratitude as a Puritan — ^that I
have been thoughtless, but not wicked — th&t in my wildest moments
I have loved, respected, and honoured her — and that the orphan boy
might indeed be heedless, but was never ungrateful!"

He turned, as these thoughts passed through his mind, and began
hastily to retread his footsteps towards the castle. But he checked
the first eagerness of his repentant haste, when he reflected on the
scorn and contempt with which the family were likely to see the return
of the fugitive; humbled, as they must necessarily suppose him, into
a supplicant, who requested pardon for his fault, and permission to
return to his service. He slackened his pace, but he stood not stilL

THE ABBOT. 69

"I care not/' he resolutely determined; "let them wink, point,
nod, sneer, speak of the conceit which is humbled, of the pride which
has had a fall — I care not; it is a penance due to my folly, and I
will endure it with patience. But if she also, my benefactress, if she
also should think me sordid and weak-spirited enough to beg, not
for her pardon alone, but for a renewal of the advantages which
I derived from her favour — her suspicion of my meanness I cannot
— I wiU not brook."

He stood still, and his pride, rallying with constitutional obsti-
nacy against his more just feeling, urged that he would incur the
scorn of the Lady of Avenel, rather than obtain her favour, by
following the course which the first ardour of his repentant feelings
had dictated to him.

"If I had but some plausible pretext," he thought, "some osten-
sible reason for my return, some excuse to allege which might show
I came not as a degraded supplicant, or a discarded menial, I might
go thither — but as I am, I cannot — ^my heart would leap from its
place and burst."

As these thoughts swept through his mind, something passed in
the air so near him as to dazzle his eyes, and almost to brush the
plume in his cap. He looked up— it was the favourite falcon of
Sir Halbert, which, flying around his head, seemed to claim his
attention, as that of a well-known friend. Boland extended his
arm, and gave the accustomed whoop, and the falcon instantly
settled on his wrist, and began to prune itself, glancing at the youth
from time to time an acute and brilliant beam of its hazel eye, which
seemed to ask why he caressed it not with his usual fondness.

"Ah, Diamond!" he said, as if the bird understood him, "thou
and I must be strangers henceforward. Many a gallant stoop have
I seen thee make, and many a brave heron strike down; but that is
all gone and over, and there is no hawking more for me!"

"And why not. Master Roland," said Adam "Woodcock the falconer,
who came at that instant from behind a few alder bushes which had
concealed him from view, "why should there be no more hawking for
you? Why, man, what were our life without our sports? — ^thou knoVst
the jolly old song —

'And rather would Allan in dungeon lie,
Than live at large where the falcon cannot fly;
And Allan would rather lie in Sexton's pound,
Than live where he followed not the merry hawk and hound/"

The voice of the falconer was hearty and friendly, and the tone in
which he half-sung, half-recited his rude belieud) im'^'^i^^ Yisn^i^

70 THE ABBOT.

frankness and cordiality. But remembrance of their quarrel, and its
consequences, embarrassed Boland, and prevented bis reply. The
falconer saw his hesitation, and guessed the cause.

'' What now/' said he, " Master Boland? do you, who are half an
Finglishman, think that I, who am a whole one, would keep up anger
against you, and you in distress? That were like some of the Scots
(my master's reverence always excepted), who can be fair and false,
and wait their time, and keep their mind, as they say, to themselves,
and touch pot and flagon with you, and hunt and hawk with you,
and, after all, when time serves, pay off some old feud with the point
of the dagger. Canny Yorkshire has no memory for such old sores.
Why, man, an you had hit me a rough blow, maybe I would rather
have taken it from you, than a rough word from another; for you
have a good notion of falconry, though you stand up for washing
the meat for the eyasses. So give us your hand, man, and bear no
malice."

Boland, though he felt his proud blood rebel at the familiarity of
honest Adam's address, could not resist its downright frankness.
Covering his face with the one hand, he held out the other to the
fedconer, and returned mth readme*, his friendly grasp.

"Why, this is hearty now," said Woodcock; "I always said you
had a kind heart, though you have a spice of the devil ia your dis-
position, that is certain. I came this way with the falcon on pur-
pose to find you, and yon half-bred lubbard told me which way you
took flight. You ever thought too much of that kestril-kite. Master
Boland, and he knows nought of sport, after all, but what he caught
from you. I saw how it had been betwixt you, and I sent him out
of my company with a wanion — I would rather have a rifler on my
perch than a false knave at my elbow — and now. Master Boland,
tell me what way wing yel"

" That is as God pleases," replied the page, with a sigh which he
could not suppress.

''Nay, man, never droop a feather for being cast o£^" said the
falconer; " who knows but you may soar the better and fairer flight
for aU this yet 1 Look at Diamond there, 'tis a noble bird, and shows
gallantly with his hood and bells and jesses; but there is many a
wild falcon in Norway that would not change properties with him —
And that is what I would say of you. You are no longer my Lady's
page, and you will not clothe so fair, or feed so well, or sleep so
soft, or show so gallant — What of all that? if you are not her page,
you are your own man, and may go where you will, without minding
whoop or whistle. The worst is the loss of the sporty but who knows
whatjrou maj comid to? They say that Sir Halbert himself, I qieak

THE ABBOT. 71

with reverence, was once glad to be the Abbot* a forester, and now
he has hounds and hawks of his own, and Adam Woodcock for a
^coner to the boot."

** You are right, and say well, Adam,'' answered the youth, the
blood mantling in his cheeks, ''tiie falcon will soar higher without
his bells than with them, though the beUs be made of silver."

"That is cheerily spoken," rejdied the falconer; "and whither
now?"

"I thought of going to the Abbey of Kennaquhair," answered
Boland Graeme, "to ask the counsel of Father Ambrose."

" And joy go with you," said the falconer, " though it is likely you
may find the old monks in some sorrow; they say the commons are
threatening to turn them out of their cells, and make a devil's mass
of it in the old church, thinking they have forborne that sport too
long; and troth I am clear of the same .opinion."

"Then will Father Ambrose be the better of having a friend
beside him!" said the page, manfully.

" Ay, but, my young fearnought," replied the falconer, " the friend
will scarce be the better of being beside Father Ambrose — he may
come by the redder^s Hck, and that is ever the worst of the
battle."

" I care not for that," said the page; " the dread of a lick should
not hold me back; but I fear I may bring trouble between the
brothers by visiting Father Ambrose. I will tarry to-night at Saint
Cuthberf s cell, where the old priest will give me a night's shelter;
and I will send to Father Ambrose to ask his advice before I go
down to the convent."

" By Our Lady," said the falconer, " and that is a likely plan ! —
And now," he continued, changing his frankness of manner for a
sort of awkward embarrassment, as if he had somewhat to say that
he had no ready means to bring out — " and now, you wot well that
I wear a pouch for my hawk's meat,t and so forth, but wot ye what
it is lined with. Master Boland?"

" "With leather, to be sure," replied Eoland, somewhat surprised
at the hesitation with which Adam Woodcock asked a question
apparently so simple.

"With leather, lad?" said Woodcock; " ay, and with silver to the
boot of that. See here," he said, showing a secret slit in the lining
of his bag of office — ^here they are, thirty good Harry groats as ever

t ThiB same bag, like eyeiything belonging to falconry, was esteemed an honourable
distinction, and worn often by the (nobility and gentry. One of the Sommeryilles of
Gamnefthan was called Sir John vUh the red bag, because it was his wont to wear his
hawkisg poooh oortnd with satin of that colour.

72 THE ABBOT.

were strack in bluff old Hal's time, and t^ of them are right heartily
at your service; and now the murder is ouf

Boland's first idea was to refuse his assistance; but he recollected
the vows of humility which he had just taken upon him, and it
occurred that this was the opportunity to put his new-formed re-
solution to the test. Assuming a strong command of himself, he
answered Adam Woodcock with as much frankness as his nature
permitted him to wear, in doing what was so contrary to his inclina-
tions, that he accepted thankfully of his kind offer, while to soothe
his own reviving pride, he could not help adding, ''he hoped soon
to requite the obligation."

" That as you list — ^that as you list, young man," said the falconer,
with glee, counting out and deUvering to his young friend the supply
he had so generously offered, and then adding with great cheerful-
ness, — '' Now you may go through the world; for he that can back a
horse, wind a horn, hollow a greyhound, fly a hawk, and play at
sword and buckler, with a whole pair of shoes, a green jacket, and
ten lily-white groats in his pouch, may bid Father Care hang himaAlf
in his own jesses. Farewell, and God be with you !"

So saying, and as if desirous to avoid the thanks of his companion,
he turned hastily round, and left Boland Graeme to pursue his jour-
ney alone.

CHAPTER Vin.

The sacred tapers* lights are gone,
Grey moss has clad the altar stoDe,
The holy image is overthrown.

The bell has ceased to toll.
The long ribb*d aisles are burst and shrunk,
The holy shrines to ruin sunk.
Departed is the pious monk,

Grod's blessing on his soul! Rediviva,

Thb cell of St. Cuthbert, as it was called, marked, or was supposed
to mark, one of those resting-places which that venerable saint was
pleased to assign to his monks, when his convent, being driven from
Lindisfem by the Danes, became a peripatetic society of religionists,
and, bearing their patron's body on their shoulders, transported liim
from place to place through Scotland and the borders of England,
until he was pleased at length to spare them the pain of carrying
him farther, and to choose his ultimate place of rest in the lordly
towers of Durham. The odour of his sanctity remained behind him

THE ABBOT. 73

at each place where he had granted the monks a transient respite
from their labours; and proud were those who could assign, as his
temporary resting-place, any spot within their vicinity. There were
few cells more celebrated and honoured than that of Saint Cuthbert,
to which Boland Graeme now bent his way, situated considerably to
the north-west of the great Abbey of Kennaquhair, on which it was
dependent. In the neighbourhood were some of those recommenda-
tions which weighed with the experienced priesthood of Home, in
choosing their sites for places of religion.

There was a well, possessed of some medicinal qualities, which,
of course, claimed the saint for its guardian and patron, and occa-
sionally produced some advantage to the recluse who inhabited his
cell, since none could reasonably expect to benefit by the fountain
who did not extend their bounty to the sainf s chaplain. A few
roods of fertile land afforded the monk his plot of garden ground;
an eminence well clothed with trees rose behind the cell, and sheltered
it from the north and the east, while the front, opening to the south-
west, looked up a wild but pleasant valley, down which wandered
a lively brook, which battled with every stone that interrupted its
passage.

The cell itself was rather plainly than rudely constructed — a low
Gothic building with two smaU apartments, one of which served the
priest for his dwelling-place, the other for his chapel. As there
were few of the secular clergy who durst venture to reside so near
the Border, the assistance of this monk in spiritual affairs had not
been useless to the community, while the Catholic religion retained
the ascendency; as he could marry, christen, and administer the
other sacraments of the Boman church. Of late, however, as the
Protestant doctrines gained ground, he had found it convenient to
live in dose retirement, and to avoid, as much as possible, drawing
upon himself observation or animadversion. The appearance of his
habitation, however, when Boland Grseme came before it in the
dose of the evening, plainly showed that his caution had been finally
ineffectuaL

The page's first movement was to knock at the door, when he
observed, to his surprise, that it was open, not from being left un-
latched, but because, beat off its upper hinge, it was only fastened
to the door-post by the lower, and could therefore no longer perform
its functions. Somewhat alarmed at this, and receiving no answer
when he knocked and called, Boland began to look more at leisure
upon the exterior of the little dwelling, before he ventured to enter
it. The flowers, which had been trained with care against the walls,
teemed to have been recently torn down, and traikd t\y^\x dS&-

74 THE ABBOT.

honoured garlands on the earth; the latticed window was broken
and dashed in. The garden, which the monk had maintained by
his constant labour in the highest order and beauty, bore marks of
having been lately trod down and destroyed by the hoo£3 of animals
and the feet of men.

The sainted spring had not escaped. It was wont to rise beneath
a canopy of ribbed arches, with which the devotion of elder times
had secured and protected its healing waters. These arches were
now almost entirely demolished, and the stones of which they were
built were tumbled into the well, as if for the purpose of choking up
and destroying the fountain, which, as it had shared in other days
the honour of the saint, was, in the present doomed to partake his
unpopularity. Part of the roof had been pulled down from the
house itself, and an attempt had been made with crows and levers
upon one of the angles, by which several large comer-stones had
been forced out of their place; but the solidity of ancient mason-
work had proved too great for the time or patience of the assailants,
and they had relinquished their task of destruction. Such dilapidated
buildings, after the lapse of years, during which nature has gradually
covered the effects of violence with creeping plants, and with weather-
stains, exhibit, amid their decay, a melancholy beauty. But when
the visible effects of violence appear raw and recent, there is no
feeling to mitigate the sense of devastation with which they im-
impress the spectators; and such was now the scene on which the
youthful page gazed, with the painful feelings it was qualified to
excite.

When his first momentary surprise was over, Boland Graeme was
at no loss to conjecture the cause of these ravagea The destruction
of the Popish edifices did not take place at once throughout Scotland,
but at different times, and according to the spirit which actuated the
reformed clergy, some of whom instigated their hearers to these acts
of demolition, and others, with better taste and feeling, endeavoured
to protect the ancient shrines, while they desired to see them purified
from the objects which had attracted idolatrous devotion. Erom
time to time, therefore, the populace of the Scottish towns and
villages, when instigated either by their own feelings of abhorrence
for Popish superstition, or by the doctrines of the more zealous
preachers, resumed the work of destruction, and exercised it upon
some sequestered church, chapel, or cell, which had escaped the first
burst of their indignation against the religion of Home. In many
places, the vices of the Catholic clergy, arising out of the wealth and
the comiptiQn of that tremendous hierarchy, furnished too good an
apology for wreakmg vengeance upon the splendid edifices which

THE ABBOT. 70

they inhabited; and of this an old Scottiflh historian gives a remark-
able instance.

''Why mourn ye,'' said an aged matron, seeing the discontent of
some of the citizens^ while a stately convent was burnt by the mul-
titude, — " why mourn ye for its destruction? If you knew half the
flagitious wickedness which has been perpetrated within that house,
you would rather bless the divine judgment, which permits not
even the senseless walls that screened such profligacy, any longer to
cumber Christian ground."

But although, in many instances, the destruction of the Boman
Catholic buildings might be, in the matron's way of judging, an act
of justice, and in others an act of policy, there is no doubt that the
humour of demolishing monuments of ancient piety and muniflcence,
and that in a poor country like Scotland, where there was no chance
of their being replaced, was both useless, mischievous, and barbarous.

In the present instance, the unpretending and quiet seclusion of
the monk of St. Cuthbert's had hitherto saved him from the general
wreck; but it would seem ruin had now at length reached him.
Anxious to discover if he had at least escaped personal harm, Boland
Graeme entered the half -ruined cell.

The interior of the building was in a state which fully justified
the opinion he had formed from its external injuries. The few rude
utensils of the solitary's hut were broken down, and lay scattered
on the floor, where it seemed as if a fire had been made with some
of the fragments to destroy the rest of his property, and to consume,
in particular, the rude old image of St. Cuthbert, in its episcopal
habit, which lay on the hearth like Dagon of yore, shattered with
the axe and scorched with the flames, but only partially destroyed.
In the little apartment which served as a chapel, the altar was over-
thrown, and the four huge stones of which it had been once com-
posed lay scattered around the floor. The large stone crucifix which
occupied the niche behind the altar, and fronted the supplicant while
he paid his devotion there, had been pulled down, and dashed by its
own weight into three fragments. There were marks of sledge-
hammers on each of these; yet the image had been saved from utter
demolition by the size and strength of the remaining fragments,
which, though much injured, retained enough of the origioal sculp-
ture to show what it had been intended to represent.''^

Boland Gr»me, secretly nursed in the tenets of Borne, saw with
horror the profanation of the most sacred emblem, according to his
creed, of our holy religion.

''It is the badge of our redemption," he said, "which the
felons have dared to violate — ^would to Gk)d my '^oak. %ftx^s^|ii2Q.

76 THE ABBOT.

were able to replace it — ^my humble revereace to atone for the
sacrilege !"

He stooped to the task he first meditated, and with a sudden, and
to himself almost an incredible exertion of power, he lifted up the
one extremity of the lower shaft of the cross, and rested it upon the
edge of the large stone which served for its pedestal. Encouraged
by this success, he applied his force to the other extremity, and, to
his own astonishment, succeeded so far as to erect the lower end of
the limb into the socket, out of which it had been forced, and to place
this fragment of the image upright

While he was employed in this labour, or rather at the very
moment when he had accomplished the elevation of the fragment,
a voice, in thrilling and well-known accents, spok6 behind him these
words: — " "Well done, thou good and faithful servant ! Thus would
I again meet the child of my love — ^the hope of my aged eyes."

Boland turned round in astonishment, and the tail commanding
form of Magdalen Graeme stood beside him. She was arrayed in a
sort of loose habit, in form like that worn by penitents in Catholic
countries, but black in colour, and approaching as near to a pilgrim's
cloak as it was safe to wear in a country where the suspicion of
Catholic devotion in many places endangered the safety of those
who were suspected of attachment to the ancient faith. Boland
Grseme threw himself at her feet. She raised and embraced him,
with affection indeed, but not unmixed with gravity which amounted
almost to sternness.

" Thou hast kept well," she said, " the bird in thy bosom.t As a
boy, as a youth, thou hast held fast thy faith amongst heretics —
thou hast kept thy secret and mine own amongst thine enemies. I
wept when I parted from you — ^I, who seldom weep, then shed tears,
less for thy death than for thy spiritual danger — I dared not even
see thee to bid thee a last farewell — ^my grief, my swelling grief,
had betrayed me to these heretics. But thou hast been faithful —
down, down on thy knees before the holy sign, which evil men injure
and blaspheme; down, and praise saints and angels for the grace
they have done thee, in preserving thee from the leprous plague
which cleaves to the house in which thou wert nurtured !"

" K, my mother — so I must ever call you," replied Graeme, — " if
I am returned such as thou wouldst wish me, thou must thank the
care of the pious father Ambrose, whose instructions confirmed your
early precepts, and taught me at once to be faithful and to be silent."

t An expirearion used by Sir Ralph Percy, slain in the battle of Hedgely-moor in 1464,
when dying, to exprees his having preserved unstained his fidelity to the Houm of

THE ABBOT. 77

'^Be he blessed for it!" said she, ^blessed in the cell and in the
field, in the pulpit and at the altar — ^the saints rain blessings on liim t
— ^they are just, and employ his pious care to counteract the evils
which his detested brother works against the realm and the church.
But he knew not of thy lineage?"

" I could not myself tell him that," answered Eoland. " I knew
but darkly from your words that Sir Halbert Glendinning holds
mine inheritance, and that I am of blood as noble as runs in the '
veins of any Scottish Baron — ^these are things not to be forgotten,
but for the explanation I must now look to you."

'' And when time suits, thou shalt not look for it in vain. But men
say, my son, that thou art bold and sudden; and those who bear
such tempers are not lightly to be trusted with what will strongly
move them."

" Say rather, my mother," returned Boland Graeme, " that I am
laggard and cold-blooded — ^what patience or endurance can you
require of which he is not capable, who for years has heard his
religion ridiculed and insulted, yet failed to plunge his dagger into
the blasphemer's bosom !"

"Be contented, my child," replied Magdalen Grssme; "the time
which then and even now demands patience, will soon ripen to that
of effort and action — ^great events are on the wing, and thou — thou
shalt have thy share in advancing them. — ^Thou hast relinquished
the service of the Lady of Avenell"

" I have been dismissed from it, my mother — I have lived to be
dismissed, as if I were the meanest of the train."

"It is the better, my child," replied she; "thy mind will be the
more hardened to undertake that which must be performed."

" Let it be nothing, then, against the Lady of Avenel," said the
page, "as thy look and words seem to imply, I have eaten her
bread — I have experienced her favour — I will neither injure nor
betray her."

" Of that hereafter, my son," said she; " but learn this, that it is
not for thee to capitulate in thy duty, and to say this will I do, and
that will I leave undone. — No, Eoland ! God and man will no longer
abide the wickedness of this generation. — Seest thou these fragments
— knowest thou what they represent — and canst thou think it is
for thee to make distinctions amongst a race so accursed by Heaven,
that they renounce, violate, blaspheme, and destroy, whatsoever we
are commanded to believe in, whatsoever we are commanded to
reverence?"

Afl she spoke, she bent her head towards the broken image, with
a countenance in which Btrong resentment and zeal nv^tq ismi^^

78 THE ABBOT.

with an expression of ecstatic deTotkm; she raised her left hand aloft
as in the act of making a vow, and thus proceeded: *^ Bear -witness
for me, blessed symbol of our salvation, bear witaMSS^ holy saint,
within whose violated temple we stand, that as it is not for rest-
geance of my own that my hate pursues these people, so neither, for
any favour or earthly affection towards any amongst them, wiU I
withdraw my hand &om the plough, when it shall pass through the
devoted furrow ! Bear witness, holy saint^ once thysdf a wanderer
and a fugitive as we are now — ^bear witness, Mother of Mercy, Qaeen
of Heaven — ^bear witness, saints and angels I''

In this high strain of enthusiasm she stood, raiaing her ejea
through the fractured roof of the vault, to the stars which now began
to twinkle through the pale twilight, while the long grey trowoo
which hung down over her shoulders waved in the night-fareease,
which the chasm and fractured windows admitted freely.

Boland Graeme was too much awed by early habits, aa w^ am hy
the mysterious import of her words, to ask for farther ezplanatloii
of the purpose she obscurely hinted at. Nor did she &rther pren
him on the subject; for, having concluded her prayer or obtestation,
by clasping her hands together with solemnity, and then signing
herself with the cross, she again addressed her grandson, in a tome
more adapted to the ordinary business of life.

'' Thou must hence," she said, *^ Boland, thou must hence, but not
till morning. — And now, how wHt thou shift for thy night^s quartern?
— thou hast been more softly bred than when we were companions
in the misty hills of Cumberland and Liddesdale."

" I have at least preserved, my good mother, the habits which I
then learned — can lie hard, feed sparingly, and think it no hardship.
Since I was a wanderer with thee on the hills, I have been a hunter,
and fisher, and fowler, and each of these is accustomed to sleep freely
in a worse shelter than sacrilege hafl left us here.''

" Than sacrilege hafl left us here !'' said the matron, repeating his
words, and pausing on them. ''Most true, my son; and God's faithful
children are now worst sheltered, when they lodge in God's own
house and the demesne of his blessed saints. We shall sleep oold
here, under the night-wind, which whistles through the breaches
tliat heresy has made. They shall lie warmer who made them — ay,
and through a long hereafter !"

Notwithstanding the wild and singular expressions of this female,
she appeared to retain towards Boland Graeme, in a strong degree,
that affectionate and sedulous love which women bear to their
nurslings, and the children dependent on their care. It seemed as
Jfjsbe would not permit him to do aught for himself which in former

THE ABBOT. 79

days her attention had been used to do for him, and that she con-
sidered the tall stripling before her as being equally dependent on
her careful attention as when he was the orphan child, who had owed
all to her affectionate solicitude.

''What hast thou to eat now?" she said, as, leaving the chapel,
they went into the deserted habitation of the priest; '' or what means
of kindling a fire, to defend thee from this raw and inclement air !
Poor child 1 thou hast made slight provision for a long journey; nor
hast thou skill to help thyself by wit, when means are scanty. But
Our Lady has placed by thy side one to whom want, in all its forms,
is as familiar as plenty and splendour have formerly been. And
with want, Boland, come the arts of which she is the inventor.''

With an active and officious diligence, which strangely contrasted
with her late abstracted and high tone of Catholic devotion, she set
about her domestic arrangements for the evening. A pouch, which
was hidden under her garment, produced a flint and steel, and from
the scattered fragments around (those pertaining to the image of St.
Guthbert scrupulously excepted) she obtained splinters sufficient to
raise a sparkling and cheerful fire on the hearth of the deserted cell.

"And now," she said, "for needful food."

"Think not of it, mother," said Eoland, "unless you yourself feel
hunger. It is a little thing for me to endure a night's abstinence,
and a small atonement for the necessary transgression of the rules
of the Church, upon which I was compelled during my stay in the
castle."

"Hunger for myself!" answered the matron — "Know, youth,
that a mother knows not hunger, tiU that of her child is satisfied."
And with affectionate inconsistency, totally different from her usual
manner, she added, " Boland, you must not fast; you have dispen-
sation; you are young, and to youth food and sleep are necessaries
not to be dispensed with. Husband your strength, my child,— ryour
sovereign, your religion, your country, require it. Let age macerate
by fast and vigil a body which can only suffer; let youth, in these
active times, nourish the limbs and the strength which action
requires."

While she thus spoke, the scrip, which had produced the means
of striking fire, furnished provision for a meal; of which she herself
scarce partook, but anxiously watched her charge, taking a pleasure,
resembling that of an epicure, in each morsel which he swallowed
with a youthful appetite which abstinence had rendered unusually
sharp. Boland readily obeyed her recommendations, and ate the
food which she so affectionately and earnestly placed before him.
But she shook her head when invited by him in letum ^ '^^dxVAkft

80 THE ABBOT.

of the refreshment her own cares had furnished; and when his
solicitude became more pressing, she refused him in a loftier tone of
rejection.

" Young man," she said, " you know not to whom, or of what, you
speak. TThiey to whom Heaven declares its purpose, must merit its
communication by mortifying the senses; they have thai within
which requires not the superfluity of earthly nutriment, which is
necessary to those who are without the sphere of the Vision. To
them the watch spent in prayer is a refreshing slumber, and the
sense of doing the will of Heaven is a richer banquet than the tables
of monarchs can spread before them ! — But do thou sleep soft, my
son,'' she said, relapsing from the tone of fanaticism into that of
maternal affection and tenderness ; — '' do thou sleep sound while life
is but young with thee, and the cares of the day can be drowned in
the slumbers of the evening. Different is thy duty and mine, and
as different the means by which we must qualify and strengthen
ourselves to perform it. From thee is demanded strength of body —
from me, strength of soul."

When she thus spoke, she prepared with ready address a pallet-
couch, composed partly of the dried leaves which had once furnished
a bed to the solitary, and the guests who occasionally received his
hospitality, and which, neglected by the destroyers of his humble
cell, had remained little disturbed in the comer allotted for them.
To these her care added some of tl^e vestures which lay torn and
scattered on the floor. With a zealous hand she selected all such as
appeared to have made any part of the sacerdotal vestments, laying
them aside as sacred from ordinary purposes, and with the rest she
made, with dexterous promptness, such a bed as a weary man might
willingly stretch himself on; and during the time she was preparing
it, rejected, even with acrimony, any attempt which the youth made
to assist her, or any entreaty which he urged that she should accept
of the place of rest for her own use. " Sleep thou," said she, " Itoland
Graeme, sleep thou — the persecuted, the disinherited orphan — ^the
son of an Ul-f ated mother — sleep thou ! I go to. pray in the Chapel
beside thee."

The manner was too enthusiastically earnest, too obstinately Arm,
to permit Koland Graeme to dispute her will any farther. Yet he
felt some shame in giving way to it. It seemed as if she had for-
gotten the years that had passed away since their parting; and
expected to meet, in the tall, indulged, and wilful youth, whom she
had recovered, the passive obedience of the child whom she ^»^
left in the Castle of AveneL This did not fail to hurt her grandson's
diaracteiiatic and constitutional pride. He obeyed, indeed, awed

THE ABBOT. 81

into snbmiflsion by the sadden recurrence of fona&r rabordination,
and by feelings of affection and gratitude. Still, however, be felt
ihe yoke.

''Have I rdinquiahed the hawk and the hound/' he laid, ''to
become the pupil of her pleasure, as if I were still a child ? I, whom
even my envious mates allowed to be superior in those exercises
which they took most pains to acquire, and which came to me natur-
ally, as if a knowledge of them had been my birthright? This may
not^ and must not be. I will be no reclaimed sparrow-hawk, who is
carried hooded on a woman's wrist, and has his quarry only shown
to him when his eyes are uncovered for his flight I will know her
purpose ere it is proposed to me to aid it."

These, and other thoughts, streamed through the mind of Boland
Graeme; and although wearied with the fatigues of the day, it was
long ere he could compose himself to rest.

CHAPTEE IX

Kneel with me— swear it — ^'tis not in words I trust,
Save when they're fenced with an appeal to Heaven.

Old Play,

After passing the night in that sound sleep for which agitation
and fatigue had prepared him, Boland was awakened by the fresh
morning air, and by t^e beams of the rising sun. His first feeling
was that of surprise; for, instead of looking forth fropi a turret
window on the waters of the Lake of Avenel, which was the pros-
pect his former apartinent afforded, an unlatticed aperture gave him
the view of the demolished garden of the banished anchorite. He
sat up on his couch of leaves, and arranged in his memory, not
without wonder, the singular events of the preceding day, which
appeared the more surprising tRe more he omsidered them. He
had lost the protectress of his youth, and, in the same day, he had
recovered the guide and guardian of his childhood. The form^
deprivation he felt ought to be matter of unceasing regret, and it
seemed as if the latter could hardly be the subject of unmixed self-
congratulation. He remembered this person, who had stood to him
in the relation of a mother, as equally affectionate in her attention,
and absolute in her authority. A singular mixture of love and fear
attended upon his early remembrances as they were connected with
her; and the fear that she might desire to resume the same absolute
control over his motions — a fear which her conduct of yestAtdfib'^ dLd.

82 THB ABBOT.

not tend mnch to dissipate-^weighed heayily against the joy of this
seoond meeting.

''She cannot mean/' said his rising pride, ''to lead and direct
me as a pnpil, when I am at the age of judging of ray own actional
— this she cannot mean, or, meaning 11^ will feel herself strangely
deceived."

A sense of gratitude towards the person against whom his heart
thus rebelled, checked this course of f eeUng. He resisted the thoughts
which involuntarily arose in his mind, as he would have resisted an
actual instigation of the foul fiend; and, to aid him in his struggle,
he felt for his beads. But, in his hasty departure from the Castle
of Avenel, he had forgotten and left them behind him.

" This is yet worse,'' he said ; " but two things I learned of hier
under the most deadly charge of secrecy— ^to tell fay beads, and to
conceal that I did so; and I have kept my word till now; and when
she shall ask me for the rosary, I must say I have forgotten itl Do
I deserve she should believe me when I say I have kept the secret
of my faith, when I set so light by its symbol?"

He paced the floor in anxious agitation. In fact, his attachment
to his faith was of a nature very different from that which animated
the enthusiastic matron, but which, notwithstanding, it would have
been his last thought to relinquisL

The early charges impressed on him by his grandmother, had
been instilled into a mind and memory of a character peculiarly
tenacious. Child as he was, he was proud of the confidence reposed
in his discretion, and resolved to show that it had not he&a. rashly
intrusted to him. At the same time, his resolution was no more
than that of a child, and must, necessarily, have gradually faded
away under the operation both of precept and example, during his
residence at the Castle of Avenel, but for the exhortations of Father
Ambrose, who, in his lay estate, had be^i called Edward Glendin-
ning. This zealous monk had been apprised, by an unsigned letter
placed in his hand by a pilgrim, thkt a dbdld educated in the Catholic
faiHi was now in the Castle of Avenel, perilously situated (so was
the scroll expressed) as ever the three children who were cast into
the fieiy furnace of persecution. The letter threw upon Father
Ambrose the fault, should this solitary lamb, unwillingly left within
the demesnes of the prowling wolf, become his final prey. There
needed no farther exhortation to the monk than the idea l^t a soul
might be endangered, and that a Catholic might become an apostate;
and he made his visits more frequent than usual to the Castle of
Avenel, lest, through want of the private encouragement and
Instruction which he always found some opportunity of dispensings

THE ABBOT. 83

the church flhomld lose a proseljte, and, aooording to the Bomish
creedy the devil acquire a sobL

Still these interviews were rare; and though thej encouraged the
aolitaiy boy to keep his secret and hold fast his religion, they were
neither frequent nor laag enough to inspire him with anything
beyond a blind attachment to the observances which the priest
recommended. He adhered to the forms of his religion, rather
because he felt it would be dishonourable to change that oi his
fathers, than from any rational conviction or sincere belief of its
mysterious doctrines. It was a principal part of the distinction which,
in his own opinion, singled him out from those with whom he lived,
and gave him an additional, though an internal and concealed reason,
for contemning those of the househcdd who showed an undisguised
dislike of him, and for hardening himself against the instructions
of the chaplain, Henry Warden.

" The fanatic preacher," he thought within himself, during some
one of the chaplain's frequent discourses against the Church of Home,
** he little knows whose ears are receiving his 'profane doctrine, and
with what contempt and abhorrence they hear his blasphemies
against the holy religion, by which kings have been crowned, and
for which martyrs have died!''

But in sudi proud feelings of defiance of heresy, as it was termed,
and of its professors, which associated the Catholic religion with a
sense of generous independence, and that of the Protestants with
the subjugation of his mind and temper to the direction of Mr.
Warden, began and ended the faith of Boland Greeme, who, inde-
pendently of the pride of singularity, sought not to understand, and
had no one to expound to him, the peculiarities of the tenets which
he professed. His regret, therefore, at missing the rosary which had
been conveyed to him through the hands of Father Ambrose, was
rather the shame of a soldier who has dropped his cockade, or badge
of service, than that of a zealous votary who had forgotten a visible
symbol of his religion.

His thoughts on the subject, however, were mortifying, and the
more so from apprehension that his negligence must reach the ears
of his relative. He felt it could be no one but her who had secretly
transmitted these beads to Father Ambrose for his use, and that his
carelessness was but an indifferent requital of her kindness.

^Nor will she omit to ask me about them," said he to himself;
"for hers is a zeal which age cannot quell; and if she has not quitted
her wont, my answer will not fail to incense her."

While he thus communed with himself, Magdalen Graeme entered
the apartment. ''The blessing of the morning on youx yoM^Oblwi

84 THE ABBOT.

head, my son,'' she said, with a solemnity of expression which
thrilled the youth to the heart, so sad and earnest did the benedic-
tion flow £rom her lips, in a tone where devotion was blended with
affection. ^'And thou hast started thns early from thy couch to
catch the first breath of the dawn? But it is not well, my Boland.
Enjoy slumber while thou canst; the time is not far behind when
the waking eye must be thy portion, as well as mine."

She uttered these words with an affectionate and anxious tone,
which showed that, devotional as were the habitual exercises of her
mind, the thoughts of her nursling yet bound her to earth with the
cords of human affection and passion.

But she abode not long in a mood which she probably regarded
as a momentary dereliction of her imaginary high calling — ^^ Come,"
she said, ^' youth, up and be doing — ^It is time that we leave this
place."

'^ And whither do we go?" said the young man; ''or "wh&t is the
object of our journey?"

The matron stepped back, and gazed on him with surprise, not
unmingled mth dkjteasure.

''To what purpose such a question?" she said; "is it not enough
that I lead the way? Hast thou lived with heretics till- thou hast
learned to instal the vanity of thine own private judgment in place
of due honour and obedience?"

"The time," thought Boland Graeme within himself, "is already
come, when I must establish my freedom, or be a willing thrall for
ever — ^I feel that I must speedily look to it."

She 'instantly fulfilled his foreboding, by recurring to the theme
by which her thoughts seemed most constantly engrossed, although,
when she pleased, no one could so perfectly disguise her religion.

"Thy beads, my son — hast thou told thy beads?"

Boland Grseme coloured high; he felt the storm was approaching,
but scorned to avert it by a falsehood.

" I have forgotten my rosary," he said, " at the Castle of AveneL"

"Forgotten thy rosary!" she exclaimed; "false both to religion
and to natural duty, hast thou lost what was sent so far, and at such
risk, a token of the truest affection, that should have been, every
bead of it, as dear to thee as thine eyeballs?"

"I am grieved it should have so chanced, mother," replied the
youth, "and much did I value the token as coming from you. For
what remains, I trust to win gold enough, when I push my way in
the world; and till then, beads of black oak, or a rosary of nuts,
must serve the turn."

"JSear him J" said his grandmother; "young as he is, he hath

iMnied alnadj tbe Iamoiu of the devil's schoolT The roHuy con-
secrated by the H0I7 rather hmuelf, and ianctified 'bj bis bleasings,
is but a few- knobs of gold, iriioee valae may be replaced bf the
'wagea of hU probne labonr, and whose rirtae may be supplied by
a string al haeel nntBl — Utia is hereey. Bo Heoiy Warden, the
wolf -who ravages tiie flock of Ute Sbq^urd, hath tdu^t thee t
Bpeakand b

" HoUm," Bald Boland Grteme, " I am no heretic; I believe and
I pray according to the rules of onr chnrch^Thie misfortune I regret,
bat I cannot amend it."

"Thou canst repent it, tiiongh," replied hie Bpiiitoal direirtress,
"repent it in dnst and aBheH,atonefor it by faHtingiprayer.and penance,
inrtead of looking on me with a countenance as light as if thon
badat loat bat a bntttm from thy cap."

"tSxXbet" said Boland, "be appeaaed; I will remembei: m.^ tui&

86 THE ABBOT.

in tlie next oonf esrion which I have space and opportunity to make,
and will do whatever the priest may r^nire of me in atcmement.
For the heaviest faxlt I can do no more. — ^£^t, mother,** he added, after
a niomenfs payse, 'Uet me not incur your &riher displeasure, if
I ask whither our journey is bound, and what is its object I am
no longer a child, bnt a man, and at my own disposal, with down
upon my chin, and a sword by my side — I will go to the end ci the
woAd with you to do your pleasure; but I owe it to myself to
inquire the purpose and direction of our travek."

"You owe it to yourself, ungrateful boy!" replied his relative,
passion rapidly supplying the colour which age had long chased from
her features, — ''to yourself you owe nothing — ^you can owe nothing
— ^to me you owe «veiytiiing — your life when an iD&nt — ^your
support when a child — the means of instruction and the hopes
of honour — and, sooner than thou shouldst abandon the noble cause
to vHbdch I have devoted thee, would I see thee lie a corpse at my
feet!"

Boland was alarmed at the vehement agitation with which she
spoke, and which threatened to overpower her aged frame; and he
hastened to reply, — " I forget nothing of what I owe to you, my
dearest motheiv—show me how my blood can testify my gratitude,
and you shall judge if I spare it. But blindfold obedience has in it
as little merit as reason.''

''Saints and angels!'' readied Magdalen, "and do I hear these
words from the child of my hopes, the nursling by whose bed I have
kneeled, and for whose weal I have wearied every saint in heaven
with prayers? Boland, by obedience only canst thou show thy
affection and thy gratitude. What avails it that you might perdbance
adopt the course I propose to thee, were it to be fully explained I
Thou wouldst not then follow my command, but thine own judg-
ment; thou wouldst not do the will of Heaven, communicated
through thy best friend, to whom thou owest thine all; but thou
wouldst observe the blinded dictates of thine own imperfect reason.
Hear me, Boland! a lot calls thee — solicits thee — demands thee—
the proudest to which man can be destined, and it uses the voice
of thine earliest, thy best, thine only friend — ^Wilt thou resist iti
Then go thy way — ^leave me here — ^my hopes on earth are gone and
withered — I will kneel me down before yonder profaned altar, and
when the raging heretics return, they shall dye it with the blood of
amartyr!"

" But, my dearest mother," said Boland Greome, whose earty re-
collections of her violence were formidably renewed by these wild
azproasions of reckless paasioni " I will not foraake you — ^I will abide

THB ABBOT. 87

?vilh you— worlds shall aot force me from your side — I -will protect
— I will defend yoa-r-I will live with jooy and die for 70a I''

** One word, my aon,. were worth all these-Hsay only, ^ I will obey
you.'**

'' Doubt it not, moUier,"* replied the yoiil^ ^ I will, and that with
all my heart; only**

^ Nay, I receiye no qualifications of thy promise,^ said Magdalen
Graeme, catching at the word, '^the obedience which I require is
absolute; and a blessing on thee, thou darling memory of my
beloved child, that thou hast power to make a promise so hard to
human pride! Trust me well, that in the design in which thou
dost embark, thou hast for thy partners the mighty and the valiant^
the power of the churdi, and the pride ci the noble. Succeed or
fidl, live or die, thy name shall be among those with whom success
or fedlure is alike glorious, death or life aUke desirable. Forward,
th^i, forward! life is short, and oar plan is laborious — ^Angels,
saints, and the whole blessed host of heaven, have their eyes even
now on this barren and blighted land of Scotland — ^What say II on
Scotland ?-^-their eye is on t», Boland— on the frail woman, on the
inexperienced youth, who, amidst the rains which sacrilege hath
made in the holy place, devote themselves to Qod's cause, and that
of their lawful sovereign. Amen, so be it! The blessed eyes of
saints and martyrs, which see our resolve, shall witness the execu-
tion; or their ears, vHbdch hear our vow, shall hear our death-groan
drawn in the sacred cause l"

While thus speaking, she held Boland Graeme firmly with one
hand, while she pointed upward with the other, to leave him, as it
were, no means of protest against the obtestation to which he was
thus made a party. When she had finished her appeal to Heaven,
she left him no leisure for farther hesitation, or for asking any ex-
planation of her purpose; but passing with the same ready transition
as formerly, to the solidtous attentions of an anxious parent, over-
whelmed him with questions concerning his residence in the Castle
of Avenel, and the qualities and accomplishments he had acquired.

^ It is weU,** she said, when she had exhausted her inquiries, " my
gay goss-hawk* hath be^i well trained, and wiU soar high; but
those who bred him will have cause to fear aa well as to wonder at
his flight — Let ua now," she said, ''to our morning meal, and care
not though it be a scanty one. A few hours' walk will bring us to
more friendly quarters.'*

They broke thesr fast accordingly, on such fragments as remained
of their yesterday's provision, and immediately set out on their
farther, joomey. Magdalen Graeme led the way, with a firm and

88 THE ABBOT.

active step much beyond her yean, and Boland Gnsme followed,
pensive and anxious, and far from satisfied with the state of depend-
ence to which he seemed again to be reduced.

"Am I for ever/* he said to himself, "to be devoured with the
desire of independence and free agency, and yet to be for ev^ led
on, by circumstances, to follow the wiQ of othersl^'

CHAPTER X

She dwelt tmnoticed and alone,

Beeide the springs of Dove;
A maid whom there was nome to praise^

And very few to lova

WoaDSWOBTH.

If the course of their journey the tiavellers spoke little to each oiiier.
Magdalen GrsBme chanted, from time to time, in a low voice, a part
of some one of those beautiful old Latin hymns which belong to the
Catholic service, muttered an Ave or a Credo, and so passed on, lost
in devotional contemplation. The meditations of her grandson were
more bent on mundane matters; and many a time, as a moorfowl
arose from the heath, and shot along the moor, uttering his bold
crow of defiance, he thought of the jolly Adam Woodcock, and his
trusty goss-hawk; or, as they passed a thicket where the low trees
and bushes were intermingled with tall fern, furze, and broom, so as
to form a thick and intricate cover, his dreams were of a roebuck
and a brace of gaze-hounds. But frequently his mind returned to
the benevolent and kind mistress whom he had left behind him,
offended justly, and unreconciled by any effort of his.

" My step would be lighter,** he thought, "and so would my heart,
could I but have returned to see her for one instant, and to say,
Lady, the orphan-boy was wild, but not ungrateful!**

Travelling in these divers moods, about ihe hour of noon they
reached a small straggling village, in which, as usual, were seen one
or two of those predominating towers, or peel-houses, which, for
reasons of defence elsewhere detailed, were at that time to be found
in every Border hamlet. A brook flowed beside the village, and
watered the valley in which it stood. There was also a mansion at
the end of the village, and a little way separated from it, much
dilapidated, and in very bad order, but appearing to have been the
abode of persons of some consideration. The sitoatioa was agree-
able, b^ng an angle formed by the stream, bearing three or four
large sycamore trees, which were in full leai^ and served to relieve

THE ABBOT. 69

the daik appearance of the manfidon, which was built of a deep-red
stone. The hoose itself was a large one, bat was now obviously too
big for the inmates; several windows were built up, especially those
which opened from the lower story; others were blockaded in a less
substantial manner. The oourt before the docnr, which had once
been defended with a species of low outer wall, now ruinous, was
paved, but the stones were completely covered with long grey
nettles, thistles, and other weeds, which, shooting up betwixt the
flags, had displaced many of them from their leveL Even matters
demanding more peremptory attention had been left neglected, in a
manner which aigued sloth or poverty in the extreme. The stream,
undermining a part of the bank near an angle of the ruinous wall,
had brought it down, with a comer turret, the ruins of which lay in
the bed of the river. The current, interrupted by the ruins which
it had overthrown, and turned yet nearer to the site of the tower,
had greatly enlarged the breach it had made, and was in the process
of undermining the ground on which the house itself stood, unless it
were speedily protected by sufficient bulwarks.

All this attracted Boland Greeme's observation, as they approached
the dwelling by a winding path, which gave them, at intervals, a
view of it from different points.

"If we go to yonder house," he said to his mother, "I trust it is
but for a short visit. It looks as if two rainy days from the north-
west would send the whole into the brook."

''You see but with the eyes of the body," said the old woman;
"€k)d will defend 'His own, though it be forsaken and despised of
men. Better to dwell on the sand, under His law, than fly to the
rock of human trust."

As she thus spoke, they entered the court before the old mansion,
and Boland could observe that the front of it had formerly been
considerably ornamented with carved work,ki the same dark-coloured
freestone of which it was built. But all these ornaments had been
broken down and destroyed, and only the shattered vestiges of niches
and entablatures now strewed the place which they had once occupied.
The larger entrance in front was walled up, but a little footpath,
which, from its appearance, seemed to be rarely trodden, led to a
small wicket, defended by a door well clenched with iron-headed
nails, at which Magdalen Graeme knocked three times, pausing
betwixt each knock, until she heard an answering tap from within.
At the last knock, the wicket was opened by a pale thin female,
who said, '' Benedicti qui veniunt in nomine Domini!* They entered,
and the portress hastily shut behind them the wicket^ and made fast
the massive fastemngs by which it was secured.

90 THE ABBOT.

The female led the way through a narrow entrance, into a vestibale
of some extent, paved with stone, and having benches of the aame
fioUd material ranged around. . At the upper end waa an oriel
window, but some of the intervals formed by the stone shafts and
mullions were blocked up, so that the apartment was very gloomy.

Here they stopped, and the mistress of the mansion, for such she
was, embraced Magdalen Grseme, and greeting her by the title of
sister, kissed her, with much solemnity, on either side of the face.

"The blessing of Our Lady be upon you, my sister,** were her
next words; and they left no doubt upon Boland's ndnd respecting
the religion of their hostess, even if he could have suspected his
venerable and zealous guide of renting elsewhere than in the habi-
tation of an orthodox Catholic. They spoke together a few words
in private, during which he had leisure to remark more particularly
the appearance of his grandmother's friend.

Her age might be betwixt fifty and AX^jy; her looks had a mix-
ture of melancholy and unhappineas, that bordered on discontent,
and obscured the remains of beauty which age had still left on her
features. Her dress was of the plainest and most ordinary descrip-
tion, of a dark colour, and, like Magdalen Grsame's, something
approaching to a religious habit. Strict neatness, and cleanliness
of person, seemed to intimate that, if poor, she was not reduced to
squalid or heart-broken distress, and that she was still sufficiently
attached to life to retain a taste for its decencies, if not its elegances.
Her manner, as well as her features and appearance, argued an
original condition and education far above the meanness of her
present appearance. In short, the whole figure was such as to
excite the idea, "That female must have had a history worth
knowing.'* While Boland Graeme was making this very reflection,
the whispers of the two females ceased, and the mispress of the
mansion, approaching him, looked on his face and person with
much attention, and, as it seemed, some interest

"This, then,** she said, addressing his relative, "is the child of
thine unhappy daughter, sister Magdalen; and him, the only shoot
from your ancient tree, you are willing to devote to the Qood Clause I"

"Yes, by the rood,** answered Magdalen Graeme, in her usual
tone of resolved determination, "to the good cause I devote him^
flesh and fell, sinew and limb, body and soul! "

"Thou art a happy woman, sister Magdalen," answered her
companion, " that, lifted so high above human affection and human
feeling, thou canst bind such a victim to the horns of the altar.
Had I been called to make such sacrifice — ^to plunge a youth so
young and fair into the plots and bloodthirsty ^Aiilmga of the timai

THB ABBOT. 91

not ihe patriarch Abraham, when he led Isaac up the moontain,
would have rendered more melancholy obedieooe."

She then oontimied to look at Boland with a mournful aspect of
compaasiony until the intentnesB of h&c gaze occasioned his colour
to rise, and he was about to more out oi its influenoe, when he was
stopped hyr his grandmother with one hand, while with the other
she divided the hair up(m his forehead, which was now crimson
with baahfolnesB, while she added, with a mixtoie of proud affec-
tion, and firm reaolntionyr-r'^Ay, look at him well, my sister, for on
a fairer face thine ^ye never vested. I too, when first I saw him,
after a long s^aimtkm, felt as the worldly feel, and was half shaken
in my purpose. But no wind can tear a leaf irom the withered tree
whidi has long been stripped at its foliage, and no mere human
casualty can awaken the mortal f ee^gs which have long slept in
the calm of devotion."

While the old woman thus q>oke, her manner gave the lie to her
assertions, for the teaiB ipse to her eyes while she added, '' But the
fairer and the more spotiess the victim, is it not, my sister, the
more worthy of acceptance?" She seemed glad to escape from
the sensations v4iich agitated her, and instantiy added, ''He will
escape, my sister — there will be a ram caught in the thicket, and
the hand of our revolted brethren shall not be on the youthful
Joseph. Heaven can defend its own rights, even by means of
babes and sucklings, of women and beardless boys."

''Heaven hath left us," said the other female; "for our sins and
our fathers' the succours of the blessed saints have abandoned this
accursed land. We may win the crown of martyrdom, but not that
of earthly triumph. One, too> whose prudence was at this deep
crisis so mdispensable, has been called to a better world. The
Abbot Eustatius h no more."

. ^'May his soul have mercy! "said Magdalen Graeme, "and may
Heaven, too, have mercy upon us, who linger behind in this bloody
landl His loss is indeed a perilous blow to our enterprise; for
who remains behind possessing his far-fetched experience, his self-
devoted zeal, his consummate wisdom, and his undaunted courage!
He hath fallen with the church's standard in his hand, but God
will raise up another to lift the blessed banner. Whom have the
Chapter elected in his room? "

"It is rumoured no one of the few remaining brethren dare
accept the office. The heretics have sworn that they will permit no
future election, and will heavily punish any attempt to create a new
Abbot of St. Mary's.- Cor^uroAfenmt inter se principes, diomtesy
Frtfficidmtu laqiteoe q/us,"

92 THE ABBOT.

**Quoutque JDomins/*' — ejaculated Magdalen; ^this, my sister,
were indeed a perilons and fatal breach in our band ; bot I am firm
in my belief, that another will arise in the place of him ao mitimely
removed. — Where is thy daughter Oatherine?"

"In the parlour/' answered the matron, '^but'* She looked

at Boland Chraeme, and muttered something in the ear of her friend.

" Fear it not," answered Magdalen Gr»me, " it is both lawful and
necessary —fear nothing from him — I would he were as well grounded
in the faith by which alone comes safety, as he is free from thought^
deed, or speech of villainy. Therein is the heretics' discipline to be
commended, my sister, that they train up their youth in strong
morality, and choke up every inlet to youthful folly."

"It is but a cleansing of the outside of the cup," answered her
friend, " a whitening of the sepulchre ; but he shall see Catherine,
since you, sister, judge it safe and meet. — ^Follow us, youth," she
added, and led the way from the apartment with her friend. These
were the only words which the matron had addressed to Boland
Graeme, who obeyed them in silence. Aa they paced through
several winding passages and waste apartments with a very slow
step, the young page had Idsure to make some reflections on his
situation, — reflections of a nature whidii his ardent temper con-
sidered as specially disagreeable. It seemed he had now got two
mistresses, or tutresses, instead of one, bot^ dderly women, and
both, it would seem, in league to direct his motions according to
their own pleasure, and for the accomplishment of fdans to which he
was no party. This, he thought, was too much; arguing, reasonably
enough, that whatever right his grandmother and benefactress had
to guide his motions, she was neither entitled to transfer her
authority, or to divide it with another, who seemed to assume, with*
out ceremony, the same tone of absolute command over him.

" But it shall not long continue thus," thought B<dand ; " I will
not be all my life the slave of a woman's whistle, to go when she
bids, and come when she calls. No, by Saint Andrew ! the hand
that can hold the lance is above the control of the distaff. I will
leave them the slipped collar in their hands on the first opportunity,
and let them execute their own devices by their own proper force.
It may save them both from peril, for I guess what they meditate
is not likely to prove either safe or easy — ^the Earl of Murray and his
heresy are too well rooted to be grubbed up by two old women.

As he thus resolved, they entered a low room, in which a third

female was seated. This apartment was the first he had observed

in the mansion which was furnished with movable seats, and with

a wooden t&hle, over which was laid a piece of tapestry. A eaipet

THE ABBOT. 93

was spread on the floor, there was a grate in the chimney, and, in
brief, the apartment had the air <^ being habitable and inhabited.

But Boland's eyes found better employment than to make obeer-
vations on the accommodations of the chamber; for this second
female inhabitant of the mansion seemed something very different
from anything he had yet seen there. At his first entry, she had
greeted with a silent and low obeisance the two aged matrons, then
glancing her eyes towards Boland, she adjusted a veil which hung
back over her shoulders, so as to bring it over her face ; an opera-
tion which she performed with much modesty, but without either
affected haste or embarrassed timidity.

During this manoeuvre, Boland had time to observe that the face
was that of a girl apparently not much past sixteen, and that the
eyes were at once soft and brilliant. To these very favourable
observations was added the certainty, that the fair object to whom
they referred possessed an excellent shape, bordering perhaps on
embonpami, and therefore rather that of a Hebe than of a Sylph,
but beautifully formed, and shown to great advantage by the close
jacket and petticoat which she wore after a foreign fashion, the last
not quite long enough absolutely to conceal a very pretty f oot^ which
rested on a bar of the table at which she sat; her round arms and
taper fingers were busily employed in repaiiing the piece of tapestry
which was spread on it, which exhibited several deplorable fissures,
enough to demand the utmost skill of the most expert seamstress.

It is to be remarked, that it was by stolen glances that Boland
Graeme contrived to ascertain these interesting particulars ; and he
thought he could once or twice, notwithstanding the texture of the
veil, detect the damsel in the act of taking similar cognizance of his
own person. The matrons in the meanwhile continued their
separate conversation, eyeing from time to time the young people,
in a manner which left Boland in no doubt that they were the
subject of their conversation. At length he distinctly heard Mag-
dalen Qrseme say these words — "Nay, my sister, we must give
them opportunity to speak together, and to become acquainted;
they most be personally known to each other, or how shall they be
able to execute what they are intrusted with?"

It seemed as if the matron, not fully satisfied with her friend's
reasoning, continued to offer some objections ; but they were borne
down by her more dictatorial friend.

^ It must be so," she said, " my dear sister ; let us therefore go
f<»ih on the bakony, to finidbi our conversation. — And do you," she
added, addremng Boland and the girl, ^become acquainted with
eadi other."

94 THE ABBOT.

With this she stepped up to the yoong womanj and raisiiig her
veil discovered features which, whatever might be their ordinary
complexion, were now covered with a universal bltish.

'^Licitum sit," said Magdalen, looking at the other matron.

'' Viof lioitum/* replied the other, with reluctant and hesitating
acquiescence ; and again adjusting the veil of the blushing girl, she
dropped it so as to shade, though not to conceal, her countenance,
and whispered to her, in a tone loud enough for the page to hear^
** Bemember, Catherine, who thou art, and for what destined."

The matron then retreated with 'Magdalen Grseme through one
of the casements of the apartment, that opened on a large broad
balcony, which, with its ponderous balustrade, had once run along
tha whole south front: of the building which faced the brook, and
formed a pleasant and commodious walk in- the open air. It was
now in some places deprived of the balustrade, in others broken and
narrowed; but, ruinous as it was, could still be used as a pleasant
promenade. Here then walked the two ancient dames, busied in
their private conversation; yet not so much so, but that Eoland could
observe the matrons, as their thin forms darkened the casement in
passing or repassing before it, dart a glance into the apartment, to
see how matters were going on there.

CHAPTEE XL

Life hath its May, and it is mirthful then:
The woods are vocal, and the flowers all odour;
Its very blast has mirth in't — ^and the .maidens,
The while they don their cloaks to skreen their kirtles.
Laugh at the nun that wets them.

Old Play,

Catherine was at the happy a^e of innocence and buoyancy of spirit,
when, after the first moment of embarrassment was over, a situation
of awkwardness like that in which she was suddenly left to make
acquaintance with a handsome youth, not even known to her by
name, struck her, in spite of herself, in a ludicrous. point of view.
She bent her beautiful eyes upon the work with which she was
busied, and with infinite gravity sat out the two first turns of the
matrons upon the balcony; but then glancing her deep blue eye a
little towards Boland, and observing the embarrasBment under wbich
he laboured, now diifting on his chair, and now H^aglmg ]|ja 431^
the whole man evincing that he was perfectly at a Ion how to open
elie oonverBationf she could keep her composure no longer, but after

THE ABBOT. 05

a Tain straggle broke oat into a Bmoere, though a yerj involoiitary,
fit of laoghing, so richly aocompanied bj the laughter of her meny
eyes, which actoally glanced through the tears which the effort filled
them with, and by the waTing of her rich tresses, that the goddess
at smiles herself never looked more lovely than Catherine at that
moment. A court page would not have left her long alone in her
mirth; but Boland was country-bred, and, besides, having some
jealousy, as weU as bashfulness, he took it into his head that he was
himself the object of her inextinguishable laughter. His endeavours
to sympathize with Catherine, therefore, could carry him no farther
than a forced giggle, which had more of displeasure than of mirth in
it, and which so much enhanced that of the girl, that it seemed to
render it impossible for her ever to bring her laughter to an end,
with whatever anxious pains she laboured to do so. For every one
has felt that when a paroxysm of laughter has seized him, at a mis-
becoming time and place, the efforts which he makes to suppress it,
nay, the very sense of the impropriety of giving way to it, tend only
to augment and prolong the irresiBtible impulse.

It was undoubtedly lucky for Catherine, as well as for Eoland,
that the latter did not share in the excessive mirth of the former.
For seated as she was, with her back to the casement, Catherine
could easily escape the observation of the two matrons during the
course of l^eir promenade; whereas Graeme was so placed, with his
side to the window, that his mirth, had he shared that of his com-
panion, would have been instantly visible, and could not have failed
to give offence to the personages in question. He sat, however,
with some impatience, until Catherine had exhausted either her
power or her desire of laughing, and was returning with good grace
to the exercise of her needle, and then he observed with some dry-
ness, that ''there seemed no great occasion to recommend to them to
improve their acquaintance, as it seemed that they were already
tolerably familiar."

Catherine had an extreme desire to set off upon a fresh score, but
she repressed it strongly, and fixing her eyes on her work, replied
by asking his pardon, and promising to avoid future offence.

Boland had sense enough to feel, that an air of offended dignity
was very much misplaced, and that it was with a very different
bearing he ought to meet the deep blue eyes which had borne such
a hearty burden in the laughing scene. He tried, therefore, to
extricate himself as weU as he could from his blunder, by assuming
a tone of corresponding gaiety, and requesting to know of the nymph,
''how it was her pleasure that they should proceed in improving the
acquaintance which had commenced so merrily.''

w

THE ABBOT.

"That," ahe aaid, "you must yotmelf diaoorer; pdriispft I luve
gone a step too far in opemng our imterview."

" SoppoBo," B&id Bo]and Oneme, " we should begin as in a tale-
book, by asking each oUier'a names and histories."

" It is right well imagined," said Catherine, " and showB an argute
judgment. Do you begin, and I will listen, and only put in a quea-
tion or two at the dark p&rta of the story. Come, unfidd then your
name and history, my new acquaintance."

"I am called Boland Grseme, and that tall old woman is my
grandmother."

" And your tutressJ — Good. Who are your parents)"

" They are both dead," replied Boland.

" Ay, \mk who were theyl You had parents, I presume.

" I suppose SO)" said Boland, " bat I have never been able to learn
niueh of HieiT hist«i7. My fatber was a Scottish knight^ who died

THE ABBOT. 97

gallantly in his stirmpe — ^my mother was a Grsame of Heathergill,
in the Debateable Land — ^most of her family were killed when the
Debateable oonntry was burned by the Lord Maxwell and Herries
of Caerlaverock."

^' Is it long ago?" said the damsel.

'' Before I was bom,'' answered the page.

'^ That must be a great while since," said she, shaking her head
gravely; 'Uook you, I caunot weep for them."

^ It needs not," said the youth, ''they fell with honour."

''So much for your lineage, fair sir," replied his companion, "of
whom I like the living specimen" (a glance at^ the casement) " far
less than those that are dead. Your much honoured grandmother
looks as if she could make one weep in sad earnest. And now, fair
sir, for your own person — if you tell not the tale faster, it will be
cut short in the middle; Mother Bridget pauses longer and longer
every time she passes the window, and with her there is as little
mirth as in the grave of your ancestors."

"My tale is soon told — I was introduced into the Castle of Avenel
to be page to the lady of the mansion."

" She is a strict Huguenot, is she not?" said the maiden.

"As strict as Calvin himself. But my grandmother can play the
puritan when it suits her purpose, and she had some plan of her own
for quartering me in the castle — ^it would have failed, however, after
we had remained several weeks at the hamlet, but for an unexpected
master of ceremonies"

" And who was that?" said the girL

"A large black dog. Wolf by name, who brought me into the
castle one day in his mouth, like a hurt wild-duck, and presented
me to the lady."

"A most respectable introduction, truly," said Catherine; "and
what might you learn at this same castle? I love dearly to know
what my acquaintances can do at need."

"To fly a hawk, hollow to a hound, back a horse, and wield lance,
bow, and brand."

"And to boast of all this when you have learned it," said
Catherine, " which, in France at least, is the surest accomplishment
of a page. But proceed, fair sir; how came your Huguenot lord and
your no less Huguenot lady to receive and keep in the family so
perilous a person as a Catholic page?"

"Because they knew not that part of my history, which from
infancy I had been taught to keep secret — ^and because my grand-
dame's former zealous attendance on their heretic chaplain had
laid all this suspicion to sleep, most fair Callipolis," said the i^a%<&\

08 THE ABBOT.

and in so saying, he edged his/chair towards the seat of the fair
querist.

''Nay, but keep your distance, most gallant sir," answered the
blue-eyed maiden, ''for unless I greatly mistake, these reverend
ladies will soon interrupt our amicable conference, if the acquaint-
ance they recommend shall seem to proceed beyond a certain point
— so, fair sir, be pleased to abide by your station, and reply to my
questions. — By what achievements did you prove the qualities of a
page, which you had thus happily acquired?"

Boland, who began to enter into the tone and spirit of the damsel's
conversation, replied to her with becoming spirit.

"In no feat, fair gentlewoman, was I found inexpert, wherein
there was mischief implied. I shot swans, hunted cats, frightened
serving-women, chased the deer, and robbed the orchard. I say
nothing of tormenting the chaplain in various ways, for that was
my duty as a good Catholic"

" Now, as I am a gentlewoman," said Catherine, " I think these
heretics have done Catholic penance in entertaining so all-accom-
plished a serving-man ! And what, fair sir, might have been the
unhappy event which deprived them of an inmate altogether so
estimable]"

"Truly, fair gentiewoman," answered the youth, "your real pro-
verb says that the longest^ lane wiU have a turning, and mine was
more— -it was, in fine, a turning off."

"Good !" said the merry young maiden, "it is an apt play on the
word. — And what occasion was taken for so important a catastrophe?
— ^Nay, start not for my learning, I do know the schools — ^in plain
phrase, why were you sent from service?"

The page shrugged his shoulders while he replied, — "A short tale
is soon told — and a short horse soon curried. I made the ^coner's
boy taste of my switch — ^the falconer threatened to make me brook his
cudgel — he is a kindly clown as well as a stout, and I would rather
have been cudgelled by him than any man in Christendom to choose
— but I knew not his qualities at that time — so I threatened to
make him brook the stab, and my Lady made me brook the 'Begone;'
BO adieu to the page's office and the fair Castle of Avenel. — ^I had
not travelled far before I met my venerable parent — And so tell
your tale, fair gentlewoman, for mine is done."

" A happy grandmother," said the maiden, " who had the luck to
find the stray page just when his mistress had slipped his leash, and
a most lucky page that has jumped at once from a page to an old
lady's gentleman-usher !"

" AJJ this IB nothing of your history," answered Boland Graeme,

THE ABBOT. 99

who began to be much interested in the congenial yivacity of this
facetious young gentlewoman, — ^''tale for tale is fellow-traveller's
justice."

" Wait till we are fellow-travellers, then," replied Catherine.

'' Nay, you escape me not so," said the page; *' if you deal not justly
by me, I will call out to Dame Bridget, or whatever your dame be
called, and proclaim you for a cheat."

" You shall not need," answered the maiden — " my history is the
counterpart of your own; the same words might ahnost serve, change
but dress and name. I am called Catherine Seyton, and I also am
an orphan."

** Have your parents been long dead?"

** That is the only question," said she, throwing down her fine eyes
with a sudden expression of sorrow — ''that is the only question I
cannot laugh at."

" And Dame Bridget is your grandmother?"

The sudden doud passed away like that which crosses for an instant
the summer sun, and she answered, with her usual lively expression,
" Worse by twenty degrees — Dame Bridget is my maiden aunt."

" Over gods forebode !" said Boland — " Alas ! that you have such
a tale to tell ! And what horror comes next?"

''Your own history, exactly. I was taken upon trial for
service"

C(

And turned off for pinching the duenna, or affronting my lady's
waiting- woman ?"

" Nay, our history varies there," said the damsel — " Our mistress
broke up house, or had her house broke up, which is the same thing,
and I am a free woman of ihe forest."

"And I am as glad of it as if any one had lined my doublet with
doth of gold," said the youth.

" I thank you for your mirth," said she, " but the matter is not
likely to concern you."

" Nay, but go on," said the page, " for you will be presently inter-
rupted; the two good dames have been soaring yonder on the balcony,
like two old hooded crows, and their croak grows hoarser as night
comes on; they will wing to roost presently. — This mistress of yours,
fair gentlewoman, who was she, in God's name?"

" O, she has a fair name in the world," replied Catherine Seyton,
" Few ladies kept a fairer house, or held more gentlewomen in her
household; my aunt Bridget was one of her housekeepers. We never
saw our mistress's blessed face, to be sure, but we heard enough of
her; were up early and down late, and were kept to long prayers and
light food."

100 THE ABBOT.

*' Out upon the penurious old beldam \^ said the page.

''For Heaven's sake, blaspheme not!'' said the girl, with an
expression of fear. — ''God pardon us both! I meant no harm. I
speak of our blessed SaJnt Catherine of Sienna ! — ^may God forgive
me that I spoke so lightly, and made you do a great sin and a great
blasphemy ! This was her nunnery, in which there were twelve nuns
and an abbess. My aunt was the abbess, till the heretics turned all
adrift"

" And where are your companions?" asked the youth.

" With the last year's snow," answered the maiden; " east, north,
south, and west — some to France, some to Flanders, some, I fear,
into the world and its pleasures. We have got permission to remain,
or rather our remaining has been connived a^ for my aunt has great
relations among the Kerrs, and they have threatened a death-feud
if any one touches us; and bow and spear are the best warrant in
these times."

" Nay, then, you sit under a sure shadow," said the youth; ' " and
I suppose you wept yourself blind when Saint Catherine broke up
housekeeping before you had taken arlesf in her service?"

"Hush! for Heaven's sake," said the damsel, crossing herself,
" no more of that ! But I have not quite cried my eyes out," said
she, turning them upon him, and instantly again bending them upon
her work. It was one of those glances which would require the
threefold plate of brass around the heart, more than it is needed by
the mariners, to whom Horace recommends it. Our youthful page
had no defence whatever to offer.

"What say you, Catherine," he said, "if we two, thus strangely
turned out of service at the same time, should give our two most
venerable duennas the torch to hold, while we walk a merry measure
with each other over the floor of this weary world?"

"A goodly proposal, truly," said Catherine, "and worthy the mad-
cap brain of a discarded page ! — And what shifts does your worship
propose we, should live by? — by singing ballads, cutting purses, or
swaggering on the highway? for there, I think, you would find your
most productive exchequer."

" Choose, you proud peat !" said the page, drawing off in huge dis-
dain at the calm and unembarrassed ridicule with which his wild
proposal was received. And as he spoke the words, the casement
was again darkened by the forms of the matrons — it opened, and
admitted Magdalen Graeme and the Mother Abbess, so we must now
style her, into the apartment.

t ^fidrlie^— Earnest-money.

TH£ ABBOT. 101

CHAPTER XIL

Nay, hear me, brother— I am elder, wiser,
And holier than thou. And age, and wisdom,
And holiness, have peremptory claims.
And will be listen'd to.

Old Play.

When the matrcms re-entered, aud put an end to the conversation
which we have detailed in the last chapter, Dame Magdalen Graeme
thus addressed her grandson and his pretty companion: "Have you
spoke together, my children? — Have you become known to each
other as fellow travellers on the same dark and dubious road, whom
chance hath brought together, and who study to learn the tempers
and dispositions of those by whom their perils are to be shared I**

It was seldom the light-hearted Catherine could suppress a jest,
so that she often spoke when she would have acted more wisely in
holding her peace.

" Your grandson admires the journey which you propose so very
greatly, that he is even now preparing for setting out upon it
instantly."

" This is to be too forward, Boland," said the dame, addressing
him,^ "aa yesterday you were over slack — the just mean lies in
obedience, which both waits for the signal to start, and obeys it
when given. — ^But once again, my children, have you so perused
each other's countenances, that when you meet, in whatever disguise
the limes may impose upon you, you may recognize each in the
other the secret agent of the mighty work in which you are to be
leagued? — ^Look at each other, know each line and lineament of each
other's countenance; Learn to distinguish by the step, by the sound
of the voice, by the motion of the hand, by the glance of the eye,
tiie partner whom Heaven hath sent to aid in working its will. —
"Wilt thou know that maiden, whensoever or wheresoever you shall
again meet her, my Boland Gramme?"

As readily as truly did Boland answer in the affirmative. " And
thou, my daughter, wilt thou again remember the features of this
youth?"

" Truly, mother," replied Catherine Seyton, " I have not seen so
many men of late, that I should immediately forget your grandson,
though I mark not much about him that is deserving of special
remembrance."

" Join hands, then, my children," said Magdalen Graeme; but, in
saying so, was interrupted by her companion, whose conventual

102 THE ABBOT.

prejudices liad been gradually giving her more and more uneasiness,
and who could remain acquiescent no longer.

"Nay, my good sister, you forget," said she to Magdalen,
''Catherine is the betrothed bride of Heaven — ^these intimacies
cannot be."

^' It is in the cause of Heaven that I command them to embrace,"
said Magdalen, with the full force of her powerful voice; ** the end,
sister, sanctifies the means we must use."

''They call me Lady Abbess, or Mother at the least, who address
me," said Dame Bridget, drawing herself up, as if offended at her
friend's authoritative manner — "the Lady of Heathergill forgets
that she speaks to the Abbess of Saint Catherine."

"When I was what you call me," said Magdalen, "you indeed
were the Abbess of Saint Catherine; but both names are now gone,
with all the rank that the world and that the church gave to them;
and we are now, to the eye of human judgment, two poor, despised,
oppressed women, dragging our dishonoured old age to a humble
grave. But what are we in the eye of Heaven? — ^Ministers, sent
forth to work His will, — ^in whose weakness the strength of the
church shall be manifested — ^before whom shall be humbled the
wisdom of Murray, and the dark strength of Morton. — ^And to such
wouldst thou apply the narrow rules of thy cloistw^d seclusion? —
or, hast thou forgotten the order which I showed thee from thy
Superior, subjecting thee to me in these matters?"

" On thy head, then, be the scandal and the sin," said the Abbess,
sullenly.

" On mine be they both," said Magdalen. " I say, embrace each
other, my children."

But Catherine, aware, perhaps, how the dispute was likely to
terminate, had escaped from the apartment, and so disappointed the
grandson, at least as much as the old matron.

"She is gone," said the Abbess, "to provide some little refresh-
ment. But it will have little savour to those who dwell in the
world; for I, at least, cannot dispense with the rules to which I am
vowed, because it is the will of wicked men to break down the
sanctuary in which they wont to be observed."

"It is well, my sister," replied Magdalen, "to pay each even the
smallest tithes of mint and cummin which the church demands, and
I blame not thy scrupulous observance of the rules of thine order.
But they were established by the church, and for the church's
benefit; and reason it is that they shoidd give way when the salva-
tion of the church herself is at stake."

The Abbess made no reply.

THE ABBOT. 103

One more acquainted with human nature than the inexperienoed
page, might haye found amusement in comparing the different kinds
of &naticism which these two females exhibited. The Abbess —
timid, narrow-minded, and discontented, dung to ancient usages
and pretensions which were ended by the Beformation, and was
in adversity, as she had been in prosperity, scrupulous, weak-
spirited, and bigoted; while the fiery and more lofty spirit of her
companion suggested a wider field of effort, and would not be limited
by ordinary rules in the extraordinary schemes which were sugges-
ted by her bold and irregular imagination. But Eoland Graeme,
instead of tracing these peculiarities of character in the two old
dames, only waited with great anxiety for the return of Catherine,
expecting probably that the proposal of the fraternal embrace would
be renewed, as his grandmother seemed disposed to carry matters
with a high hand.

His expectations, or hopes, if we may call them so, were, how-
ever, disappointed; for, when Catherine re-entered on the summons
of the Abbess, and placed on the table an earthen pitcher of water,
and four wooden platters, with cups of the same materials, the
Dame of Heathergill, satisfied with the arbitrary mode in which she
had borne down the opposition of the Abbess, pursued her victory
no farther—a moderation for which her grandson, in his heart,
returned her but slender thanks.

In the meanwhile, Catherine continued to place upon the table
the slender preparations for the meal of a recluse, which consisted
almost entirely of cole-wort, boiled, and served up in a wooden
platter, having no better seasoning than a little salt, and no better
accompaniment than some coarse barley-bread in very moderate
quantity. The water-pitcher, already mentioned, furnished the
only beverage. After a Latin grace, delivered by the Abbess, the
guests sat down to their spare entertainment. The simplicity of
the fare appeared to produce no distaste in the females, who ate of
it moderately, but with the usual appearance of appetite. But
Boland Graeme had been used to better cheer. Sir Halbert Glen-
dinning, who affected even an unusual degree of nobleness in his
housekeeping, maintained it in a style of genial hospitality, which
rivalled that of the Northern Barons of England. He might think,
perhaps, that by doing so, he acted yet more completely the part
for which he was bom — ^that of a great Baron and a leader. Two
bullocks, and six sheep, weekly, were the allowance when the Baron
was at home, and the number was not greatly diminished during
his absence. A boll of malt was weekly brewed into ale, which was
used by the household at discretion. Bread was baked in proper-

104 THE ABBOT.

tion for the consumptioii of his domestics and retainers; and in this
scene of plenty had Eoland Graeme now lived for several years. It
formed a bad introduction to lukewarm greens and spring water;
and probably his countenance indicated some sense of the difference,
for the Abbess observed, '' It would seem, my son, that the tables
of the heretic Baron, whom you have so long followed, are more
daintily furnished than those of the suffering daughters of the
church; and yet, not upon the most solemn nights of festival, when
the nuns were permitted to eat their portion at mine own table, did
I consider the cates which were then served up as half so delicious
as these vegetables and this water, on which I prefer to feed, rather
than do aught which may derogate from the strictness of my vow*
It shall never be said that the mistress of this house made it a house
of feasting, when days of darkness and of affliction were hanging
over the Holy Church, of which I am an unworthy member."

''Well hast thou said, my sister,'' replied Magdalen Graeme:
'' but now it is not only time to suffer in the good cause, but to act
in it. And since our pilgrim's meal is finished, let us go apart to
prepare for our journey of to-morrow, and to advise on the manner
in which these children shall be employed, and what measures we
can adopt to supply their thoughtlessness and lack of discretion."

Notwithstanding his indifferent cheer, the heart of Boland Graeme
bounded high at this proposal, which he doubted not would lead to
another tSte^tite betwixt him and the pretty novice. But he was
mistaken. CSatherine, it would seem, had no mind so far to indulge
him; for, moved either by delicacy or caprice, or some of those
indescribable shades betwixt the one and the other, with which
women love to tease, and at the same time to captivate, the ruder
sex, she reminded the Abbess that it was necessary she should
retire for an hour before vespers; and, receiving the ready and
approving nod of her Superior, she arose to withdraw. But, before
leaving the apartment, she made obeisance to the matrons, bending
herself till her hands touched her knees, and then made a lesser
reverence to Boland, which consisted in a slight bend of the body
and gentle depression of the head. This she performed very
demurely; but the party on whom the salutation was conferred,
thought he could discern in her manner an arch and mischievous
exultation over his secret disappointment. — ''The devil take the
saucy girl," he thought in his heart, though the presence of the
Abbess should have repressed all such profane imaginations, — " she
is as hard-hearted as the laughing hyaena that the story-books tell
of — she has a mind that I shall not forget her this night at least"

The matrons now retired also, giving the page to understand

THE ABBOT. 106

that he was on no acconnt to stir from the convent^ or to show
himself at the windows, the Abbess assigning as a reason, the
readiness with which the rade heretics caught at every occasion of
scandalizing the religions orders.

"This is worse than the rigonr of Mr. Henry Warden himself,"
said the page, when he was left alone; "for, to do him justice,
however strict in requiring the most rigid attention during the time
of his homilies, he left us to the freedom of our own wills after-
wards — ay, and would take a share in our pastimes, too, if he
thought them entirely innocent. But these old women are utterly
wrapt up in gloom, mystery, and self-deniaL — ^WeU, then, if I must
neither stir out of the gate nor look out at window, I will at least
see what the inside of the house contains that may help to pass
away one's time — ^peradventure, I may light on that blue-eyed
laugher in some comer or other.''

Going, therefore, out of the chamber by the entrance opposite
to that through which the two matrons had departed (for it may be
readily supposed that he had no desire to intrude on their privacy),
he wandered from one chamber to another, through the deserted
edifice, seeking, with boyish eagerness, some source of interest or
amusement. Here he passed through a long gallery, opening on
either hand into the little cells of the nuns, all deserted, and
deprived of the few trifling articles of furniture which the rules of
the order admitted.

"The birds are flown," thought the page; "but whether they
will find themselves worse ofl" in the open air than in these damp
narrow cages, I leave my Lady Abbess and my venerable relative
to settle betwixt them. I think the wild young lark whom they
have left behind them, would like best to sing under God's free sky."

A winding stair, strait and narrow, as if to remind the nuns of
their duties of fast and maceration, led down to a lower suite of
apartments, which occupied the ground story of the house. These
rooms were even more ruinous than those which he had left; for,
having encountered the first fury of the assailants by whom the
nunnery had been wasted, the windows had been dashed in, the
doors broken down, and even the partitions betwixt the apartments,
in some places, destroyed. As he thus stalked from desolation to
desolation, and began to think of returning from so iminteresting
a research to the chamber which he had left, he was surprised to
hear the low of a cow very dose to him. The sound was so unex-
pected at the time and place, that Boland Greeme started as if it
had been the voice of a lion, and laid his hand on his dagger, while
at the same moment the light and lovely form of Catherine Seyton

106 THE ABBOT.

presented itself at the door of the apartment from whioh the sound
had issued.

'' Good even to you, valiant champion ! " said she ; '* sinoe the days
of Guy of Warwick, never was one more worthy to encounter a dun
cow.**

" Cowl " said BolsCnd Grseme, " by my faith, I thought it had been
the devil that roared so near me. Who ever heard of a convent
containing a cow-house? ''

"Cow and calf may come hither now," answered Catherine, "for
we have no means to keep out either. But I advise you, kind sir,
to return to the place from whence you came."

''Not till I see your charge, fair sister," answered Boland, and
made his way into the apartment, in spite of the half serious half
laughing remonstrances of the girL

The poor solitary cow, now the only severe recluse within the
nunnery, was quartered in a spacious chamber, which had once
been the refectory of the convent. The roof was graced with
groined arches, and the wall with niches, from which the images
had been pulled down. These remnants of architectural orna-
ments were strangely contrasted with the rude crib constructed for
the cow in one comer of the apartment, and the stack of fodder
which was piled beside it for her food.*

''By my faith," said the page, "Crombie is more lordly lodged
than any one here! "

" You had best remain with her," said Catherine, " and supply by
your filial attentions the offspring she has had the ill luck to lose."

" I will remain, at least, to help you to prepare her nighf s lair,
pretty Catherine," said Boland, seizing upon a pitchfork.

''By no means," said Catherine; "for, besides that you know
not in the least how to do her that service, you will bring a chiding
my way, and I get enough of that in the regular course of things."

"What! for accepting my assistance?" said the page, — ^"for
accepting my assistance, who am to be your confederate in some
deep matter of import? That were altogether unreasonable— ^md,
now I think on it, tell me if you can, what is this mighty emprise
to which I am destined? "

" Bobbing a bird's nest, I should suppose," said Catherine, " con-
sidering the champion whom they have selected."

" By my faith," said the youth, " and he that has taken a falcon's
nest in the Scaurs of Polmoodie, has done something to brag of,
my fair sister. — ^But that is all over now — a murrain on the nest
and the eyasses and their food, washed or unwashed, for it was all
oDon of cramming these worthless kites that I was sent upon my

present tnrelB. SaTs that I have met with yon, pretty riater, I
eoold eat my dagger-hilt for vexation at my own folly. Bnt, a* yn

are to be feUow-fa»Tellera"

" Fellow-IabonrerB ! not fellow-trayellersl" amrwered the giri;
"for to yoor oomfort be it known, that the lAdy Abbess and I >et

out earlier than you and your respected relative to-morrow, and
that I partly endure your company at present, because it may be
long ere we meet again."

" By Saint Andrew, but it shall not, thongh," answered Boland ;
" I will not hunt at all onleea we are to hunt in couplea."

" I mjBpeetf in that and in other points, we must do as we are
bid," rallied the yoong lady. — " But hark ! I hear my aunt's voice,"

Tba old lady entered in good earnest, and darted a severe glance
at hot niece, while Boland had the ready wit to busy himself about
tlu halter of the oow.

108 THE ABBOT.

" The young gentleman," said CSatherine, gravely, " is helping me
to tie the cow up faster to her stake, for I find that last night when
she put her head out of window and lowed, she alarmed the whole
village; and we shall be suspected of sorcery among the heretics,
if they do not discover the cause of the apparition, or lose our cow if
they do."

'^ Believe yourself of that fear," said the Abbess, somewhat
ironically; 'Hhe person to whom she is now sold, comes for the
animal presently."

*' Gk)od-night, then, my poor companion," said Catherine, patting
the animal's shoulders ; " I hope thou hast fallen into kind hands,
for my happiest hours of late have been spent in tending thee — I
woidd I had been bom to no better task ! "

''Now, out upon thee, mean-spirited wench! "said the Abbess;
" is that a speech worthy of the name of Seyton, or of the mouth of
a sister of this house, treading the path of election-«nd to be spoken
before a stranger youth, too! — Go to my oratory, minion — ^there read
your Hours till I come thither, when I will read you such a lecture
as shall make you prize the blessings which you possess."

Catherine was about to withdraw in silence, casting a half sor-
rowful half comic glance at Boland Graeme, which seemed to say
— " You see to what your untimely visit has exposed me," when,
suddenly changing her mind, she came forward to the page, and
extended her hand as she bid him good-evening. Their palms
had pressed each other ere the astonished matron could interfere,
and Catherine had time to say — "Forgive me, mother; it is long
since we have seen a face that looked with kindness on us. Since
these disorders have broken up our peaceful retreat, all has been
gloom and malignity. I bid this youth kindly farewell, because he
has come hither in kindness, and because the odds are great, that
we may never again meet in this world. I guess better than he,
that the schemes on which you are rushing are too mighty for your
management, and that you are now setting the stone a-rolUng, which
must surely crush you in its descent I bid farewell," she added,
** to my fellow- victim! "

This was spoken with a tone of deep and serious feeling, alto-
gether diiferent from the usual levity of Catherine's manner, and
plainly showed, that, beneath the giddiness of extreme youth and
total inexperience, there lurked in her bosom a deeper power of
sense and feeling, than her conduct had hitherto expreiraed.

The Abbess remained a moment silent after she had left the room.
The proposed rebuke died on her tongue, and she appeared Btrock
with the deep and foreboding tone in which her niece had spoken

THE ABBOT. 109

her good-even. She led the way in silence to the apartment which
they had formerly occupied, and where there was prepared a small
refection, as the Abbess termed it, consisting of milk and barley-
bread. Magdalen Graeme, summoned to take share in this coUation,
appeared from an adjoining apartment, but Catherine was seen no
more. There was little said during the hasty meal, and after it was
finished, Boland Graeme was dismissed to the nearest cell, where
some preparations had been made for his repose.

The strange circumstances in which he found himself, had their
usual effect in preventing slumber from hastily descending on him,
and he could distinctly hear, by a low but earnest murmuring in the
apartment which he had left, that the matrons continued in deep
consultation to a late hour. As they separated he heard the Abbess
distinctly express herself thus : '^ Li a word, my sister, I venerate
your character and the authority with which my Superiors have
invested you ; yet it seems to me, that, ere entering on this perilous
course, we should consult some of the Fathers of the Church."

'^And how and where are we to find a faithful Bishop or Abbot
at whom to ask counsel] The feithful Eustatius is no more — ^he is
withdrawn from a world of evil, and from the tyranny of heretics.
May Heaven and Our Lady assoilzie him of his sins, and abridge
the penance of his mortal infirmities ! — ^Where shall we find another,
with whom to take counsel ? "

"Heaven will provide for the Church," said the Abbess; "and
the faithful fathers who yet are suffered to remain in the house of
Kennaquhair, will proceed to elect an Abbot. They will not suffer
the staff to fall down, or the mitre to be unfilled, for the threats of
heresy."

"Tliat win I learn to-morrow," said Magdalen Graeme; "yet who
now takes the ofiQlce of an hour, save to partake with the spoilers in
their work of plunder? — ^to-morrow will tell us if one of the thousand
saints who are sprung from the House of Saint Mary's continues to
look down on it in its misery. — ^Farewell, my sister, we meet at
Edinburgh."

"Benedidte!" answered the Abbess, and they parted.

" To Kennaquhair and to Edinburgh we bend our way," thought
Boland Graeme. "That information have I purchased by a sleep-
less hour — it suits well with my purpose. At Kennaquhair I shall
see Father Ambrose; — ^at Edinburgh I shall find the means of shap-
ing my own course through this bustling world, without burdening
my affectionate relation — at Edinburgh, too, I shall see again the
witching novice, with her blue eyes and her provoking smile." — ^He
fell asleep, and it was to dream of Catherine Seyton.

110 THE ABBOT.

CHAPTEE XHL

What, Dagon up again! — I thought we had hurFd him
Down on the threshold, never more to rise.
Bring wedge and axe ; and, neighbours, lend your hands,
And rive me idol into winter fagots !

Athelstane, or the Converted Dane.

BoLAND Grjeme slept long and sound, and the sun was high over
the horizon, when the voice of his companion summoned him to
resume their pilgrimage; and when, hastily arranging his dress, he
went to attend her call, the enthusiastic matron stood already at
the threshold, prepared for her journey. There was in all the
deportment of this remarkable woman, a promptitude of execution,
and a sternness of perseverance, founded on the fanaticism which
she nursed so deeply, and which seemed to absorb all the ordinary
purposes and feelings of mortality. One only human affection
gleamed through her enthusiastic energies, like the broken glimpses
of the sun through the rising clouds of a storm. It was her maternal
fondness for her grandson — a fondness carried almost to the verge
of dotage, in circumstances where the Catholic religion was not con-
cerned, but which gave way instantly when it chanced either to
thwart or come in contact with the more settled purpose of her soul,
and the more devoted duty of her life. Her life she would willingly
have laid down to save the earthly object of her affection; but that
object itself she was ready to hazard, and would have been willing
to sacrifice, could the restoration of the Church of Bome have been
purchased with his blood. Her discourse by the way, excepting on
the few occasions in which her extreme love of her grandson found
opportunity to display itself in anxiety for his health and accommo-
dation, turned entirely on the duty of raising up the fallen honours
of the Church, and replacing a Catholic sovereign on the throne.
There were times at which she hinted, though very obscurely and
distantly, that she herself was foredoomed by Heaven to perform a
part in this important task; and that she had more than mere human
warranty for the zeal with which she engaged in it. But on this
subject she expressed herself in such general language, that it was
not easy to decide whether she made any actual pretensions to a
direct and supernatural call, like the celebrated Elizabeth Barton,
commonly called the Nun of Kent;''^ or whether she only dwelt
upon the general duty which was incumbent on all Catholics of the
time, and the pressure of which she felt in an extraordinary degree.
Yet, though Magdalen Grseme gave no direct intimation of her
j[>retensions to be considered as something beyond the ordinary class

THE ABBOT. Ill

of mortab, iibe deaoMnoar of taa or two peraonB amongst tit« tntrd-
lera whom ibty oocaaionallr met, as tfaey entered the more fertile
and populous part of the vslla;, aeemed to indioate their belief in
her aaperior attributea. It ia tme, that two elowna, who drove
before them a herd <^ cattle—one or two village wenchea, who
seemed bound for some men7-niakiiig — aatrolling «oldier,!Qarn>ted
morion, and a wandering student, aa hia threadbare black cloak and
hia aatehel of books po^jclaimed bim— pftsaed onr travellers without
obeervation, or with a look of ctmtempt; and, moreover, that two or
three children, attracted bj the appearance of a dreaa so nearly re-
aembliiig tiiat of a [dlgrim, joined in hooting and calling, "Out npos
But one or two. who nourished in tiieir boBoms

reapeot for ^e downfallen hierarchy — casting first a timorona glance
around, to see that no one observed them — haatilj crossed themselves
— bent their knee to Sister Magdalen, bj which name they saluted
htx — kissed her hand, or even the hem of her dalmatiqne — received
with hamility (he Benedicite with which she repaid their obeisance;
uid then starting up, and again looking timidly round to see that
Uiey had been unobserved, hastily resumed their journey. Even
while within sight of persons of the prevailing fsith, there -wttn
individuals bold enough, by folding their arms and bending their
head, to give distant and sUent intimation that they recognized Sister
MngHftlfinj and honoured alike her person and her purpose.

112 THE ABBOT.

She failed not to notice to her grandson these marks of honour
and respect which from time to time she received. '' You see," she
said, ''my son, that the enemies have been unable altogether to
suppress the good spirit, or to root out the true seed. Amid heretics
and schismatics, spoilers of the church's lands, and scoflfers at saints
and sacraments, there is left a remnant."

'' It is true, my mother," said Boland Graeme; ''but methinks they
are of a quality which can help us but little. See you not all those
who wear steel at their side, and bear marks of better quality, ruffle
past us as they would pass the meanest beggars? for those who give
us any marks of sympathy, are the poorest of the poor, and most
outcast of the needy, who have neither bread to share with us, nor
swords to defend us, nor skill to use them if they had. That poor
wretch that last kneeled to you with such deep devotion, and who
seemed emaciated by the touch of some wasting disease within, and
the grasp of poverty without — ^that pale, shivering, miserable caitifr,
how can he aid the great schemes you meditate?"

" Much, my son," said the matron, with more mildnesB than the
pa^e perhaps expected. " When that pious son of the church returns
from the shrine of Saint Ringan, whither he now travels by my
counsel, and by the aid of good Catholics, — ^when he returns, healed
of his wasting malady, high in health, and strong in limb, wiU not
the glory of his faithfulness, and its miraculous reward, sp^^ louder
in the ears of this besotted people of Scotland, than the din whidi is
weekly made in a thousand heretical pulpits?"

" Ay, but, mother, I fear the Sainfs hand is outi It is long since
we have heard of a miracle performed at Saint Bingan's."

The matron made a dead pause, and, with a voice tremulous with
emotion, asked, " Art thou so unhappy as to doubt the power of the
blessed Saint?"

" Nay, mother," the youth hastened to reply, '' I believe as the
Holy Church commands, and doubt not Saint Bingan's power of
healing; but, be it said with reverence, he hath not of late showed
the inclination."

" And has this land deserved it?" said the Catholic matron, advanc-
ing hastily while she spoke, until she attained the summit of a rising
ground, over which the path led, and then standing again still.
" Here," she said, " stood the Cross, the limits of the Halidome of
St. Mary's — here—on this eminence — from which the eye of the holy
pilgrim might first catch a view of that ancient Monastery, the light
of the land, the abode of saints, and the grave of monarchs — ^Where
is now that emblem of our faith? It lies on the earth — a shapeless
block, from which the broken fragments have been carried off, for

THE ABBOT. 113

the meanest uses, till now no semblance of its original form remains.
Look towards the east, my son, where the sun was wont to glitter
on stately spires — ^from which crosses and beUs have now been hurled,
as if the land had been invaded once more by barbarous heathens —
Look at yonder battlements, of which we can, even at this distance,
descry the partial demolition; and ask if this land can expect from
the blessed saints, whose shrines and whose images have been pro-
faned, any other miracles but those of vengeance? How long," she
exclaimed, looking upward, ''How long shall it be delayed?'' She
paused, and then resumed with enthusiastic rapidity, " Yes, my son,
all on earth is but for a period — ^joy and grief, triumph and desola-
tion, succeed each other like cloud and sunshine; — the vineyard shall
not be for ever trodden down, the gaps shall be amended, and the
fruitful branches once more dressed and trimmed. Even this day —
ay, even this hour, I trust to hear news of importance. Dally not —
let us on — ^time is brief, and judgment is certain."

She resumed the path which led to the Abbey — a path which, in
ancient times, was carefully marked out by posts and rails, to assist
the pilgrim in his journey — ^these were now torn up and destroyed.
A half hour's walk placed them in front of the once splendid
Monastery, which, although the church was as yet entire, had not
escaped the fury of the times. The long range of cells and of apart-
ments for the use of the brethren, which occupied two sides of the
great square, were almost entirely ruinous, the interior having been
consumed by fire, which only the massive architecture of the outward
walls had enabled them to resist. The Abbofs house, which formed
the third side of the square, was, though injured^ still inhabited, and
afforded refuge to the few brethren who yet, rather by connivance
than by actual authority, were permitted to remain at Kennaquhair.
Their stately offices — their pleasant gardens — ^the magnificent cloisters
constructed for their recreation, were all dilapidated and ruinous;
and some of the building materials had apparently been put into
requisition by persons in the village and in the vicinity, who,
formerly vassals of the Monastery, had not hesitated to appropriate
to themselves a part of the spoils. Boland saw fragments of Gothic
pillars richly carved, occupying the place of door-posts to the meanest
huts; and here and there a mutilated statue, inverted or laid on its
side, made the door-post^ or threshold, of a wretched cow-house.
The church itself was less injured than the other buildings of the
Monastery. But the images which had been placed in the numerous
niches of its columns and buttresses, having all fallen under the
charge of idolatry, to which the superstitious devotion of the papists
had justly exposed them, had been broken and thnywn dor^ni) V\^-

114 THE ABBOT.

out much regard to the preservation of the rich and airy canopies
and pedestals on which they were placed; nor, if the devastation had
stopped short at this point, could we have considered the preserva-
tion of these monuments of antiquity as an object to be put in the
balance with the introduction of the reformed worship.

Our pilgrims saw the demolition of these sacred and venerable
representations of saints and angels — ^for as sacred and venerable
they had been taught to consider them — ^with very different feelings.
The antiquary may be permitted to regret the necessity of the action,
but to Magdalen Grseme it seemed a deed of impiety, deserving the
instant vengeance of heaven — a sentiment in which her relative
joined for the moment as cordially as herself. Neither, however,
gave vent to their feelings in words, and uplifted hands and eyes
formed their only mode of expressing them. The page was about to
approach the great eastern gate of the church, but was prevented by
his guide. *' That gate,'' she said, '^ has long been blockaded, that the
heretical rabble may not know there still exist among the brethren of
St. Mary's men who dare worship where their predecessors prayed while
alive, and were interred when dead — ^follow me this way, my son."

Boland Graeme followed accordingly; and Magdalen, casting a
hasty glance to see whether they were observed (for she had learned
caution from the danger of the times), commanded her grandson to
knock at a little wicket which she pointed out to him. '' But knodc
gently," she added, with a motion expressive of caution. After a
little space, during which no answer was returned, she signed to
Boland to repeat his summons for admission; and the door at length
partially opening, discovered a glimpse of the thin and timid porter,
by whom the duty was performed, skulking from the observation of
those who stood without; but endeavouring at the same time to gain
a sight of them without being himself seen. How different from the
proud consciousness of dignity with which the porter of ancient days
offered his important brow and his goodly person to the pilgrims
who repaired to Kennaquhair ! His solemn *' Intrate, meifiUi^* was
exchanged for a tremulous '' You cannot enter now — the brethren
are in their chambers." But, when Magdalen Graeme asked, in an
under tone of voice, "Hast thou forgotten me, my brother?" he
changed his apologetic refusal to '^ Enter, my honoured sister, enter
speedily, for evil eyes are upon us."

They entered accordingly, and having waited until the porter had,
with jealous haste, barred and bolted the wicket, were conducted by
him through several dark and winding passages. As they walked
slowly on, he spoke to the matron in a subdued voice, as if he feared
to truBt the very walk with the avowal which he communicated.

THE ABBOT. 116

•

** Our Fathers are assembled in the Chapter-house, worthy sister —
yes, in the Chapter-house — for the election of an Abbot. — ^Ah,
Benedidte 1 there must be no ringing of bells — no high mass — ^no
opening of the great gates now, that the people might see and
venerate their spiritual Father ! Our Fathers must hide themselves
rather like robbers who choose a leader, than godly priests who elect
a mitred Abbot."

*^ Hegard not that, my brother,'' answered Magdalen Qrseme; ''the
first successors of Saint Peter himself were elected, not in sunshine,
but in tempests — ^not in the halls of the Vatican, but in the subter-
ranean vaults and dungeons of heathen Bome — they were not gratu-
lated with shouts and salvos of cannon-shot and of musketry, and
the display of artificial fire — no, my brother — but by the hoarse
summons of Lictors and Praetors, who came to drag the Fathers of
the Church to martyrdom. From such adversity was the Church
once raised, and by such will it now be purified. — And mark me,
brother! not in the proudest days of the mitred Abbey, was a
Superior ever chosen, whom his office shall so much honour, as he
shall be honoured who now takes it upon him in these days of
tribulation. On whom, my brother, will the choice fall?"

" On whom can it fall — or, alas ! who would dare to reply to the
call, save the worthy pupil of the Sainted Eustatius — ^the good and
valiant Father Ambrose?"

" I know it," said Magdalen ; " my heart told me, long ere your
lips had uttered his name. Stand forth, courageous champion, and
man the fatal breach ! — Bise, bold and experienced pilot, and seize
the helm while the tempest rages! — ^Tum back the battle, brave
raiser of the fallen standard ! — Wield crook and sling, noble shepherd
of a scattered flock."

"I pray you, hush, my sister!" said the porter, opening a door
which led into the great church, "the brethren will be presently
here to celebrate their election with a solemn mass — I must marshal
them the way to the high altar — aU the offices of this venerable
house have now devolved on one poor decrepit old man."

He left the church, and Magdalen and Poland remained alone in
that great vaulted space, whose style of rich, yet chaste architecture,
referred its origin to the early part of the fourteenth century, the
best period of Gothic building. But the niches were stripped of
their images in the inside as well as the outside of the church; and
in the pell-mell havoc, the tombs of warriors and of princes had been
included in the demolition of the idolatrous shrines. Lances and
swords of antique size, which had hung over the tombs of mighty
warriors of former days, lay now strewed among relics, with, wbic^

116 THE ABBOT.

the devotion of pilgrims had graced those of their peculiar saints ;
and the fragments of the knights and dames, which had once lain
recumbent^ or kneeled in an attitude of devotion, where their mortal
relics were reposed, were mingled with those of the saints and angels
of the Gothic chisel, which the hand of violence had sent headlong
from their stations.

The most fatal symptom of the whole appeared to be, that, though
this violence had now been committed for many months, the Fathers
had lost so totally all heart and resolution, that they had not adven-
tured even upon clearing away the rubbish, or restoring the church
to some decent degree of order. This might have been done without
much labour. But terror had overpowered the scanty remains of a
body once so powerful, and, sensible that they were only suffered to
remain in this ancient seat by connivance and from compassion^ they
did not venture upon taking any step which might be construed into
an assertion of their ancient rights, contenting themselves with the
secret and obscure exercise of their religious ceremonial, in as
unostentatious a manner as was possible.

Two or three of the more aged brethren had sunk under the pres-
sure of the times, and the ruins had been partly cleared away to
permit their interment. One stone had been laid over Father
Nicholas, which recorded of him in special, that he had taken the
vows during the incumbency of Abbot Ingelram, the period to which
his memory so frequently recurred. Another flag-stone, yet more
recently deposited, covered the body of Philip the Sacristan, eminent
for his aquatic excursion with th^ phantom of Avenel; and a third,
the most recent of all, bore the outline of a mitre, and the words
Hicjacet MutcUitu Abbas; for no one dared to add a word of com-
mendation in favour of his learning, and strenuous zeal for the
Boman Catholic faith.

Magdalen Graeme looked at and perused the brief records of these
monuments successively, and paused over that of Father Eustace.
'' In a good hour for thyself," she said, ''but, oh ! in an evil hour for the
Church, wert thou called from us. Let thy spirit be with us, holy
man— -encourage thy successor to tread in thy footsteps — ^give him
thy bold and inventive capacity, thy zeal and thy discretion— even
thif piety exceeds not his." As she spoke, a side door, which closed
a passage from the Abbofs house into the church, was throwix open,
that the Fathers might enter the choir, and conduct to the high idtar
the Superior whom they had elected.

In former times, this was one of the most splendid of the many
pageants which the hierarchy of Bome had devised to attract the
veneration of the foithfuL The period during whioh the Abbacy

THE ABBOT. 117

remaiiied vacant was a state of moummg, or, as their emblematical
phrase expressed it, of widowhood; a. melancholy term, which was
changed into rejoidng and triumph when a new Superior was chosen.
When the folding doors were on such solemn occasions thrown open,
and the new Abbot appeared on the threshold in full-blown dignity,
with ring and mitre, and dahnatique and crosier, his hoary standard-
bearers and his juvenile dispensers of incense preceding him, and the
venerable train of monks behind him, with all besides which could
announce the supreme authority to which he was now raised, his
appearance was a signal for the magnificent Jubilate to rise from the
organ and music-loft, and to be joined by the corresponding bursts
of AUeluiah from the whole assembled congregation. Now all was
changed. In the midst of rubbish and desolation, seven or eight old
men, bent and shaken, as much by grief and fear as by age, shrouded
hastily in the proscribed dress of their order, wandered like a pro-
cession of spectres, from the door whidi had been thrown open, up
through the encumbered passage, to the high altar, there to instal
their elected Superior a chief of ruins. It was like a band of
bewildered travellers choosing a chief in the wilderness of Arabia;
or a shipwrecked crew electing a captain upon the barren island on
whidi fate has thrown them.

They who, in peaceful times, are most ambitious of authority
among others, shrink from the competition at such eventful periods,
when neither ease nor parade attend the possession of it, and when
it gives only a painful pre-eminence both in danger and in labour,
and exposes the ill-fated chieftain to the miumurs of his discon-
tented associates, as well as to the first assault of the common enemy.
But he on whom the office of the Abbot of Saint Mary's was now
conferred, had a mind fitted for the situation to which he was called.
Bold and enthusiastic, yet generous and forgiving — ^wise and skilful,
yet zealous and prompt — ^he wanted but a better cause than the
support of a decaying superstition, to have raised him to the rank of
a truly great man. But as the end crowns the work, it also forms
the rule by which it must be ultimately judged; and those who, with
sincerity and generosity, fight and fall in an evil cause, posterity can
only compassionate as victims of a generous but fatal error.
Amongst these, we must rank Ambrosius, the last Abbot of Kenna-
quhair, whose designs must be condemned, as their success would
have riveted on Scotland the chains of antiquated superstition and
spiritual tyranny; but whose talents commanded respect, and whose
virtues, even from the enemies of his faith, extorted esteem.

The bearing of the new Abbot served of itself to dignify a cere-
monial whidi was deprived of all other attributes oi @rasi<di^\XT« Qiorckr

118 THE ABBOT.

scious of the peril in which they stood, and recalling, donbtlees, the
better days they had seen, there hung over his brethren an appear-
ance of mingled terror, and grief, and shame, which induced them
to hurry over the office in which they were engaged, as something
at once degrading and dangerous.

But not so Father Ambrose. His features, indeed, expressed a
deep melancholy, as he walked up the centre aisle, amid the ruin of
things which he considered as holy, but his brow was undetected,
and his step firm and solemn. He seemed to think that the
dominion which he was about to receive, depended in no sort upon
the external circumstances tinder which it was conferred; and if a
mind so firm was accessible to sorrow or fear, it was not on his own
account, but on that of the Church to which he had devoted himself.

At length he stood on the broken steps of the high altar, bare-
footed, as was the rule, and holding in his hand his pastoral staff,
for the gemmed ring and jewelled mitre had become secular spoils.
No obedient vassals came, man after man, to make their homage
and to offer the tribute which should provide their spiritual Superior
with palfrey and trappings. No bishop assisted at the solemnity,
to receive into the higher ranks of the Church nobility a dignitary
whose voice in the legislature was as potential as his own. With
ha«ty and maimed rites, the few remaining brethren stepped forward
alternately to give their new Abbot the kiss of peace, in token of
fraternal affection and spiritual homage. Mass was then hastily
performed, but in such precipitation as if it had been hurried over
rather to satisfy the scruples of a few youths, who were impatient
to set out on a hunting party, than as if it made the most solemn
part of a solemn ordination. The officiating priest faltered as he
spoke the service, and often looked around, as if he expected to be
interrupted in the midst of his office; and the brethren listened as
to that which, short as it was, they wished yet more abridged.t

These Etymptoms of alarm increased as the ceremony proceeded,
and, as it seemed^ were not caused by mere apprehension alone; for,
amid the pauses of the hymn, there were heard without sounds of a
very different sort, beginning faintly and at a distance, but at length
approaching close to the exterior of the church, and stunning with
dissonant clamour those engaged in the service. The winding of
horns, blown with no regard to harmony or concert; the jangling of
bells, the thumping of drums, the squeaking of bagpipes, and the clash

t In Catholic countries, in order to reconcile the pleasures of the great with tbe
yances of religion, it was common, when a party was bent for the chase, to celebrate
sbridgeA and maimed of its rites, called a hunting-mass, the brevity of which was
iietas(gned to correepond with the impatience of the audience.

THB ABBOT. 119

of cymbals — the shouts of a multitude, now as iu laughter, now as
in anger — ^the shrill tones of female voices, and of those of children,
mingling with the deeper clamours of men, formed a Babel of sounds,
which first drowned, and then awed into utter silence, the official
hymns of the Convent. The cause and result of this extraordinary
interruption will be explained in the next chapter.

CHAPTEE XIV.

Not the wild billow, when it breaks its bairier —
Not the wild wind, escaping from its cavern —
Not the wild fiend, that mingles both together,
And pours their rage upon the ripening harvest^
Can match the wild freaks of this mirthful meeting —
Comic, yet fearful — droll, and yet destructive.

The Conspiracy,

m

Ths monks ceased their song, which, like that of the choristers in
the legend of the "\^tch of Berkley, died away in a quaver of con-
sternation; and, like a flock of chickens disturbed by the presence
of the kite, they at first made a movement to disperse and fly in dif-
ferent directions, and then, with despair rather than hope, huddled
themselves around their new Abbot; who, retaining the lofty and
undismayed look which had dignified him through the whole cere-
mony, stood on the higher step of the altar, as if desirous to be the
most conspicuous mark on which danger might discharge itself, and
to save his companions by his self-devotion, since he could afford
them no other protection.

Involuntarily, as it were, Magdalen Grseme and the page stepped
from the station which hitherto they had occupied unnoticed, and
approached to the altar, as desirous of sharing the fate which ap-
proached the monks, whatever that might be. Both bowed rever-
ently low to the Abbot; and while Magdalen seemed about to speak,
the youth, looking towards the main entrance, at which the noise
now roared most loudly, and which was at the same time assailed
with much knocking, laid his hand upon his dagger.

The Abbot motioned to both to forbear; " Peace, my sister," he
said, in a low tone, but which, being in a different key from the
tumultuary sounds without, could be distinctly heard, even amidst
the tumult; — " Peace," he said, " my sister; let the new Superior of
Saint Mary's himself receive and reply to the grateful acclamations
of the vaasalsi who come to celebrate his iustallaUon* — And. "^^^s^^

120 THE ABBOT.

my son, forbear, I charge thee, to touch thy earthly weapon; — ^if it
is the pleasure of our protectress that her shrine be this day dese-
crated by deeds of violence, and polluted by blood-shedding, let it
not, I charge thee, happen through the deed of a Catholic son of the
Church.*

The noise and knocking at the outer gate became now every
moment louder; and voices were heard impatiently demanding ad-
mittaace. The Abbot, with dignity, and with a step which even the
emergency of danger rendered neither faltering nor precipitate,
moved towards the portal, and demanded to know, in a tone of
authority, who it was that disturbed their worship, and what they
desired?

There was a moment's silence, and then a loud laugh from without.
At length a voice replied, ''We desire entrance into the church; and
when the door is opened, you will soon see who we are."

"By whose authority do you require entrance?" said the Father.

"By authority of the right reverend Lord Abbot of Unreason,*'*
replied the voice from without; and, from the laugh which followed,
it seemed as if there was something highly ludicrous couched under
this reply.

" I know not, and seek not to know, your meaning," replied the
Abbot, '' since it is probably a rude one. But begone, in the name
of Grod, and leave His servants in peace. I speak this, as having
lawful authority to command here."

"Open the door," said another rude voice, "and we will try
titles with you. Sir Monk, and show you a Superior we must all
obey."

"Break open the doors if he dallies any longer," said a third, "and
down with the carrion monks who would bar us of our privilege !"
A general shout followed. "Ay, ay, our privilege! our privilege!
down with the doors, and with the lurdane monks, if they make
opposition!"

The knocking was now exchanged for blows with great hammers,
to which the doors, strong as they were, must soon have given way.
But the Abbot, who saw resistance would be in vain, and who did not
wish to incense the assailants by an attempt at offering it, besought
silence earnestly, and with difficulty obtained a hearing. "My
children," said he, "I will save you from committing a great sin.
The porter will presently undo the gate — he is gone to fetch the keys
— meantime, I pray you to consider with yourselves if you are in a
state of mind to cross the holy threshold."

" Tillyvally for your papistry !" was answered from without; " we
Siv m the mood ot the monks when they are merriest, and that is

THE ABBOT. 121

when they sup beef-brewis for lenten-kail. " So, if your porter hath
not the gout, let him come speedily, or we heave away readily. —
Said I well, comrades?"

'' Bravely said, and it shall be as bravely done,'' said the multi-
tade; and had not the keys arrived at that moment, and the porter,
in hasty terror, performed his office, throwing open the great door,
the populace would have saved him the trouble. The instant he
had done so, the affirighted janitor fled, like one who has drawn the
bolts of a flood-gate, and expects to be overwhelmed by the rushihg
inundation. The monks, with one consent, had withdrawn them-
selves behind the Abbot, who alone kept his station, about three
yards from the entrance, showing no signs of fear or perturbation.
His brethren — ^partly encouraged by his devotion, partly ashamed
to desert him, and partly animated by a sense of duty — remained
huddled dose together, at the back of their Superior. There was a
loud laugh and huzza when the doors were opened; but, contrary to
what might have been expected, no crowd of enraged assailants
rushed into the church. On the contrary, there was a cry of "A
halt! — a halt! — ^to order, my masters! and let the two reverend
fathers greet each other, as beseems them.''

The appearance of the crowd who were thus called to order, was
grotesque in the extreme. It was composed of men, women, and
children, ludicrously disguised in various habits, and presenting
groups equally diversified and grotesque. Here one fellow with a
horse's head painted before him, and a tail behind, and the whole
covered with a long foot-doth, which was supposed to hide the body
of the animal, ambled, caracoled, pranced, and plunged, as he per-
formed the odebrated part of the hobby-horse,* so often alluded to
in our andent drama; and which still flourishes on the stage in the
battle that oondudes Hayes's tragedy. To rival the address and
agility displayed by this character, another personage advanced, in
the more formidable character of a huge dragon, with gilded wings,
open jaws, and a scarlet tongue, doven at the end, which made
various e£fbrts to overtake and devour a lad, dressed as the lovely
Sabeea, daughter of the King of Egypt, who fled before him; while
a martial Saint George, grotesquely armed with a goblet for a helmet,
and a spit for a lance, ever and anon interfered, and compelled the
monster to relinquish his prey. A bear, a wolf, and one or two
other wild animals, played their parts with the discretion of Snug
the joiner; for the dedded preference which they gave to the use
of their hind legs, was suffident, without any formal annunciation,
to assure the most timorous spectators that they had to do with
habitual bipeds. There was a group of outlaws, with. 'BxAAii T^'cyA

122 _ THE ABBOT.

and Little John at their head* — ^the best representation exhibited
at the time; and no great wonder, since most of the actors were, by
profession, the banished men and thieves whom they presented.
Other masqueraders there were, of a less marked description. Men
were disguised as women, and women as men— children wore the
dress of aged people, and tottered with crutch-sticks in their hands,
furred gowns on their little backs, and caps on their round heads —
while grandsires assumed the infantine tone as well as the dress of
children. Besides these, many had their tajoes painted, and wore
their shirts over the rest of their dress; while coloured pasteboard
and ribands furnished out decorations for others. Those who
wanted all these properties, blacked their faces, and turned their
jackets inside out; and thus the transmutaticm of the whole assembly
into a set of mad grotesque mummers, was at once completed.

The pause which the masqueraders made, waiting apparently for
some person of the highest authority amongst them, gave those witiiin
the Abbey Church full time to observe all these absurdities. They
were at no loss to comprehend their purpose and meaning.

Few readers can be ignorant, that at an early period, and during
the plenitude of her power, the Church of Bome not only connived
at, but even encouraged, such satumalian licenses as the inhabitants
of Kennaquhair and the neighbourhood had now in hand, and that
the vulgar, on such occasions, were not only permitted but encouraged,
by a number of gambols, sometimes puerile and ludicrous, sometimes
immoral and profane, to indemnify themselves for the privations and
penances imposed on them at other seasons. But, of all other topics
for burlesque and ridicule, the rites and ceremonial of the church
itself were most frequently resorted to; and, strange to say, with the
approbation of the clergy themselves.

While the hierarchy flourished in full glory, they do not appear to
have dreaded the consequences of suffering the people to become
so irreverently familiar with things sacred; they then imagined the
laity to be much in the condition of a labourer's horse, which does
not submit to the bridle and the whip with greater reluctance,
because, at rare intervals, he is allowed to frolic at large in his pasture,
and fling out his heels in clumsy gambols at the master who usually
drives him. But, when times changed — ^when doubt of the Boman
Catholic doctrine, and hatred of their priesthood, had possessed the
reformed party, the clergy discovered, too late, that no small incon-
venience arose from the established practice of games and meiiy-
makings, in which they themselves, and all they held most sacred,
were made the subject of ridicule. It then became obvious to duller
politjcians than the Bomish churchmen, that the same actioiui have

THE ABBOT. 123

a very different tendency when done in the spirit of sarcastic insol-
ence and hatred, than when acted merely in exuberance of rude
and uncontrollable spirits. They, therefore, though of the latest,
endeavoured, where they had any remaining influence, to discourage
the renewal of these indecorous festivities. In this particular, the
Catholic clergy were joined by most of the reformed preachers, who
were more shocked at the profanity and immorality of many of these
ezhibitionB, than disposed to profit by the ridiculous light in which
they placed the Church of Borne and her observances. But it was
long ere these scandalous and immoral sports could be abrogated ; —
the rude multitude continued attached to their favourite pastimes;
and, both in England and Scotland, the mitre of the Catholic — ^the
rochet of the reformed bishop — ^and the doak and band of the
Calvinistic divine — ^were, in turn, compelled to give place to those
jocular personages, the Pope of Fools, the Boy Bishop, and the Abbot
of Unreason.t

It was the latter personage who now, in full costume, made his
approach to the great door of the Church of St. Mary's, accoutred
in such a manner as to form a caricature, or practical parody, on
the costume and attendants of the real Superior, whom he came to
beard on the very day of his installation, in the presence of his clergy^
and in the chancel of his church. The mock dignitary was a stout-
made under-sized fellow, whose thick squab form had been rendered
grotesque by a supplemental paunch, well stuffed. He wore a mitre
of leather, with the front like a grenadier's cap, adorned with mock
embroidery, and trinkets of tin. This surmounted a visage, the nose
of which waa the most prominent feature, being of unusual size, and
at least as richly gemmed as his head-gear. His robe was of buck-
ram, and his cope of canvas, curiously painted, and cut into open
work* On one shoulder was fixed the painted figure of an owl; and
he bore in the right hand his pastoral staff, and in the left a small
mirror having a handle to it, thus resembling a celebrated jester,
whose adventures, translated into English, were whilom extremely
popular, and which may still be procured in black letter, for about
one sterling pound per leaf.

The attendants of this mock dignitary had their proper dresses
and equipage, bearing the same burlesque resemblance to the officers
of the Convent which their leader did to the Superior. They followed
their leader in regular procession, and the motley characters, which
had waited his arrival, now crowded into the church in his train,
shouting as they came, — '* A hall, a hall ! for the veuerable Father

t From the iuteresting novel, entitled AnastaHus, it seems the lame burleeque cere-
monies were praoUBed in the Qreek Choroh.

124 THE ABBOT.

Howleglas, the learned Monk of Misrule^ and the Bight Beverend
Abbot of Unreason V

The discordant minstrelsy of every kind renewed its din; the boys
shrieked and howled, and the men laughed and hallooed, and the
women giggled and screamed, and the beasts roared, and the dragon
walloped and hissed, and the hobby-horse neighed, pranced, and
capered, and the rest frisked and frolicked, clashing their hob-naUed
shoes against the pavement, till it sparkled with l^e marks of their
energetic caprioles.

It was, in fine, a scene of ridiculous confusion, that deafened the
ear, made the eyes giddy, and must have altogether stunned any
indifferent spectator; the monks, whom personal apprehension and
a consciousness that much of the popular enjoyment arose from the
ridicule being directed against them, were, moreover, little comforted
by the reflection, that, bold in their disguise, the mummers who
whooped and capered around them, might, on slight provocation,
turn their jest into earnest, or at least proceed to those practical
pleasantries, which at all times arise so naturally out of the frolicsome
and mischievous disposition of the populace. They looked to their
Abbot amid the tumult, with such looks as landsmen cast upon the
pilot, when the storm is at the highest — ^looks which express that
they are devoid of all hope arising from their own exertions, and
not very confident in any success likely to attend those of their
PaJinurus.

The Abbot himself seemed at a stand; he felt no fear, but he was
sensible of the danger of expressing his rising indignation, which he
was scarcely able to suppress. He made a gesture with his hand as
if commanding silence, which was at first only replied to by redoubled
shouts, and peals of wild laughter. When, however, the same motion,
and as nearly in the same manner, had been made by Howleglas, it
was immediately obeyed by his riotous companions, who expected
fresh food for mirth in the conversation betwixt the real and mock
Abbot, having no small confidence in the vulgar wit and impudence
of their leader. Accordingly, they began to shout, " To it, fathers —
to it !" — " Fight monk, fight madcap — Abbot against Abbot is fair
play, and so is reason against unreason, and malice against monkeiy P

''Silence, my mates !^ said Howleglas; ''cannot two learned
Fathers of the Church hold communion together, but you must come
here with your bear-garden whoop and hollo, as if you were hound-
ing forth a mastiff upon a mad bull? I say, silence ! and let this
learned Father and me confer touching matters affecting our mutual
state and authority.**

''Mjr children"— Baid Father Ambrose.

THE ABBOT. 125

^^My children too — and happy children they are!" said his
bnrlesqne counterpart; '' many a wise child knows not its own father,
and it is well they have two to choose betwixt."

'^ If thou hast aught in thee, save scoffing and ribaldry/' said the
real Abbot, '' permit me, for thine own soul's sake, to speak a few
words to these misguided men."

''Aught in me but scoffing, sayest thou?" retorted the Abbot of
Unreason; ''why, reverend brother, I have all that becomes mine
office at this time a-day — ^I have beef, ale, and brandy- wine, with
other condiments not worth mentioning; and for speaking, man —
why, speak away, and we will have turn about, like honest fellows."

Ihiring this discussion the wrath of Magdalen Graeme had risen to
the uttermost; she approached the Abbot, and placing herself by his
side, said in a low and yet distinct tone — " Wake and arouse thee,
Father — the sword of Saint Peter is in thy hand — strike and avenge
Saint Peter's patrimony! Bind them in the chains, which, being
riveted by the church on earth, are riveted in Heaven"

"Peace, sister!" said the Abbot; "let not their madness destroy
our discretion — I pray thee, peace, and let me do mine office. It is
the first, peradventure it may be the last time, I shall be called on to
discharge it."

"Nay, my holy brother!" said Howleglas, "I rede you, take the
holy sister's advice — ^never throve convent without woman's counsel."

" Peace, vain man !" said the Abbot; " and you, my brethren"

" Nay, nay !" said the Abbot of Unreason, " no speaking to the lay
people, until you have conferred with your brother of the cowl. I
swear by bell, book, and candle, that no one of my congregation shall
listen to one word you have to say; so you had as well address your-
self to me who wilL"

To escape a conference so ludicrous, the Abbot again attempted
an appeal to what respectful feelings might yet remain amongst the
inhabitants of the Halidome, once so devoted to their spiritual
Superiors. Alas ! the Abbot of Unreason had only to flourish his
mock crosier, and the whooping, the hallooing, and tibe dancing, were
renewed with a vehemence which would have defied the limgs of
Stentor.

" And now, my mates," said the Abbot of Unreason, " once again
dight your gabs and be hushed — ^let us see if the Cock of Kenna-
quhair will fight or flee the pit."

There was again a dead silence of expectation, of which Father
Ambrose availed himself to address his antagonist, seeing plainly
that he could gain an audience on no other terms. "Wretched
man!" said he, "hast thou no better employment for thy carnal wit^

126 THE ABBOT.

than to employ it in leading these blind and helpless creatures into
the pit of Titter darkness?"

" Truly, my brother," replied Howleglas, " I can see little differ-
ence betwixt your employment and mine, save that you make a
sermon of a jest, and I make a jest of a sermon."

" Unhappy being," said the Abbot, " who has no better subject
of pleasantry than that which should make thee tremble — ^no sounder
jest than thine own sins, and no better objects for laughter than
those who can absolve thee from the guilt of them!"

" Verily, my reverend brother," said the mock Abbot, " what you
say might be true, if, in laughing at hypocrites, I meant to laugh
at religion. O, it is a precious thing to wear a long dress, with a
girdle and a cowl — ^we become a holy pillar of Mother Church, and
a boy must not play at ball against the walls for fear of breaking a
painted window!"

" And will you, my friends," said the Abbot, looking round and
speaking with a vehemence which secured him a tranquil audience
for some time, — "will you suffer a profane buffoon, within the very
church of God, to insult his ministers? Many of you — all of you,
perhaps — have lived under my holy predecessors, who were called
upon to rule in this church where I am called upon to suffer. K
you have worldly goods, they are their gift; and, when you scorned
not to accept better gifts — ^the mercy and forgiveness of the Church
— ^were they not ever at your command? — did we not pray while you
were jovial — wake while you slept?"

" Some of the good wives of the Halidome were wont to say so,"
said the Abbot of Unreason; but his jest met in this instance but
slight applause, and Father Ambrose, having gained a moment's
attention, hastened to improve it.

"What!" said he; "and is this grateful — ^is it seemly — ^is it honest
— to assail with scorn a few old men, from whose predecessors you
hold all, and whose only wish is to die in peace among these frag-
ments of what was once the light of the land, and whose daily prayer
is, that they may be removed ere that hour comes when the last
spark shall be extinguished, and the land left in the darkness which
it has chosen rather than light? We have not turned against you
the edge of the spiritual sword, to revenge our temporal persecution;
the tempest of your wrath hath despoiled us of land, and deprived
us almost of our daily food, but we have not repaid it with the
thunders of excommunication, — ^we only pray your leave to live and
die within the church which is our own, invoking God, Our Lady,
and the Holy Saints, to pardon your sins, and our own, undisturbed
bj'acwml huffooneary and blasphemy."

THE ABBOT. 127

This speech, so dififerent in tone and termination from that which
the crowd had expected, produced an effect upon their feelings un-
favourable to the prosecution of their frolic. The morrice-dancers
stood still — ^the hobby-horse surceased his capering — pipe and tabor
were mute, and '' silence, like a heavy doud,'' seemed to descend on
the late noisy rabble. Several of the beasts were obviously moved
to compunction; the bear could not restrain his sobs, and a huge fox
was observed to wipe his eyes with his tail. But in especial the
dragon, lately so formidably rampant, now relaxed the terror of his
claws, uncoiled his tremendous rings, and grumbled out of his fiery
throat in a repentant tone, " By the mass, I thought no harm in
exercising our old pastime, but an I had thought the good Father
would have taken it so to heart, I would as soon have played your
devil as your dragon."

In this momentary pause, the Abbot stood amongst the miscel-
laneous and grotesque forms by which he was surrounded, trium-
phant as Saint Anthony, in Callofs Temptations; but Howleglas
would not so resign his purpose.

"And how now, my masters!" said he; "is this fair play or no?
Have you not chosen me Abbot of Unreason, and is it lawful for
any of you to listen to common sense to-day ? Was I not formally
elected by you in solemn chapter, held in Luckie Martin's change-
house, and will you now desert me, and give up your old pastime
and privilege? — Play out the play — and he that speaks the next
word of sense or reason, or bids us think or consider, or the like of
that, which befits not the day, I will have him solemnly ducked in
the mill-dam!"

The rabble, mutable as usual, huzzaed, the pipe and tabor struck
up, the hobby-horse pranced, the beasts roared, and even the re-
pentant dragon began again to coil up his spires and prepare him-
self for fresh gambols. But the Abbot might still have overcome by
his eloquence and his entreaties, the malicious designs of the revellers,
had not Dame Magdalen Grs&me given loose to the indignation
which she had long suppressed.

" Scoffers," she said, "and men of Belial — ^Blasphemous heretics
and truculent tyrants "

"Your patience, my sister, I entreat and I command you!" said
the Abbot; " let me do my duty — disturb me not in mine office!"

But Dame Magdalen continued to thunder forth her threats in
the name of Popes and Coimcils, and in the name of every Saint,
from Saint Michael downward.

"My comrades!" said the Abbot of Unreason, "this good dame
hath not spoken a single word of reason, and therein may esteem

128 THE ABBOT.

herself free from the law. But what she spoke was meant for
reason, and therefore, unlessshe confessesandavouchesall whichshe has
said to be nonsense, it shall pass for such, so far as to incur our
statutes. — Wherefore, holy dame, pilgrim, or abbess, or whatever thou
art, be mute with thy mummery or beware the mill-dam. We will
have neither spiritual nor temporal scolds in our Diocese of Unreason ! "
As he spoke thus, he extended his hand towards the old woman,
while his followers shouted, "A doom — ^a doom!" and prepared to
second his purpose, when lo! it was suddenly frustrated. Boland
Graeme had witnessed with indignation the insults offered to his old
spiritual preceptor, but yet had wit enough to reflect he could render
him no assistance, but might well, by ineffectiye interference, make
matters worse. But when he saw his aged relative in danger of
personal violence, he gave way to the natural impetuosity of his
temper, and, stepping forward, struck his poniard into the body of
the Abbot of Unreason, whom the blow instantly prostrated on the
pavement

CHAPTEB XV.

As when in tumults rise the ignoble crowd,
Mad are their motions, and their tongues are loud.
And stones and brands in rattling furies fly,
And all the rustic arms which fuiy can supply —
Then if some grave and pious man appear,
They hush their noise, and lend a listening ear.'

Dbiden's Virgil,

A DREADFUL shout of veugeanco was raised by the revellers, whose
sport was thus so fearfully interrupted; but, for an instant, the want
of weapons amongst the multitude, as well as the inflamed features
and brandished poniard of Eoland Grseme, kept them at bay, while
the Abbot, horror-struck at the violence, implored, with uplifted
hands, pardon for bloodshed committed within the sanctuary.
Magdalen Graeme alone expressed triumph in the blow her descend-
ant had dealt to the scoffer, mixed, however, with a wild and anxious
expression of terror for her grandson's safety. ''Let him perish,''
she said, " in his blasphemy — let him die on the holy pavement
which he has insulted!"

But the rage of the multitude, the grief of the Abbot, the exulta-
tion of the enthusiastic Magdalen, were all mistimed and unnecessary.
Howleglas, mortally wounded as he was supposed to be, sprung
alertly up from the floor, calling aloud, '' A miracle, a miracle, my

THS ABBOT. 129

masters! as brave a miracle as ever was wrought in the Kirk of
Kennaqnhair. — And I charge you, mj masters^ as your lawfully
diosen Abbot, that you touch no one without my command — You,
wolf and bear, will guard this pragmatic youth, but without hurting
him — And you, reverend brother, will, with your comrades, with-
draw to your cells; for our conference has ended like all conferences,
leaving each of his own mind, as before; and if we fight, both you,
and your brethren, and the Kirk, will have the worst on't — Where-
fore, pack up your pipes and begone.''

The hubbub was beginning again to awaken, but still Father
Ambrose hesitated, as uncertain to what path his duty called him,
whether to face out the present storm, or to reserve himself for a
better moment. His brother of Unreason observed his difficulty,
and eaid, in a tone more natural and less affected than that with
which he had hitherto sustained his character, ''We came hither,
my good sir, more in mirth than in mischief — our bark is worse than
our bite — ^and, especially, we mean you no personal harm — ^where-
fore, draw off while the play is good; for it is ill whistling for a
hawk when she is once on the soar, and worse to snatch the quarry
irom the ban-dog — Let these fellows once begin their brawl, and it
will be too much for madness itself, let alone the Abbot of Unreason,
to bring them back to the lure."

The brethren crowded around Father Ambroeius, and joined in
urging him to give place to the torrent. The present revel was,
they said, an ancient custom which his predecessors had permitted,
and old Father Nicholas himself had played the dragon in the days
of the Abbot Ingelram.

"And we now reap the fruit of the seed which they have so un-
advisedly sown," said Ambrosius; '' they taught men to make a mock
of what is holy, what wonder that the descendants of scoffers become
robbers and plunderers? But be it as you list, my brethren — move
towards the dortour — And you, dame, I command you, by the
authority which I have over you, and by your respect for that youth's
safety, that you go with us without farther speech — Yet, stay — what
are your intentions towards that youth whom yon detain prisoner?
— ^Wot ye," he continued, addressing Howleglas in a stem tone of
voice, "that he bears the livery of the house of Avenel? They who
fear not the anger of Heaven, may at least dread the wrath of man."

"Cumber not yourself concerning him," answered Howleglas,
" we know right well who and what he is."

"Let me pray," said the Abbot, in a tone of entreaty, "that you
do him no wrong for the rash deed which he attempted in his im-
prudent zeaL"

\

130 THE ABBOT.

" I say, trouble not yourself about it, f ather,** answered Howleglas,
''but move off with your train, male and female, or I will not
undertake to save yonder she-saint from the ducking-stool— And as
for bearing of malice, my stomach has no room for it; it is,'' he
added, clapping his hand on his portly belly, '' too well bumbasted
out with straw and buckram — ^gramercy to them both — ^they kept
out that madcap's dagger as well as a IVfilan corslet could have
done."

In fact, the home-driven poniard of Boland Grseme had lighted
upon the stuffing of the fictitious paunch, which the Abbot of Un-
reason wore as a part of his characteristic dress, and it was only the
force of the blow which had prostrated that reverend person on the
ground for a moment.

Satisfied in some degree by this man's assurances, and compelled
to give way to superior force, the Abbot Ambrosius retired from the
Church at the head of the monks, and left the court free for the
revellers to work their wilL But wild and wilful as these rioters
were, they accompanied the retreat of the religionists with none of
those shouts of contempt and derision with which they had at first
hailed them. The Abbof s discourse had affected some of them with
remorse, others with shame, and all with a transient degree of respect.
They remained silent until the last monk had disappeared through
the side-door which communicated with their dwelling-place, and
even then it cost some exhortations on the part of Howleglas, some
caprioles of the hobby-horse, and some wallops of the dragon, to
rouse once more the rebuked spirit of revelry.

''And how now, my masters?" said the Abbot of Unreason; "and
wherefore look on me with such blank Jack-a-Lent visages? Will
you lose your old pastime for an old wife's tale of saints and purga-
tory? Why, I thought you would have made all split long since —
Come, strike up, tabor and harp, strike up, fiddle and rebeck —
dance and be merry to-day, and let care come to-morrow! Bear and
wolf, look to your prisoner — ^prance, hobby — ^hiss, dragon, and
halloo, boys! — we grow older every moment we stand idle, and life
is too short to be spent in playing mumchance."

This pithy exhortation was attended with the effect desired.
They fumigated the Church with burnt wool and feathers instead
of incense, put foul water into the holy-water basins, and celebrated
a parody on the Church-service, the mock Abbot officiating at the
altar; they sung ludicrous and indecent parodies, to the tunes of
church hymns; they violated whatever vestments or vessels belong-
ing to the Abbey they could lay their hands upon; and, playing
every freak which the whim of t^e moment could suggest to their

THE ABBOT. 131

wild caprice^ at lengUi they fell to more lasting deeds of demolition,
pulled down and destroyed some carved wood-work, dashed ont the
painted windows which had escaped former violence, and in their
rigorous search after sculpture dedicated to idolatry, began to destroy
what ornaments yet remained entire upon the tombs, and around
the cornices of the pillars.

The spirit of demolition, like other tastes, increases by indulgence;
from these lighter attempts at mischief, the more tumultuous part of
the meeting began to meditate destruction on a more extended scale
— "Let us heave it down altogether, the old crow's nest," became a
general cry among them; "it has served the Pope and his rooks too
long;" and up they struck a ballad which was then popular among
the lower classes.

" The Faip, that pagan full of pride.
Hath blinded us ower lang.
For where the blind the blind doth lead,
No marvel baith gae wrang.
like prince and king,
He led the ring

Of all iniquity.
Sing hay triz, trim-go-trix,
Under the greenwood tree.

it

The bishop rich, he could not preach

For sportiiig with the lasses ;
The silly friar behoved to fleech
For awmous as he passes ;
The curate his creed
He could not read, —

Shame fa' the company I
Sing hay triz, trim-go-tni^
Under the greenwood tree/'f

Thundering out this chorus of a notable hunting song, which had
been. pressed into the service of some polemical poet, the followers
of the Abbot of Unreason were turning every moment more tumul-
tuous, and getting beyond the management even of that reverend
prelate himself, when a knight in fuU armour, followed by two or

t These rode rhymes are taken, with some trifling alterations, from a ballad called
«Trim-go-tiix." It oocnis in a singolar collection, entitled, "A Ck)mpendiou8 Book of
Godly and Spiritual Songs, collected out of snndrie i>artB of the Scripture, with sundry
of other hallatis changed out of prophane sanges, for ayoiding of sin and harlotrie, with
▲ngmeintation of sondzie Gude and Godly Ballates. Edinburgh, printed by Andro
Hart." This carious collection has been reininted in Mr. John Grahame Dalyell's Scot-
tish Poems of the sixteenth century. Edinburgh, 1801, 8 vols.

132 THB ABBOT.

three men-at-annSy entered the church, and in a stem yoice com-
manded them to forbear their riotous mummery.

His visor was up, but if it had been lowered, the cognizance of
the holly-branch sufficiently distinguished Sir Halbert Glendinning,
who, on his homeward road, was passing through the village of
Kennaquhair; and moved, perhaps, by anxiety for his brother's
safety, had come directly to the church on hearing of the uproar.

''What is the meaning of this/' he said, ''my masters? are ye
Christian men, and the king's subjects, and yet waste and destroy
church and chancel like so many heathens I**

All stood silent, though doubtless there were several disappointed
and surprised at receiving chiding instead of iJianks from so zealous
a Protestant.

The dragon, indeed, did at length take upon him to be spokes-
man, and growled from the depth of his painted maw, that they
did but sweep Popeiy out of the church with the besom of destruc-
tion.

"What! my friends," replied Sir Halbert Glendinning, "think
you this mumming and masquing has not more of Popery in it than
have these stone walls? Take the leprosy out of your flesh, before
you speak of purifying stone walls — abate your insolent license,
which leads but to idle vanity and sinful excess; and know, that
what you now practise, is one of the profane and unseemly sports
introduced by the priests of Bome themselves, to mislead and to
brutify the souls which fell into their net."

"Marry come up — are you thepe with your bears?" muttered the
dragon, with a draconic sullenness, which was in good keeping with
his character, "we had as good have been Bomans still, if we are to
have no freedom in our pastimes!"

"Dost thou reply to me so?" said Halbert Glendinning; "or is
there any pastime in grovelling on the ground there like a gigantic
kail- worm? — Get out of thy painted case, or, by my knighthood, I
will treat you like the beast and reptile you have made yourself."

"Beast and reptile?" retorted the offended >dragon, "setting aside
your knighthood, I hold myself as well a bom man as thyself."

The knight made no answer in words, but bestowed two such
blows with the butt of his lance on the petulant dragon, that had not
the hoops which constituted the ribs of the machine been pretty
strong, they would hardly have saved those of the actor from being
broken. In all haste the masquer crept out of his disguise, un-
willing to abide a third buffet from the lance of the enraged Knight.
And when the ex-dragon stood on the floor of the church, he pre-
sented to Halbert Glendinning the well-known coimtenanoe of Dan

THE ABBOT. 133

of the Howlet-hirgt, an ancient comrade of his own, ere fate had
raised him so high above the rank to which he was bom. The
clown looked sulkily upon the Knight, as if to upbraid him for his
violence towards an old acquaintance, and Glendinning^s own good-
nature reproached him for the violence he had acted upon him.

'' I did wrong to strike thee, Dan,'' he said; " but in truth, I knew
thee not — thou wert ever a mad fellow — come to Avenel Castle, and
we shall see how my hawks fly."

'* And if we show him not falcons that will mount as merrily as
rockets,** said the Abbot of Unreason, " I would your honour laid as
hard on my bones as you did on his even now.'*

'* How now. Sir Knave," said the Knight, " and what has brought
you hither?"

''The Abbot, hastily ridding himself of the false nose which
mystified his physiognomy, and the supplementary beUy which made
up his disguise, stood before his master in his real character, of Adam
Woodcock, the falconer of Avenel.

"How, varlet!" said the Knight; "hast thou dared to come here,
and disturb the very house my brother was dwelling in?"

" And it was even for that reason, craving your honour's pardon,
that I came hither — ^for I heard the country was to be up to choose
an Abbot of Unreason, and sure, thought I, I that can sing, dance,
leap backwards over a broadsword, and am as good a fool as ever
sought promotion, have all chance of carrying the office; and if I
gain my election, I may stand his honour's brother in some stead,
supposing things fail roughly out at the Kirk of Saint Mary's."

"Thou art but a cogging knave,''^said Sir Halbert, "and well I
wot, that love of ale and brandy, besides the humour of riot and
frolic, would draw thee a mile, when love of my house would not
bring thee a yard. But, go to — carry thy roisterers elsewhere — to
the alehouse if they list, and there are crowns to pay your charges
— ^make out the day's madness without doing more mischief, and be
wise men to-morrow — ^and hereafter learn to serve a good cause
better than by acting like buffoons or ruffians."

Obedient to his master's mandate, the falconer was collecting his
discouraged followers, and whispering into their ears — "Away, away
— Uice is Latin for a candle — ^never mind the good Knight's puri-
tanism — ^we will play the frolic out over a stand of double ale in
Dame Martin the Brewster's barnyard — draw off, harp and tabor —
bagpipe and drum — ^mum till you are out of the churchyard, then
let the welkin ring again — move on, wolf and bear — keep the hind
legs till you cross the kirk-stile, and then show yourselves beasts of
mettle — ^what devil sent him here to spoil our holiday! — ^but anger

134 THE ABBOT.

him not, my hearts; his lance is no goose-feather, as Dan's ribs can
telL''

"By my soul/' said Dan, "had it been another than my ancient
comrade, I would hAve made my father's old f oxf fly about his
ears!"

" Hush ! hush ! man," replied Adam "Woodcock, " not a word that
way, as you value the safety of your bones — ^what, man ! we must,
take a dink as it passes, so it is not bestowed in downright ill-will."

"But I will take no such thing," said Dan of the Howlet-hirst,
sullenly resisting the efforts of Woodcock, who was dragging him
out of the church; when, the quick military eye of Sir Halbert
Glendinning detecting Boland Grseme betwixt his two guards, the
Knight exclaimed, " So ho! falconer, — Woodcock, — knave, hast thou
brought my Lady's page in mine own livery, to assist at this hopeful
revel of thine, with your wolves and bears? since you were at such
mummings, you might, if you would, have at least saved the credit
of my household, by dressing him up as a jackanapes — ^bring him
hither, fellows!"

Adam Woodcock was too honest and downright, to permit blame
to light upon the youth, when it was undeserved. "I swear," he
said, " by Saint Majtin of Bullions " %

"And what hast thou to do with Saint Martin? "

"Nay, little enough, sir, imless when he sends such rainy days
that we cannot fly a hawk — ^but I say to your worshipful knighthood,
that as I am a true man"

"As you are a false varlet, had been the better obtestation."

" Nay, if your knighthood allows me not to speak," said Adam, "I
can hold my tongue — ^but the boy came not hither by my bidding,
for all that."

" But to gratify his own malapert pleasure, I warrant me," said Sir
Halbert Glendinning — " Come hither, young springald, and tell me
whether you have your mistress's license to be so far absent from the
castle, or to dishonour my livery by mingling in such a May-game?"

"Sir Halbert Glendinning," answered Boland Graeme, with
steadiness, "I have obtained the permission, or rather the commands,
of your lady, to dispose of my time hereafter according to my own
pleasure. I have been a most unwilling spectator of this May-game
since it is your pleasure so to call it; and I only wear your livery
until I can obtain clothes which bear no such badge of servitude."

"How am I to understand this, young man?" said Sir Halbert

t Fox, An old-fashioned bzoadsword was often ao called.

t The Saint Swithin, or weeping saint of Scotland. If his fiestiTal (fourth of July)
prove wet, forty dajrs of rain are expected.

THE ABBOT. 135

Glendinning ; ''gpeak plainly, for I am no reader of riddles. — That
my lady favoured thee, I know. What hast thou done to disoblige
her, and occasion thy dismissal) **

*' Nothing to speak of ,^ said Adam Woodcock, answering for the
boy — " a foolish quarrel with me, which was more foolishly told over
again to my honoured lady, cost the poor boy his place. For my
part) I will say freely, that I was wrong from beginning to end,
except about the washing of the eyas's meat. There I stand to it
that I was right."

With that, the good-natured falconer repeated to his master the
whole histoiy of the squabble which had brought Boland Grseme
into disgrace with his mistress, but in a manner so favourable for
the page, that Sir Halbert could not but suspect his generous
motive.

" Thou art a good-natured fellow,*' he said, "Adam Woodcock."

"As ever had falcon upon fist," said Adam ; " and, for that matter,
so is Master Boland ; but, being half a gentleman by his office, his
blood is soon up, and so is mine."

" Well," said Sir Halbert, "be it as it will, my lady has acted
hastily, for this was no great matter of offence to discard the lad
whom she had trained up for years ; but he, I doubt not, made it
worse by his prating — it jumps well with a purpose, however, which
I had in my mind. Draw off these people. Woodcock, — and you,
Boland Grseme, attend me."

The page followed him in silence into the Abbof s house, where,
stepping into the first apartment which he found open, he com-
manded one of his attendants to let his brother. Master Edward
Glendinning, know that he desired to speak with him. The men-at-
arms went gladly off to join their comrade, Adam Woodcock, and
the jolly crew whom he had assembled at Dame Martin's, the
hostler's wife, and the page and knight were left alone in the apart-
ment. Sir Halbert Glendinning paced the floor for a moment in
silence, and then thus addressed his attendant —

" Thou mayest have remarked, stripling, that I have but seldom
distinguished thee by much notice ; — ^I see thy colour rises, but do
not speak till thou hearest me out. I say, I have never much dis-
tinguished thee, not because I did not see that in thee which I might
well have praised, but because I saw something blameable, which
such praises might have made worse. Thy mistress, dealing accord-
ing to her pleasure in her own household, as no one had better
reaflon or title, had picked thee from the rest, and treated thee more
like a relation than a domestic ; and if thou didst show some vanity
and petulance under such- distinction, it were injustice not to say

136 THE AB90T.

that thou hast profited both in thy exercises and in thy breeding,
and hast shown many sparkles of a gentle and manly spirit. More-
over, it were ungenerous^ having bred thee up freakish and fiery, to
dismiss thee to want or wandering, for showing that very peevish-
ness and impatience of discipline which arose &om thy too delicate
nurture. Therefore, and for the credit of my owi:^ household, I am
determined to retain thee in my train, until I can honourably dispose
of thee elsewhere, with a fair prospect of thy going through the
world with credit to the house that brought thee up."

If there was something in Sir Halbert Glendinning's speech
which flattered Boland's pride, there was also much that, according
to his mode of thinking, was an alloy to the compliment. And yet
his conscience instantly told him that he ought to accept, with grate-
ful deference, the offer which was made him by the husband of his
kind protectress ; and his prudence, however slender, could not but
admit he should enter the world under very different auspices as a
retainer of Sir Halbert Glendinning, so famed for wisdom, courage,
and influence, from those under which he might partake the wander-
ings, and become an agent in the visionary schemes, for such they
appeared to him, of Magdalen, his relative. Still, a strong reluc-
tance to re-enter a service from which he had been dismissed with
contempt, almost counterbalanced these considerations.

Sir Halbert looked on the youth with surprise, and resumed —
"You seem to hesitate, young man. Are your own prospects so
inviting, that you should pause ere you accept those which I offer
to you? or, must I remind you that, although you have offended your
benefactress, even to the point of her dismissing you, yet I am con-
vinced, the knowledge that you have gone unguided on your own
wild way, into a world so disturbed as ours of Scotland, cannot, in
the upshot, but give her sorrow and pain; from which it is, in
gratitude, your duty to preserve her, no less than it is in common
wisdom your duty to accept my offered protection, for your own
sake, where body and soul are alike endangered, should you
refuse it."

Boland Graeme replied in a respectful tone, but at the same time
with some spirit, " I am not ungrateful for such countenance as has
been afforded me by the Lord of Avenel, and I am glad to learn,
for the first time, that I have not had the misfortune to be utterly
beneath his observation, as I had thought — ^And it is only needful
to show me how I can testify my duty and my gratitude towards
my early and constant benefactress with my life's hazard, and I wiU
gladly peril it." He stopped.

"These are but words, young man," answered Glendinning; ''large

THB ABBOT. 137

protestatioiifi are often used to supply the place of effectual service. I
know nothing in which the peril of your life can serve the Lady of
Avenel; I can only say, she will be pleased to learn you have
adopted some course which may ensure the safety of your person,
and the weal of your soul — What ails you, that you accept not that
safety when it is offered youl "

"My only relative who is alive/' answered Boland, "at least the
only relative whom I have ever seen, has rejoined me since I was
dismissed from the Castle of Avenel, and I must consult with her
whether I can adopt the line to which you now call me, or whether
her increasing infirmities, or the authority which she is entitled to
exercise over me, may not require me to abide with her.''

" Where is this relation? " said Sir Halbert Glendinning.

" In this house,'' answered the page.

^' Gro, then, and seek her out," said the Knight of Avenel ; " more
than meet it is that thou shouldst have her approbation, yet worse
than foolish would she show herself in denying it."

Boland left the apartment to seek for his grandmother; and, as
he retreated, the Abbot entered.

The two brothers met as brothers who love each other fondly, yet
meet rarely together. Such indeed was the case. Their mutual
affection attached them to each other; but in every pursuit, habit,
or sentiment, connected with the discords of the times, the friend
and counsellor of Murray stood opposed to the Boman Catholic
priest; nor, indeed, could they have held very much society
together, without giving cause of offence and suspicion to their con-
federates on each side. After a dose embrace on the part of both,
and a welcome on that of the Abbot, Sir Halbert Glendinning
expressed his satisfaction that he had come in time to appease the
riot raised by Howleglas and his tumultuous followers. *

"And yet," he said, "when I look on your garments, brother
Edward, " I cannot help thinking there still remains an Abbot of
Unreason within the bounds of the Monastery."

"And wherefore carp at my garments, brother Halbert?" said
the Abbot ; " it is the spiritual armour of my calling, and, as such,
beseems me as well as breastplate and baldric become your own
bosom."

"Ay, but there were small wisdom, methinks, in putting on
armour where we have no power to fight; it is but a dangerous
temerity to defy the foe whom we cannot resist."

"For that, my brother, no one can answer," said the Abbot,
"untU the battle be fought; and, were it even as you say, methinks
a brave man, though desperate of victory, would rather desire to

138 THE ABBOT.

fight and fall, than to reedgn eword and shield on some mean and
dishonourable composition with his insulting antagonist But let not
you and I, dear Halbert, make discord of a theme on which we cannot
agree^ but rather stay and partake, though a heretic, of my admission
feast. You need not fear, my brother, that your zeal for restoring
the primitive discipline of the church will, on this occasion, be
offended with the rich profusion of a conventual banquet. The days
of our old friend Abbot Boniface are over; and the Superior of Saint
Mary's has neither forests nor fishings, woods nor pastures, nor
cornfields ; — ^neither flocks nor herds, bucks nor wild-fowl — ^granaries
of wheat, nor storehouses of oil and wine, of ale and of mead. The
ref ectioner's office is ended ; and such a meal as a hermit in romance
can offer to a wandering knight, is all we have to set before you.
But, if you will share it with us, we shall eat it with a cheerful hearty
and thank you, my brother, for your timely protection against these
rude scoffers.''

"My dearest brother," said the Knight, "it grieves me deeply I
cannot abide with you; but it would soimd ill for us both were one
of the reformed congregation to sit down at your admission feast;
and, if I can ever have the satisfaction of affording you effectual
protection, it will be much owing to my remaining unsufrpected of
countenancing or approving your religious rites and ceremonies. It
will demand whatever consideration I can acquire among my own
friends, to shelter the bold man, who, contrary to law and the edicts
of Parliament, has dared to take up the office of Abbot of Saint
Mary's."

" Trouble not yourself with the task, my brother," replied Father
Ambrosius. " I would lay done my dearest blood to know that you
defended the church for the church's sake; but, while you remaLu
unhappily her enemy, I would not that you endangered your own
safety, or diminished your own comforts, for the sake of my individ-
ual protection. — ^But who comes hither to disturb the few minutes
of fraternal communication which our evil fate allows us."

The door of the apartment opened as the Abbot spoke, and Dame
Magdalen entered.

"Who is this woman?" said Sir Halbert Glendinning, somewhat
sternly, "and what does she want?"

"That you know me not," said the matron, "signifies little; I
come by your own order, to give my free consent th&t the stripling,
Boland Grasme, return to your service; and, having said so, I cumber
you no longer with my presence. Peace be with you !" She turned
to go away, but was stopped by the inquiries of Sir Halbert Glen-
dinning.

THE ABBOT. 139

"Who are you? — ^what are you? — and why do you not await to
make me answer?''

** I was,'' she replied, " while yet I belonged to the world, a matron
of no vulgar name; now, I am Magdalen, a poor pilgrimer, for the
sake of Holy Kirk."

''Yea," said Sir Halbert, "art thou a Catholic? I thought my
dame said that Boland Qrseme came of reformed kin."

" His father," said the matron, " was a heretic, or rather one who
regarded neither orthodoxy nor heresy — ^neither the temple of the
church or of antichrist. I, too — ^f or the sins of the times make sin-
ners — ^have seemed to conform to your xmhallowed rites — ^but I had
my dispensation and my absolution."

** You see, brother," said Sir Halbert, with a smile of meaning to-
wards his brother, "that we accuse you not altogether without grounds,
of mental equivocation."

"My brother, you do us injustice," replied the Abbot; "this
woman, as her bearing may of itself warrant you, is not in her per-
fect mind. Thanks, I must needs say, to the persecution of your
marauding barons, and of your latitudinarian dergy."

" I will not dispute the point," said Sir Halbert; " the evils of the
time are unhappily so numerous, that both churches may divide
them, and have enow to spare." So saying, he leaned £rom the
window of the apartment^ and winded his bugle.

"Why do you sound your horn, my brother?" said the Abbot;
'* we have spent but few minutes together."

"Alas!" said the elder brother, "and even these few have befen
suUied by disagreement. I sound to horse, my brother, the rather
that, to avert the consequences of this day's rashness on your part,
requires hasty efforts on mine. — Dame, you will oblige me by letting
your young relative know that we mount instantly. I intend not
that he shall return to Avenel with me — ^it would lead to new
quarrels betwixt him and my household; at least, to taunts which
his proud heart could ill brook, and my wish is to do him kindness.
He shall, therefore, go forward to Edinburgh with one of my
retinue, whom I shall send back to say what has chanced here. —
You seem rejoiced at this?" he added, fixing his eyes keenly on
Magdalen Graeme, who returned his gaze with calm indifference.

"I would rather," she said "that Boland, a poor and friendless
orphan, were the jest of the world at large, than of the menials at
AveneL"

" Fear not, dame — he shall be scorned by neither/' answered the
Knight.

" It may be," she replied — " It may well be — ^but I will trust more

140 THE ABBOT.

to his own bearing than to your countenanoe." She left the room
as she spoke.

The Knight looked after her as she departed, but turned instantly
to his brother, and expressing, in the most affectionate tenns, his
wishes for his welfare and happiness, craved his leave to depart
*' My knaves," he said, ^' are too bu£Qr at tiie ale-stand, to leave their
revelry for the empty breath of a bugle horn.**

*' You have freed them from higher restraint, Halbert," answered
the Abbot, " and therein taught them to rebel against your own.''

'' Fear not that, Edward," exdaimed Halbert, who never gave his
brother his monastic name of Ambrosius; '' none obey the command
of real duty so well as those who are free from the observance of
slavish bondage."

He was turning to depart, when the Abbot said^ — ''Let us not
yet part, my brother — ^here comes some light refreshment. Leave
not the house which I must now call mine, till force expel me from
it, until you have at least broken bread with me."

The poor lay brother, the same who acted as porter, now entered
the apartment, bearing some simple refreshment, and a flask of
wine. ''He had found it," he said with officious humility, "by
rummaging through every nook of the cellar."

The Ejiight flUed a small silver cup, and, quaffing it off, asked his
brother to pledge him, observing the wine was Bacharac, of the first
vintage, and of great age.

"Ay," said the poor lay brother, "it came out of the nook which
old Brother Nicholas (may his soul be happy!) was wont to call
Abbot Ingelram's comer; and Abbot Ingelram was bred at the Con-
vent of Wurtzburg, which I understand to be near where that choice
wine grows."

"True, my reverend sir," said Sir Halbert; "and therefore I
entreat my brother and you to pledge me in a cup of this orthodox
vintage."

The l^in old porter looked with a wishful glance towards the
Abbot "Bo veniam" said his Superior; and the old man seized,
with a trembling hand, a beverage to which he had been long
unaccustomed, drained the cup with protracted delight, as if dwelling
on the flavour and perfume, and set it down with a melancholy
smile and shake of the head, as if bidding adieu in future to sudi
delicious potations. The brothers smiled. But when Sir Halbert
motioned to the Abbot to take up his cup and do him reason, the
Abbot, in turn, shook his head, and replied — "This is no day for
the Abbot of St Mary's to eat the fat and drink the sweet Li
water from Our Lady's well," he added, filling a cup with the limpid

TMK ABBOT. 141

element, " I wieb yon, m^ bratlieT, all hEppineee, and, above all, a
ttne right of yotir ipiritaal errors."

" And to yon, my beloved Edward," replied Glendinning, " I wiah
the free exerdee of yom own free reason, and the diecharge of more
importuit duties than are connected with the idle name which you
have so raahly aaanmed."

The brothen parted with deep regret; and yet each, confident in
his opinion, felt somewhat relieved by the absence of one whom he
respected eo much, and with whom he could agree bo Uttle.

Soon afterwards the sound of the £night of Avenel'a trumpets
was heard, and the Abbot went to the top of the tower, from whoee
dismantled battlements he could soon see the horsemen ascending
the rising ground in the direction of the drawbridge. As he gazed,
Magdalen Qneme came to hie side.

"Thoa art come," he said, " to catch the laat glimpse of thy grand-
woD, my sister. Tender he wends, under the charge of the best
knight in Scotiand, hie faitii ever excepted."

"Thou canit bear witness, my father, that it was no vrisk «i^i]b«£

142 THE ABBOT.

of mine or of Bpland's," replied the matron, ''which induced the
Knight of Avenel, as he is called^ again to entertain mj grandson in
his household — ^Heaven, which confounds the wise with their own
wisdom, and the wicked with their own policy, hath placed him
where, for the service of the Church, I would most wish him to be."

" I know not what you mean, my sister," said the Abbot.

"Eeverend father," replied Magdalen, "hast thou never heard
that there are spirits powerful to rend the walls of a castle asunder
when once admitted, which yet cannot enter the house unless they
are invited, nay, dragged over the threshold?* Twice hath Boland
Graeme been thus drawn into the household of Avenel by those who
now hold the title. Let them look to the issue."

So saying, she left the turret; and the Abbot, after pausing a
moment on her words, which he imputed to the unsettled state of
her mind, followed down the winding stair to celebrate his admis-
sion to his high office by fast and prayer, instead of revelling and
thanksgiving.

CELAPTEE XVL

Youth 1 thou wear^fit to manhood now.
Darker Up and darker brow.
Statelier step, more pensive mien,
In thy face and gait are seen:
Thou must now brook midnight watches^
Take thy food and sport by snatches
For the gambol and the jest^
Thou were wont to love the hest,
Graver follies must thou follow,
But as senseless, false, and hollow.

Ltfe, a Poem,

YoxTNG BoLAKD Gr^mb uow trotted gaily forward in the train of
Sir Halbert Glendinning. He was relieved from his most galling
apprehension, — ^the encounter of the scorn and taunt which might
possibly hail his immediate return to the Castle of AveneL *^ There
will be a change ere they see me again," he thought to himself; '' I
shall wear the coat of plate, instead of the green jerkin, and the
steel morion for the bonnet and feather. They will be bold that
may venture to break a gibe on the man-at-arms for the follies of
the page; and I trust, that ere we return I shall have done something
more worthy of note than hallooing a hound after a deer, or scramb-
ling a crag for a kite's nest." He could not, indeed, help marvelling
that Ma ^frandmother, with all her religious prejudices, leaning, it

THE ABBOT. 143

wotild seem, to the other side, had consented so readily to ys re-
entering the service of the House of Avenel; and yet more at the
mysterious joy with which she took leave of him at the Abbey.

'^ Heaven/' said the dame, as she kissed her young relation, and
bade him farewell, " works its own work, even by the hands of those
of our enemies who think themselves the strongest and the wisest.
Thou, my child, be ready to act upon the call of thy religion and
country; and remember, each earthly bond which thou canst form
is, compared to the ties which bind thee to them, like the loose flax
to the twisted cable. — ^Thou hast not forgot the face or form of the
damsel Catherine Seyton?''

Boland would have replied in the negative, but the word seemed
to stick in his throat, and Magdalen continued her exhortations.

'' Thou must not forget her, my son; and here I intrust thee with
a token, which I trust thou wilt speedily find an opportunity of
delivering with care and secrecy into her own hand."

She put here into Boland's hand a very small packet, of which she
again enjoined him to take the strictest care, and to suffer it to be
seen by no one save Catherine Seyton, who, she again (very unneces-
sarily) reminded him, was the young maiden he had met on the pre-
ceding day. She then bestowed on him her solemn benediction, and
bade €rod speed him.

There was something in her manner and her conduct'which implied
mystery; but Boland Grseme was not of an age or temper to waste
much time in endeavouring to decipher her meaning. All that was
obvious to his perception in the present journey, promised pleasure
and novelty. He rejoiced that he was travelling towards Edinburgh,
in order to assume the character of a man, and lay aside that of a
boy. He was delighted to think that he would have an opportunity
of rejoining Catherine Seyton, whose bright eyes and lively manners
had made so favourable an impression on his imagination; and, as
an inexperienced, yet high-spirited youth, entering for the first time
upon active life, his heart bounded at the thought, that he was about
to see aU those scenes of courtly splendour and warlike adventures,
of which the followers of Sir Halbert used to boast on their occa-
sional visits to Avenel, to the wonderment and envy of those who,
like Boland, knew courts and camps only by hearsay, and were con-
demned to the solitary sports and almost monastic seclusion of Avenel,
surrounded by its lonely lake, and embosomed among its pathless
mountains. '' They shall mention my name,'' he said to himself, " if
the risk of my life can purchase me opportunities of distinction, and
CSatherine Seyton's saucy eye shall rest with more respect on the dis-
tinguished soldier^ than that with which she laughed to «k:qtyl \ki<^

144 THE ABBOT.

raw and inexperienced page/' — ^There was wanting but one accessaay
to complete the sense of rapturous excitation, and he possessed it by
being once more mounted on the back of a fiery and active horse,
instead of plodding along on foot^ as had been the case during the
preceding days.

Impelled by the liveliness of his own spirits, which so many
circumstances tended naturally to exalt, Boland Graeme's voice and
his laughter were soon distinguished amid the trampling of the
horses of the retinue, and more than once attracted the attention of
their leader, who remarked with satisfaction, that the youth replied
with good-humoured raillery to such of the train as jested with him
on his dismissal and return to the service of the House of AveneL

" I thought the holly-branch in your bonnet had been blighted,
Master Boland?" said one of the men-at-arms.

'^ Only pinched with half an hour's frost; you see it flourishes as
green as ever.**

" It is too grave a plant to flourish on so hot a soil as that head-
piece of thine. Master Boland Graeme," retorted the other, who was
an old equerry of Sir Halbert Glendinning.

"If it will not flourish alone," said Boland, "I will mix it with the
laurel and the myrtle — and I will carry them so near the sky, that
it shall make amends for their stinted growth."

Thus speaking, he dashed his spurs into his horse's sides, and,
checking him at the same time, compelled him to execute a lofty
caracole. Sir Halbert Glendinning looked at the demeanour of his
new attendant with that sort of melancholy pleasure with which
those who have long followed the pursuits of life, and are sensible
of their vanity, regard the gay, young, and buoyant spirits to whom
existence, as yet, is only hope and promise.

In the meanwhile, Adam Woodcock, the falconer, stripped of his
manning habit, and attired, according to his rank and calling, in a
green jerkin, with a hawking-bag on the one side, and a short hanger
on the other, a glove on his left hand which reached half way up his
arm, and a bonnet and feather upon his head, came after the party
as fast as his active little galloway-nag could trot, and immediately
entered into parley with Boland Graeme.

" So, my youngster, you are once more under shadow of the holly-
branch 1"

" And in case to repay you, my good friend," answered Boland,
"your ten groats of silver."

" Which, but an hour since," said the falconer, "you had nearly
paid me with ten inches of steel. On my faith, it is written in the
book of our destiny that I must brook your dagger, after alL"

THE ABBOT. 146

" Nxy, speak not d that, my good friend," Baid the Tonth, " t would
Tathar have broached my own boeom than youra ; but wlio could Imvq
known yon in the mumming dress you worel"

"Yes," the falconer lesumed, — for both as a poet and actor be bad
his own professional share of self-conceit, — " I thinV I was as good
a Howle^as as ever played part at a ShroTetide revelry, and not a
much worse Abbot of TJureaaon. I defy the Old Enemy to unmasque
me when I choose lo teep my vizard on.' What the devil brought
the Knight on us before we had Uie game outi You would have
heard me hollo my own new ballad with a voice should have reached

to Berwick. But I pray you, MaBt«r Boland, be lesa free of cdd
steel on slight occaaiona; since, but for the stuffing of my reverend
doublet, I had only left the kirk to take my place in the kirk-
yard."

" Nay, spare me that feud," said Boland Grsame, " we shall have
DO time to fight it out; for, by our lord's command, I am bound for
Edinburgh."

" I know it," said Adam Woodcock, " and even therefore we shall
have time to Bolder up this rent by the way, for Sir Halbert has
appointed me your companion and guide."

" Ayl and with what purpose)" said the page.

"That," said the falconer, "is a question I cannot answer; but
I know, that be tbe food of the eyases washed or unwashed, and,

146 THE ABBOT.

indeed, whatever becomes of perch and mew, I am to go with yon
to Edinburgh, and see you safely delivered to the Begent at Holy-
rood."

"How, to the Eegenti" said Boland, in surprise.

"Ay, by my faith, to the Eegent," replied Woodcock; "I pro-
mise you, that if you are not to enter his service, at least you are
to wait upon him in the character of a retainer of our Ejiight
of Avenel."

" I know no right," said the youth, "which the Knight of Avenel
hath to transfer my service, supposing that I owe it to himself.''

"Hush, hush !" said the falconer; "that is a question I advise no
one to stir in until he has the mountain or the lake, or the march of
another kingdom, which is better than either, betwixt him and his
feudal superior."

" But Sir Halbert Glendinning," said the youth, " is not my feudal
superior; nor has he aught of authority"

"I pray you, my son, to rein your tongue," answered Adam
Woodcock; "my load's displeasure, if you provoke it, will be worse
to appease than my lady's. The touch of his least finger were heavier
than her hardest blow. And, by my faith, he is a man of steel, as
true and as pure, but as hard and as pitiless. You remember the
Cock of Capperlaw, whom he hanged over his gate for a mere mistake
— ^a poor yoke of oxen taken in Scotland, when he thought he was
taking them in English landl I loved the Cock of Capperlaw; the
Kerrs had not an honester man in their dan, and they have had men
that might have been a pattern to the Border — ^men that would not
have lifted under twenty cows at once, and would have held -them-
selves dishonoured if they had taken a drift o£ sheep or the like, but
always managed their raids in full credit and honour. — ^But see, his
worship' halts, and we are dose by the bridge. Bide up — ^ride up —
we must have his last instructions."

It was as Adam Woodcock said. In the hollow way descending
towards the bridge, which was still in the guardianship of Peter
Bridgeward, as he was called, though he was now very old, Sir
Halbert Glendinning halted his retinue, and beckoned to Woodcock
and Graeme to advance to the head of the train.

" Woodcock," said he, " thou knowest to whom thou art to conduct
this youth. And thou, young man, obey discreetly and with diligence
the orders that shall be given thee. Curb thy vain and peevish
temper. Be just, true, and faithful; and there is in thee that whidi
may raise thee many a degree above thy present station. Neither
sJt thou-always LppcTg thine effoL'to be fair aad honest^
want the protection and countenance of AveneL"

THE ABBOT. 147

Leaving them in front of the bridge, the centre tower of which
now began to cast a prolonged shade upon the river, the Knight of
Avenel tamed to the left, without crossing the river, and pursued
his way towards the chain of hilla within whose recesses are situated
the Lake and Castle of Avenel. There remained behind, the falconer,
Eoland Graeme, and a domestic of the Enight, of inferior rank, who
was left with them to look after their horses while on the road, to
carry their baggage, and to attend to their convenience.

So soon as the more numerous body of riders had turned off to
pursue their journey westward, those whose route lay across the river,
and was directed towards the north, summoned the Bridgeward, and
demanded a free passage.

" I will not lower the bridge,** answered Peter, in a voice querulous
with age and ill-humour. — " Come Papist, come Protestant, ye are
all the same. The Papists threatened us with Purgatory, and fleeched
us with pardons ; — the Protestant mints at us with his sword, and
cuittles us with the liberty of conscience ; but never a one of either
says, * Peter, there is your penny.' I am well tired of all this, and
for no man shall the bridge fall that pays me not ready money; and
I would have you know I care as little for Greneva as for Home — as
little for homilies as for pardons; and the silver pennies are the only
passports I will hear of."

"Here is a proper old chuff!" said Woodcock to his companion ;
then raising his voice, he exclaimed, " Hark thee, dog — ^Bridgeward,
villain, dost thou think we have refused thy namesake Peter's pence
to !Rome, to pay thine at the Bridge of Kennaquhair ? Let thy bridge
down instantly to the followers of the house of Avenel, or by the
hand of my father, and that handled many a bridle rein, for he was
a bluff Yorkshireman — I say, by my father's hand, our Knight will
blow thee out of thy solan-goose's nest there in tiie middle of the
water, with the light falconet which we are bringing southward from
Edinburgh to-morrow."

The Bridgeward heard, and muttered, "A plague on falcon and
falconet, on cannon and demi-cannon, and all the barking bulldogs
whom they halloo against stone and lime in these our days ! It was
a merry time when there was little besides handy blows, and it may
be a flight of arrows that harmed an ashler wall as little as so many
hailstones. But we must jouk, and let the jaw gang by." Comfort-
ing himself in his state of diminished consequence with this pithy
old proverb, Peter Bridgeward lowered the drawbridge, and permitted
them to pass over. At the sight of his white hair, albeit it discovered
a visage equally peevish through age and misfortune, Boland was
indin^ to give him an alms, but Adam Woodcock prevented bixsi.

148 THE ABBOT.

^' E'ea let him paj the penalty of his former churlishneaB and greedy"
he said; ''the wolf, when he has lost his teeth^ should be treated no
better than a cur."

Leaving the Bridgeward to lament the alteration of times, which
sent domineering soldiers and feudal retainers to his place of passage,
instead of peaceful pilgrims, and reduced him to become the oppressed,
instead of playing the extortioner, the travellers turned them north-
ward; and Adam Woodcock, well acquainted with that part of the
country, proposed to cut short a considerable portion of the road, by
traversing the little vale of Glendearg, so famous for the adventures
which befell therein during the earlier part of the Benedictine's
manuscript. With these, and with the thousand commentaries,
representations, and misrepresentations, to which they had given rise,
Boland Graeme was, of course, well acquainted; for in the Castle of
Avenel, as well as in other great establishments, the inmates talked
of nothing so often, or with such pleasure, as of the private affairs
of their lord and lady. But while Eoland was viewing with interest
these haunted scenes, in which things were said to have passed
beyond the ordinary laws of nature, Adam Woodcock was still
regretting in his secret soul the unfinished revel and the unsung
biJlad, and kept every now and then breaking out with some such
verses as these : —

^* The Friars of Fail drank beny-brown ale,
The best that e'er was tasted;
The Monks of Melrose made gude kale
On Fridays, when they fasted.
Saint Monance' sister,
The grey priest kist her—

Fiend save the company!
Sing hay triz, tiim-go-triz,
Under the greenwood tree ! "

'' By my hand, friend Woodcock," said the page, " though I know
you for a hardy gospeller, that fear neither saint nor dev^ yet^ if
I were you, I would not sing your profane songs in this valley
of Glendearg, considering what has happened here before our
time."

" A straw for your wandering spirits !" said Adam Woodcock; " I
mind them no more than an earn cares for a string of wild-geese —
they have all fled since the pulpits were filled with honest men, and
the people's ears with sound doctrine. Nay, I have a touch at them
in my ballad, an I had but had the good luck to have it sung to end ; "
and again, he set off in the same key :

THE ABBOT. 149

'* From haunted spring and grassy ring,
Troop goblin, elf, and fury;
And the kelpie must flit from the black bog-pit^
And the brownie must not tarry;
To limbo-lake,
Their way they take,

With scarce the pith to flee.
Sing hay trix, trim-go-trix,
Under the greenwood tree I

I think," he added, 'Hhat oonld Sir Halbert's patience have stretched
till we came that length, he would have had a hearty latigh, and that
is what he seldom enjoys."

" If it be all true that men tell of his early life," said Boland, " he
has less right to laugh at goblins than most men."

"Ay, t^ it be all true," answered Adam Woodcock; "but who can
ensure us of thati Moreover, these were but tales the monks used
to gull us simple laymen withal; they knew that fairies and hobgob-
Uns brought aves and paternosters into repute; but, now we have
given up worship of images in wood and stone, methinks it were no
time to be afraid of bubbles in the water, or shadows in the air."

" However," said Eoland Graeme, " as the Catholics say they do
not worship wood or stone, but only as emblems of the holy saints,
and not as things holy in themselves"

"Pshaw ! pshaw !" answered the falconer; "a rush for their prating.
They told us another story when these baptized idols of theirs brought
pike-staves and sandalled shoon from all the four winds, and whillied
the old women out of their com and their candle-ends, and their
butter, bacon, wool^ and cheese, and when not so much as a grey
groat escaped tithing."

Boland Graeme had been long taught, by necessity, to consider his
form of religion as a profound secret, and to say nothing whatever in
its defence when assailed, lest he should draw on himself the suspicion
of belonging to the unpopular and exploded church. He therefore
suffered Adam Woodcock to triumph without farther opposition,
marvelling in his own mind whether any of the goblins, formerly
such active agents, would avenge his rude raillery before they left
the valley of Glendearg. But no such consequences followed. They
passed the night quietly in a cottage in the glen, and the next day
resumed their route to Edinburgh.

150 THE ABBOT.

CHAPTEB xyn.

Edina! Scotia^s darling seat,

All hail thy palaces and towers,
Where once, beneath a monarch's feet.

Sate legislation's sovereign powers! — ^Bubns.

''This, then, is Edinburgh 1" said the youth^ as the fellow-travellers
arrived at one of the heights to the southward, which commanded a
view of the great northern capital — ''This is that Edinburgh of which
we have heard so much?"

" Even so/' said the falconer; " yonder stands Auld Beekie — ^you
may see the smoke hover over her at twenty miles' distance, as the
goss-hawk hangs over a plump of young wild-ducks — ay, yonder is
the heart of Scotland, and each throb that she gives is felt from the
edge of Solway to Duncan's-bay-head. See, yonder is the old Castle;
and see to the right, on yon rising ground, that is the Castle of
Craigmillar, which I have known a merry place in my time."

"Was it not there," said the page in a low voice, " that the Queen
held her court?"

" Ay, ay," replied the falconer, " Queen she was then, though you
must not call her so now. — ^Well, they may say what they will —
many a true heart will be sad for Mary Stewart, e'en if all be true
men say of her; for look you, Master Boland — she was the loveliest
creature to look upon that I ever saw with eye, and no lady in the
land liked better the fair flight of a falcon. I was at the great match
on Eoslin-moor betwixt Bothwell — ^he was a black sight to her that
Bothwell — and the Baron of Boslin, who could judge a hawk's flight
as well as any man in Scotland — a butt of Bhenish and a ring of gold
was the wager, and it was flown as fairly for as ever was red gold
and bright wine. And to see her there on her white palfrey, that
flew as if it scorned to touch more than the heather blossom; and to
hear her voice, as clear and sweet as the mavis's whistle, mix among
our jolly whooping and whistling; and to mark all the nobles dash-
ing round her; happiest he who got a word or a look — ^tearing
through moss and hagg, and venturing neck and limb to gain the
praise of a bold rider, and the blink of a bonny Queen's bright eye !
— she will see little hawking where she lies now — ay, ay, pomp and
pleasure pass away as speedily as the wap of a falcon's wing."

"And where is this poor Queen now confined?" said Boland Graeme,
interested in the fate of a woman, whose beauty and grace had made
so strong an impression even on the blunt and careless character of
Adam Woodcock.

THE ABBOT. 151

"Where is she now imprisonedl'' said honest Adam; "why, in
some castle in the north, they saj — ^I know not where, for my part,
nor is it worth while to vex one's self anent what cannot be mended
— An she had guided her power well whilst she had it, she had not
come to so evil a pass. Men say she must resign her crown to this
little baby of a prince, for that they will trust her with it no longer.
Our master has been as busy as his neighbours in all this work. If
the Queen should come to her own again, Avenel Castle is like to
smoke for it, unless he makes his bargain all the better."

"In a castle in the north Queen Mary is confined?" said the
page.

" Why, ay — ^they say so, at least — In a castle beyond that great
river which comes down yonder, and looks like a river, but it is a
branch of the sea, and as bitter as brine."

" And amongst all her subjects," said the page, with some emotion,
"is there none that will adventure anything for her relief?"

"That is a kittle question," said the falconer; "and if you ask it
often, Master Boland, I am fain to tell you that you will be mewed
up yourself in some of those castles, if they do not prefer twisting
your head off, to save farther trouble with you — Adventure anything?
Lord, why, Murray has the wind in his poop now, man, and flies so
high and strong, that the devil a wing of them can match him — No,
no; there she is, and there she must lie, till Heaven send her deliver-
ance, or till her son has the management of all — ^But Murray will
never let her loose again, he knows her too well. — And hark thee,
we are now bound for Holyrood, where thou wilt find plenty of news
and of courtiers to tell it — But, take my counsel, and keep a calm
sough, as the Scots say — ^hear every man's counsel, and keep your
own. And if you hap to learn any news you like, leap not up as if
you were to put on armour direct in the cause — Our old Mr. Wingate
says — and he knows court-cattle well — that if you are told old King
Coul is come alive again, you should turn it off with, 'And is he, in
truth? — I heard not of it,' and should seem no more moved, than if
one told you, by way of novelty, that old King Coul was dead and
buried. Wherefore, look well to your bearing. Master Boland, for
I promise you, you come among a generation that are keen as a
hungry hawk — ^And never be dagger out of sheath at every wry
word you hear spoken; for you will find as hot blades as yourself,
and then will be letting of blood without advice either of leech or
almanack."

"You shall see how staid I will be, and how cautious, my good
friend," said Graeme; " but, blessed Lady, what goodly house is that
which is lying all in ruins so dose to the city? Have thj^y b^^i^

152 THE ABBOT.

playing at the Abbot of Unreason here, and ended the gambol by
burning the church?"

''There again now," replied his companion, ''you go down the
wind like a wild haggard, that minds neither lore nor beck — ^that is a
question you should have asked in as low a tone as I shaU answer iV*

'' If I stay here long," said Boland Grseme, " it is like I shall lose
the natural use of my voice — ^but what are the ruins then?"

'* The Kirk of Field," said the falconer, in a low and impressive
whisper, laying at the same time his finger on his lip; '' ask no more
about it — somebody got foul play, and somebody got the blame of it;
and the game began there which perhaps may not be played out in
our time. — Poor Henry Damley ! to be an ass, he understood some-
what of a hawk ! but they sent him on the wing through the air
himself one bright moonlight night."

The memory of this catastrophe was so recent, that the page
averted his eyes with horror from the scathed ruins in which it had
taken place; and the accusations against the Queen, to which it had
given rise, came over his mind with such strength as to balance the
compassion he had begun to entertain for her present forlorn situa-
tion.

It was, indeed, with that agitating state of mind which arises
partly from horror, but more from anxious interest and curiosity,
that young Graeme found himself actually traversing the scene of
those tremendous events, the report of which had disturbed the most
distant solitudes in Scotland, like the echoes of distant thunder roll-
ing among the momiteins.

"Now," he thought, "now or never shall I become a man, and
bear my part in those deeds which the simple inhabitants of our
hamlets repeat to each other as if they were wrought by beings of
a superior order to their own! I will know now wherefore the
EInight of Avenel carries his crest so much above those of the
neighbouring baronage, and how it is that men, by valour and
wisdom, work their way from the hodden-grey coat to the cloak of
scarlet and gold. Men say I have not much wisdom to recommend
me; and if that be true, courage must do it; for I will be a man
amongst living men, or a dead corpse amongst the dead."

From these dreams of ambition he turned his thoughts to those of
pleasure, and began to form many conjectures, when and where he
should see Catherine Seyton, and in what manner their acquaintance
was to be renewed. With such conjectures he was amusing himself
when he found that they had entered the city, and all other feelings
were suspended in the sensation of giddy astonishment with whidi
an ioliAhituit of the country is affected, when, for the first time^ lie

THE ABBOT. 153

finds himself in the streets of a large and populous dty, a unit in
the midst of thousands.

The principal street of Edinburgh was then, as now, one of the
most spacious in Europe. The extreme height of the houses, and
the variety of €k>thic gables, and battlements, and balconies, by
which the sky-line on each side was crowned and terminated, to>
gether with the width of the street itself, might have struck with
surprise a more practised eye than that of young Greeme. The pop-
ulation, dose packed within the walls of the city, and at this time
increased by the number of the lords of the Eling^s party who had
thronged to Edinburgh to wait upon the Begent Murray, absolutely
swarmed like bees on the wide and stately street. Instead of the
shop- windows, which are now calculated for the display of goods,
the traders had their open booths projecting on the street, in which,
as in the fashion of the modem bazars, all was exposed which they
had upon sale. And though the commodities were not of the richest
kinds, yet Graeme thought he beheld the wealth of the whole world
in the various bales of Flanders cloths, and the specimens of tapestry;
and, at other places, the display of domestic utensils, and pieces of
plate, struck him with wonder. The sight of cutlers' booths,
furnished with swords aud poniards, which were manufactured in
Scotland, and with pieces of defensive armour, imported from
Flanders, added to his surprise; and, at every step, he found so much
to admire and to gaze upon, that Adam Woodcock had no little
difficulty in prevailing on him to advance through such a scene of
enchantment.

The sight of the crowds which filled the streets was equally a
subject of wonder. Here a gay lady, in her muffler, or silken veil,
traced her way delicately, a gentleman-usher making way for her,
a page bearing up her train, and a waiting-gentlewoman carrying
her Bible, thus intimating that her purpose was towards the church
— ^There he might see a group of citizens bending the same way, with
their short Flemish cloaks, wide trowsers, and high-caped doublets ;
a fashion to which, as well as to their bonnet and feather, the Scots
were long faithful. Then, again, came the clergyman himself, in his
black Geneva cloak and band, lending a grave and attentive ear to
the discourse of several persons who accompanied him, and who were
doubtless holding serious converse on the religious subject he was
about to treat of. Nor did there lack passengers of a different class
and appearance.

At every turn Bolaud Graeme might see a gaUant ruffle along in
the newer or French mode, his doublet slashed, and his points of the
same colours with the lining, his long sword on one sid^ osvd ^m

164 THE ABBOT.

poniard on the other, behind him a body of stont serving-men, pro-
portioned to his estate and qualiiy, all of whom walked with the air
of military retainers, and were armed with sword and buckler, the
latter being a small round shield, not unlike the Highland target,
having a steel spike in the centre. Two of these parties, each headed
by a person of importance, chanced to meet in the veiy centre of
the street, or, as it was called, " the crown of the causeway,'' a poet
of honour as tenaciously asserted in Scotland, as that of giving or
taking the wall used to be in the more southern part of the island. The
two leaders being of equal rank, and, most probably, either animated
by political dislike, or by recollection of some feudal enmity, marched
dose up to each other, without yielding an inch to the right or the
left; and neither showing the least purpose of giving way, they
stopped for an instant, and then drew their swords. Their followers
imitated their example; about a score of weapons at once flashed in
the sun, and there was an immediate clatter of swords and bucklers,
while the followers on either side cried their master's name; the one
shouting " Help, a Leslie ! a LesUe I" while the others answered with
shouts of ^'Seyton! Seyton!" with the additional punning slogan,
" Set on, set on — bear lie knaves to the ground !"

If the falconer found difficulty in getting the page to go forward
before, it was now perfectly impossible. He reined up his horse,
clapped his hands, and, delighted with the fray, cried and shouted
as fast as any of those who were actually engaged in it.

The noise and cries thus arising on the High-gate, as it was called,
drew into the quarrel two or three other parties of gentlemen and
their servants, besides some single passengers, who, hearing a fray
betwixt these two distinguished names, took part in it either for love
or hatred.

The combat became now veiy sharp, and although the sword-and-
buckler men made more clatter and noise than they did real damage,
yet several good cuts were dealt among them; and those who wore
rapiers— a more formidable weapon than the ordinary Scottish sword
— gave and received dangerous wounds. Two men were already
stretched on the causeway, and the party of Seyton began to give
ground, being much inferior in number to the other, with which
several of the citizens had united themselves, when young Boland
Graeme, beholding their leader, a noble gentleman, fighting bravely,
and hard pressed with numbers, could withhold no longer. ''Adam
Woodcock," he said, " an you be a man, draw, and let us take part
with the Seyton." And, without waiting a reply, or listening to the
falconer's earnest entreaty, that he would leave alone a strife in which
he had no oonoenoi the fiery youth sprang from his horsei drew hia

THE ABBOT. 156

short sword, and shonting like the rest, *' A Seyton ! a Seyton ! Set
on I Set on V* thrust forward into the throng, and struck down one
of those who was pressing hardest upon the gentleman whose cause
he espoused. This sudden reinforcement gave spirit to the weaker
party, who began to renew the combat with much alacrity, when
four of the magistrates of the city, distinguished by their velvet
cloaks and gold chains, came up with a guard of halberdiers and
citizens, armed with long weapons, and well accustomed to such
service, thrust boldly forward, and compelled the swordsmen to
separate, who immediately retreated in different directions, leaving
such of the wounded on both sides, as had been disabled in the fray,
lying on the street.

The falconer, who had been tearing his beard for anger at his
comrade's rashness, now rode up to him with the horse which he had
caught by the bridle, and accosted him with "Master Eoland —
master goose — ^master madcap— will it please you to get on horse,
and badge? or will you remain here to be carried to prison, and
made to answer for this pretty day's work? ''

The page, who had begun his retreat along with the Seytons,
just as if he had been one of their natural allies, was by this
unoeromoniouB application made sensible that he was acting a
foolish part; and, obeying Adam Woodcock, with some sense of
shame, he sprung actively on horseback, and upsetting with the
shoiilder of the animal a city-officer, who was making towards him,
he b^gan to ride smartly down the street, along with his companion,
and was quickly out of the reach of the hue and cry. In fact,
lenooonters of the kind were so common in Edinburgh at that period,
that the disturbance seldom excited much attention after the afiray
was oyer, unless some person of consequence chanced to have fallen,
an incident which imposed on his friends the duty of avenging his
death on the first convenient opportunity. So feeble, indeed, was
the ann of the police, that it was not unusual for such skirmishes to
last f<»r hours, where the parties were numerous and well matched.
Bat at this time ihe Begent, a man of great strength of character,
aware of the mischief which usually arose from such acts of violence,
had prevailed with the magistrates to keep a constant guard on foot,
for preventing or separating such afiErays as had happened in the
present case.

The falconer and his young companion were now riding down the
Canongate, and had slackened their pace to avoid attracting atten-
tion, the rather that there seemed to be no appearance of pursuit.
Boland hung his head as one who was conscious his conduct had
been none of the wisest, while his companion thus addressed him :

156 THE ABBOT.

^ Will yoa be pleased to tell me one thing, Master Boland Grseme,
and that is, whetiier there be a devil incarnate in 70a or no?''

^ Truly, Master Adam Woodcock,'' answered the page, *' I would
fain hope there is not."

'' Then," said Adam, ^ I would fain know by what other influence
or instigation you are perpetually at one end or the other of some
bloody brawl) What, I pray, had you to do with these Seytons
and Leslies, that you never heard the names of in your life before?"

'* You are out tiiere, my friend," said Boland Graeme, ^I have my
own reasons for being a friend to the Seytons."

''They must have been very secret reasons, then," answered
Adam Woodcock, ^for I think I could have wagered you had
never known one of the name ; and I am apt to believe still that it
was your unhallowed passion for that clashing of cold iron, whidi
has as much charm for you as the clatter of a brass pan hath for
a hive of bees, rather than any care either for Seyton or for Leslie,
that persuaded you to thrust your fool's head into a quarrel that
no ways concerned you. But take this for a warning, my young
master, that if you are to draw sword with every man who draws
sword on the High-gate here, it will be scarce worth your while
to sheathe bilbo again for the rest of your life, since, if I guess
rightly, it will scarce endure on such terms for many hours — all
which I leave to your serious consideration."

<< By my word, Adam, I honour your advice ; and I promise you,
that I wiU practise by it a« faithfuUy as if I were sworn apprentice
to you, to the trade and mysteiy of bearing myself with all wisdom
and safety through the new paths of life that I am about to be
engaged in."

''And therein you will do well," said the falconer, '' and I do not
quarrel with you. Master Boland, for having a grain over much
spirit, because I know one may bring to the hand a wild hawk,
which one never can a dunghill hen — and so betwixt two faults
you have the best on't. But besides your peculiar genius for
quarrelling and lugging out your side companicm, my dear master
Boland, you have also the gift of peering under every woman's
muffler and screen, as if you expected to find an old acquaintance.
Though were you to spy one, I should be as much surprised at it,
well wotting how few you have seen of these same wild-fowl, as I
was at your taking so deep an interest even now in the Seyton."

''Tush, man! nonsense and folly," answered Boland Grseme,
" I but sought to see what eyes these gentle hawks have got under
their hood."

"Ay, but it's a dangerous subject of inquiry," said the falconer;

TH£ ABBOT. 167

^yoa had better hold out your bare wrist for an eagle to perdh
upon. — ^Look you, Master Boland, these pretty wild-geese cannot
be hawked at without risk — ^they have as many divings, boltings,
and yoUeyings, as the most gamesome quarry that falcon ever flew
at — And besides, every woman of them is manned with her husband,
or her kind friend, or her brother, or her cousin, or her sworn
servant at the least — ^£ut you heed me not. Master Eoland, though
I know the game so well — ^your eye is all on that pretty damsel who
trips down the gate before us — ^by my certes, I will warrant her a
blithe dancer, either in reel or revel — a pair of silver morisco beUs
would become these pretty ankles as well as the jesses would suit
the fairest Norway hawk.''

" Thou art a fool, Adam,'' said the page, ^ and I care not a button
about the girl or her ankles — ^But, what the foul fiend, one must look
at something! "

" Very true. Master Boland Graeme," said his guide, ** but let me
pray you to choose your objects better. Look you, there is scarce
a woman walks this High-gate with a silk screen or a pearlin muffler,
but, as I said before, she has either gentleman-iisher before her, or
kinsman, or lover, or husband, at her elbow, or it may be a brace of
stout fellows with sword and buckler, not so far behind but what
they can follow close — But you heed me no more than a goss-hawk
minds a yellow yoldring."

<<0 yes, I do — I do mind you indeed," said Boland Graeme;
^ but hold my nag a bit — I will be with you in the exchange of a
whistle." So saying, and ere Adam Woodcock could finish the
sermon which was dying on his tongue, Eoland Graeme, to the
falconer's utter astonishment, threw him the bridle of his jennet,
jumped off horseback, and pursued down one of the closes
or narrow lanes, which, opening imder a vault, terminate upon the
main-street, the very maiden to whom his friend had accused hun of
showing so much attention, and who had tamed down the pass in
question.

'^ Saint Mary, Saint Magdalen, Saint Benedict, Saint Barnabas!"
said the poor falconer, when he found himself thus suddenly brought
to a pause in the midst of the Canongate, and saw his young charge
start off like a madman in quest of a damsel whom he had never, as
Adam supposed, seen in his life before, — "Saint Satan and Saint
Beelzebub-— for this would make one swear saint and devU — what
can have come over the lad, with a wanion! And what shall I do
the whilst? — ^he will have his throat cut, the poor lad, as sure as I
was bom at the foot of Eosebery-Topping. Could I find some one to
hold the horses! but they are as sharp here northaway as in canny

168 THE ABBOT.

Yorkshire herself, and quit bridle, qtdt titt, as we say. An I ooold
but see one of our folks now, a hoUj-sprig were worth a gold tassel;
or could I but see one of the Eegenfs men — ^but to leave the horses
to a stranger, that I cannot — and to leave the place while the lad is
in jeopardy, that I wonot."

We must leave the falconer, however, in the midst of his distress,
and follow the hot-headed youth who was the cause of his perplexity.

The latter part of Adam Woodcock's sage remonstrance had been
in a great measure lost upon Boland, for whose benefit it was
intended ; because, in one of the female forms which tripped along
the street, muffled in a veil of striped silk, like the women of
Brussels at this day, his eye had discerned something which closely
resembled the exquisite shape and spirited bearing of Catherine
Seyton. — During all the grave advice which the falconer was dinning
in his ears, his eye continued intent upon so interesting an object
of observation; and, at length, as the damsel, just about to dive
under one of the arched passages which afforded an outlet to the
CSanongate from the houses beneath (a passage graced by a pro-
jecting shield of arms, supported by two huge foxes of stone), had
lifted her veil for the purpose perhaps of descrying who the horseman
was who for some time had eyed her so closely, young Boland saw,
under the shade of the silken plaid, enough of the bright azure eyes,
fair locks, and blithe features, to induce him, Hke an inexperienced
and rash madcap, whose wilful ways had never been traversed by
contradiction, nor much subjected to consideration, to throw the
bridle of his horse into Adam Woodcock's hand, and leave him to
play the waiting gentleman, while he dashed down the paved court
after Catherine Seyton — all as aforesaid.

Women's wits are proverbially quick, but apparently those of
Catherine suggested no better expedient than fairly to betake
herself to speed of foot, in hopes of baffling the page's vivacity, by
getting safely lodged before he could discover where. But a youth
of eighteen, in pursuit of a mistress, is not so easily outstripped.
Catherine fled across a paved court, decorated with large formal
vases of stone, in which yews, cypresses, and other evergreens,
vegetated in sombre sullenness, and gave a correspondent degree
of solenmity to the high and heavy building in front of which they
were placed as ornaments, aspiring towards a square portion of the
blue hemisphere, corresponding exactly in extent to the quadrangle
in which they were stationed, and all around which rose huge black
walls, exhibiting windows in rows of five stories, with heavy archi-
traves over each, bearing armorial and religious devices.

Through this court Catherine Seyton flashed like a hunted doe,

THE ABBOT. 159

making the best use of those pretty legs which had attracted the
commendation even of the reflectiye and cautious Adam Woodcock.
She hastened towards a large door in the centre of the lower front
of the court, pulled the bobbin till the latch flew up, and ensconced
herself in the ancient mansion. But, if she fled Hke a doe, Eoland
Graeme followed with the speed and ardour of a youthful stag-hound,
loosed for the first time on his prej. He kept her in view in spite
of her eflbrts; for it is remarkable what an advantage in such a race
the gallant who desires to see, possesses over the maiden who wishes
not to be seen — an advantage which I have known counterbalance
a great start in point of distance. In short, he saw the waving of
her screen, or veil, at one comer, heard the tap of her foot, light as
that was, as it crossed the court, and caught a glimpse of her figure
just as she entered the door of the mansion.

Boland Grseme, inconsiderate and headlong as we have described
him, having no knowledge of real life but from the romances which
he had read, and not an idea of checking himself in the midst of any
eager impulse; possessed, besides, of much courage and readiness,
never hesitated for a moment to approach the door through which
the object of his search had disappeared. He, too, pulled the bobbin^
and the latch, though heavy and massive, answered to the summons,
and arose. The page entered with the same precipitation which
had marked his whole proceeding, and found himself in a large
gloomy hall, or vestibule, dimly enlightened by latticed casements
of painted glass, and rendered yet dimmer through the exclusion of
the sunbeams, owing to the height of the walls of those buildings by
which the court-yard was inclosed. The walls of the hall were sur-
rounded with suits of ancient and rusted armour, interchanged with
huge and massive stone scutcheons, bearing double treasures, fleured
and counter-fleured, wheat-sheaves, coronets, and so forth, things to
which Boland GrsBme gave not a moment's attention.

In fact, he only deigned to observe the figure of Catherine Seyton,
who, deeming herself safe in the hall, had stopped to take breath
after her course, and was reposing herself for a moment on a large
oaken settle which stood at the upper end of the halL The noise of
Boland's entrance at once disturbed her; she started up with a faint
scream of surprise, and escaped through one of the several folding-
doors which opened into this apartment as a common centre. This
door, which Boland Grseme instantly approached, opened on a large
and well-lighted gallery, at the upper end of which he could hear
several voices, and the noise of hasty steps approaching towards the
hall, or vestibule. A little recalled to sober thought by an appearance
of serious danger, he was deliberating whether he should stand fast

1«)

or retire iHicn CtJhanxMb Qtjioo. r^-cntawd frca > add door, mrmiiig
towardi him with m much ^eed m a fefir mmnfeeB uoe die had fled
from hinL

^O, what miHrfiief hroo^tt jaa hithert* she aud; '^tj — 67, or yoa
aie a dead man,— or stay — they oome — fli^^ is imposedhle — say yoa
came to ask for Lord Seyton.*

She sprang from him and disi^^ieaied throogli the door by whidi
she had made her second appearance and, at the same instant^ a pair
of large folding-doors at the apper end of the galkiy flew open wilh
Yehemence, and six or seven yoong gentlemen^ liddy dressed, pressed
forward into the apartment, havings for the greater part^ their
swords drawn,

''Who is it," said one, ''dare intrude on as in oar own mansioni''

"Cut him to pieces," said another; "let him pay for this day's
insolence and violence— he is some follower of the Bothes."

"No, by Saint Mary," said another; "he is a follower of the arch-
fiend and ennobled down Halbert Glendinnin^ who takes the style
of Avenel — once a charch-vassal, now a piUager of the drarch."

" It is so " said a foarth; " I know him by the holly-sprig, which
is their cognisance. Secare the door, he mast answer for this insol-
ence."

Two of the gallants, hastily drawing their weapons, passed on to
the door by which Boland had entered the hall, and stationed them-
selves there as if to prevent his escape. The others advanced on
Graeme, who had jost sense enough to perceive that any attempt at
resistance would be alike fruitless and imprudent. At once, and by
various voices, none of which sounded amicably, the page was
required to say who he was, whence he came, his name, his errand,
and who sent him hither. The number of the questions demanded
of him at once, afforded a momentary apdogy for his remaining
silent, and ere that brief truce had elapsed, a personage entered the
hall, at whose appearance those who had ga^ered fiercely around
Boland, fell back with respect.

This was a tall man, whose dark hair was already grizzled, thou^
his eye and haughty features retained all the animation of youth.
The upper part of his person was undressed to his Holland shirt,
whose ample folds were stained with blood. But he wore a mantle
of crimson, lined with rich fur, cast around him, which supplied the
defidency of his dress. On his head he had a crimson vdvet bonnet,
looped up on one side with a small golden chain of many linka^
which, going thrice around the hat, was fastened by a medal, agree-
able to the fashion amongst the grandees of the time.

"Whom have you here, sons and kinsmen," said he, "around

THE ABBOT. 161

whom you crowd thus roughly? — Know you not that the shelter of
this roof should secure eveiy one fair treatment, who shall come
hither either in fair peace, or in open and manly hostility?"

"But here, my lord,** answered one of the youths, "is a knave
who comes on treacherous espial !"

"I deny the charge," said Boland Greeme, boldly, "I came to
inquire after my Lord Seyton."

"A likely tale,* answered his accusers, "in the mouth of a follower
of Glendinning."

" Stay, young men," said the Lord Seyton, for it was that noble-
man himself, "let me look at this youth — By Heaven, it is the very
same who came so boldly to my side not very many minutes since,
when some of my own knaves bore themselves with more respect
to their own worshipful safety than to mine ! Stand back from him,
for he well deserves honour and a friendly welcome at your hands,
instead of this rough treatment."

They fell back on all sides, obedient to Lord Seyton's commands,
who^ taking Eoland Graeme by the hand, thanked him for his prompt
and gallant assistance, adding, that he nothing doubted, " the same
interest which he had taken in his cause in the affray brought him
hither to inquire after his hurt."

Eoland bowed low in acquiescence.

"Or is there anything in which I can serve you, to show my sense
of your ready gallantry?"

But the page, thinkiug it best to abide by the apology for his visit
which the Lord Seyton had so aptly himself suggested, replied, "that
to be assured of his lordship's safety had been the only cause of his
intrusion. He judged," he added, " he had seen him receive some
hurt in the affiray."

"A trifle," said Lord Seyton, "I had but stripped my doublet,
that the chirurgeon might put some dressing on tiie paltry scratch,
when these rash boys interrupted us with their clamour."

Boland Greeme, making a low obeisance, was now about to depart,
for, relieved from the danger of being treated as a spy, he began
next to fear that his companion, Adam Woodcock, whom he had so
unceremoniously quitted, would either bring him into some farther
dilemma, by venturing into the hotel in quest of him, or ride off and
leave him behind altogether. But Lord Seyton did not permit him
to escape so easily. — "Tarry," he said, "young man, and let me know
thy rank and name. The Seyton has of late been more wont to see
friends and followers shrink from his side, than to receive aid from
strangers — ^but a new world may come round, in which he may have
the ohance of rewarding his well-wishers."

1*

162 THE ABBOT.

"My name is Eoland Graeme, my lord," answered the youth, "a
page, who, for the present, is in the service of Sir Halbert Glen-
dinning.**

" I said so from the first," said one of the young men; " my life
I will wager that this is a shaft out of the heretic's quiver — a strata-
gem from first to last, to injeer into your confidence some espial of his
own. They know how to teach both boys and women to play the
intelligencers."

" That is false, if it be spoken of me," said Eoland; " no man in
Scotland should teach me such a foul part !"

" I believe thee, boy," said Lord Seyton, " for thy strokes were
too fair to be dealt upon an understanding with those that were to
receive them. Credit me, however, I little expected to have help at
need from one of your master's household; and I would know what
moved thee in my quarrel, to thine own endangermenti"

" So please you, my lord," said Boland, " I think my master him-
self would not have stood by and seen an honourable man borne to
earth by odds, if his single arm could help him. Such, at least, is
the lesson we were taught in chivalry at the Castle of AveneL"

" The good seed hath fallen into good ground, young man," said
Seyton; " but, alas ! if thou practise such honourable war in these
dishonourable days, when right is everywhere borne down by
mastery, thy life, my poor boy, will be but a short one."

"Let it be short, so it be honourable," said Eoland Graeme; "and
permit me now, my lord, to commend me to your grace, and to take
my leave. A comrade waits with my horse in the street."

"Take this, however, young man," said Lord Seyton,* undoing
from his bonnet the golden chain and medal, " and wear it for my
sake."

With no little pride Eoland Graeme accepted the gift, which he
hastily fastened around his bonnet, as he had seen gallants wear
such an ornament, and, renewing his obeisance to the Baron, left the
hall, traversed the court, and appeared in the street, just as Adam
Woodcock, vexed and anxioiis at his delay, had determined to leave
the horses to their fate, and go in quest of his youthful comrade.
"Whose bam hast thou broken nextl" he exclaimed, greatly relieved
by his appearance, although his countenance indicated that he had
passed through an agitating scene.

" Ask me no questions," said Eoland leaping gaily on his horse;
" but see how short time it takes to win a chain of gold," pointing
to that which he now wore.

" Now, God forbid that thou hast either stolen it, or reft it by
violence/* said the falconer; "for, otherwise^ I wot not how the

THE ABBOT. 163

devil thon couldst compafis it. I have been often here, ay, for
months at an end, and no one gave me either chain or medal."

" Thon seest I have got one on shorter acquaintance with the city,"
answered the page, " but set thine honest heart at rest; that which
is fairly won and freely given, is neither reft nor stolen.''

''Marry, hang thee, with thy fanfaronM' about thy neck!" said
the falconer; " I think water will not drown, nor hemp strangle
thee. Thou hast been discarded as my lady's page, to come in again
as my lord's squire; and for following a noble young damsel into
some great household, thou getst a chain and medal, where another
would have had the baton across his shoulders, if he missed having
the dirk in his body. — ^But here we come in front of the old Abbey.
Bear thy good luck with you when you cross these paved stones,
and, by Our Lady, you may brag Scotland."

As he spoke, they checked their horses, where the huge old vaulted
entrance to the Abbey or Palace of Holyrood crossed the termina-
tion of the street down which they had proceeded. The court-yard
of the palace opened within this gloomy porch, showing the front
of an irregular pile of monastic buildings, one wing of which is still
extant, forming a part of the modem palace, erected in the days of
Charles I.

At the gate of the porch the falconer and page resigned their
horses to Hie serving-man in attendance; the falconer commanding
him, with an air of authority, to carry them safely to the stables. —
"We follow," he said, "the Knight of Avenel. — We must bear
ourselves for what we are here," said he, in a whisper to Eoland,
"for eveiy one here is looked on as they demean themselves; and
he that is too modest must to the wall, as the proverb says; therefore
cock thy bonnet, man, and let us brook the causeway bravely."

Assuming, therefore, an air of consequence, corresponding to what
he supposed to be his master's importance and quality, Adam Wood-
cock led the way into the court-yard of the Palace of Holyrood.

t A name given to the gold chains worn by the military men of the period. It is of
Spanish origin; for the fashion of wearing these costly ornaments was much followed
amongst the conquerors of the New World.

164 THE ABBOT.

GQAFTEB XVJLIL

The sky is clouded, Gftspard^

And the vex'd ocean sleeps a troubled sleepy

Beneath a lurid gleam of parting sunshine.

Such slumber hangs o'er discontented lands,

While factions doubt, as yet, if they have strength

To front the open battle.

Album — A Poem,

The youthful page paused on the entrance of the court-yard, and
implored his guide to give him a moment^s breathing space. ''Let
me but look around me, man," said he; ''you consider not I have
never seen such a scene as this before. — ^And this is Holyrood — the
resort of the gallant and gay, and the fair and the wise and the
powerful!"

" Ay, marry, is it!" said "Woodcock; " but I wish I could hood thee
as they do the hawks, for thou starest as wildly as if you sought
another fray or another fanfarona. I would I had thee safely
housed, for thou lookest wild as a goss-hawk."

It was indeed no common sight to Boland, the vestibule of a
palace, traversed by its various groups, — some radiant with gaiety —
some pensive, and apparently weighed down by aflEedrs concerning
the state, or concerning themselves. Here the hoaiy statesman, with
his cautious yet commanding look, lus furred doak and sable
pantoufles; there the soldier in buff and steel, his long sword jarring
against the pavement, and his whiskered upper lip and frowning
brow, looking a habitual defiance of danger which perhaps was not
always made good; there again passed my lord's serving-man, hi^
of heart, and bloody of hand, humble to his master and his master's
equals, insolent to aU others. To these might be added, the poor
suitor, with his anxious look and depressed mien — ^the officer full
of his brief authority, elbowing his betters, and possibly his
benefactors, out of the road — ^the proud priest, who sought a better
benefice — ^the proud baron, who sought a grant of church lands — ^the
robber chief who came to solicit a pardon for the injuries he had
inflicted on his neighbours — the plundered franklin, who came to
seek vengeance for that which he had himself received. Besides,
there was the mustering and disposition of guards and soldiers — ^the
despatching of messengers, and the receiving them — ^the trampling
and neighing of horses without the gate — the flashing of arms, and
rustling of plumes, and jingling of spurs within it. In shorty it was
^^^ gsi-y And splendid confusion, in which the eye of yoath sees all

THE ABBOT. 165

tliat is brave and brilliant^ and that of experience much that is
doubtfuly deceitful, false, and hollow — ^hopes that will never be
gratified — ^promises which will never be fulfilled — ^pride in the disguise
of humility — and insolence in that of frank and generous bounty.

As, tired of the eager and enraptured attention which the page
gave to a scene so new to him', Adam Woodcock endeavoured to
get him to move forward, before his exuberance of astonishment
should attract the observation of the sharp-witted denizens of the
court, the falconer himself became an object of attention to a gay
menial in a dark-green bonnet and feather, with a cloak of a corre-
sponding colour, laid down, as the phrase then went, by six broad
bars of silver lace, and welted with violet and silver. The words
of recognition burst from both atu)nce. " What! Adam Woodcock
at court!" and "What! Michael Wing-the-wind — and how runs the
hackit greyhound bitch nowl"

" The waur for the wear, like ourselves, Adam, — eight years this
grass — ^no four legs will carry a dog for ever; but we keep her for
the breed, and so she 'scapes Border doom. — But why stand you
gazing there? I promise you my lord has wished for you, and asked
for you."

'' My Lord of Murray asked for me, and he Begent of the king-
dom too!" said Adam. " I hunger and thirst to pay my duty to my
good lord; — but I fancy his good lordship remembers the day's sport
on Camwath-mopr; and my Drummelzier falcon, that beat the
hawks from the Isle of Man, and won his lordship a hundred crowns
from the Southern baron whom they called Stanley."

''Nay, not to flatter thee, Adam," said his court-friend, "he
remembers nought of thee, or of thy falcon either. He hath flown
many a higher flight since that, and struck his quarry too. But
come, come hither away; I trust we are to be good comrades on the
old score."

" What!" said Adam, " you would have me crush a pot with you?
but I must first dispose of my eyas, where he will neither have girl
to chase, nor lad to draw swoid upon."

"Is the youngster such a one?" said MichaeL

"Ay, by my hood, he flies at all game," replied Woodcock.

" Then had he better come with us," said Michael Wing-the-wind;
"for we cannot have a proper carouse just now, only I would wet
my lips, and so must you. I want to hear the news from Saint
Mary's before you see my lord, and I will let you know how the
wind sits up yonder."

While he thus spoke, he led the way to a side door which opened
into the court; and threading several dark passages with the air of

166 THE ABBOT.

one wlio knew the most secret recesses of the palace, oonducted
them to a small matted chamber, where he placed bread and cheese
and a foaming flagon of ale before the falconer and his young com-
panion, who immediately did justice to the latter in a hearty
draughty which nearly emptied the measure. Having drawn his
brqath, and dashed the froth from his whiskers, he observed that
his anxiety for the boy had made him deadly dry.

*^ Mend your draught,'' said his hospitable friend, again supplying
the flagon from a pitcher which stood beside. ^ I know the way to
the buttery-bar. And now, mind what I say — ^this morning the
Earl of Morton came to my lord in a mighty chafe.''

"What! they keep the old friendship thenl" said "Woodcock.
*" "Ay, ay, man, what elsel" said Michael; "one hand must scratch
the other. But in a mighty chafe was my Lord of Morton, who,
to say truth, looketh on such occasions altogether imcanny, and,
as it were, fiendish; and he says to my lord — ^for I was in the
chamber taking orders about a cast of hawks that are to be fetched
from Damoway — ^they match your long-winged falcons^ friend
Adam."

" I will believe that when I see them fly as high a pitch," replied
Woodcock, this professional observation forming a sort of parenthesia

"However," said Michael, pursuing his tale, "my Lord of Morton,
in a mighty chafe, asked my Lord Begent whether he was well dealt
with — *for my brother,' said he, 'should have had a gift to be
Gommendator of Kennaquhair, and to have all the temporalities
erected into a lordship of regality for his benefit; and here,' said he,
' the false monks have had the insolence to choose a new Abbot to
put his claim in my brother's way; and, moreover, the rascality
of the neighbourhood have burnt and plundered all that was left
in the Abbey, so that my brother will not have a house to dwell
in, when he hath ousted the lazy hounds of priests.' And my lord,
seeing him chafed, said mildly to him, ' These are shrewd Iddings,
Douglas, but I trust they be not true; for Halbert Glendinning
went southward yesterday, with a band of spears, and assuredly,
had either of these chances happened, that the monks had presumed
to choose an Abbot, or that the Abbey had been burnt, as you say,
he had taken order on the spot for the punishment of such insolence,
and had despatched us a messenger.' And the Earl of Morton
replied — Now I pray you, Adam, to notice, that I say this out of
love to you and your lord, and also for old comradeship, and also
because Sir Halbert hath done me good, and may again — and also
because I love not the Earl of Morton, as indeed more fear than
like him — so then it were a foul deed in you to betray me, — * But,'

THE ABBOT. 167

said the Earl to the Begent, ' Take heed, my lord, you trust not this
Glendinning too far — ^he comes of churFs blood, which was never
true to the nobles ' — by Saint Andrew, these were his very words. —
' And besides,' he said, ' he hath a brother a monk in Saint Mary's,
and walks all by his guidance, and is making friends on the Border
with Bucdeuch and with Femieherst,t and will join hand with
them, were there likelihood of a new world.' And my lord answered,
like a free noble lord as he is: 'Tush! my Lord of Morton, I will
be warrant for Glendinning's faith; and for his brother, he is a
dreamer, that thinks of nought but book and breviary — and if such
hap have chanced as you tell of, I look to receive from Glendinning
the cowl of a hanged monk, and the head of a riotous churl, by way
of sharp and sudden justice.' — ^And my Lord of Morton left the
place, and, as it seemed to me, somewhat malecontent. But since
that time, my lord has asked me more than once whether there has
arrived no messenger from the Eiiight of AveneL And all this
I have told you, liiat you may frame your discourse to the best
purpose, for it seems to me that my lord will not be well pleased,
if aught has happened like what my Lord of Morton said, and if
your lord hath not ta'en strict orders with it."

There was something in this communication which fairly blanked
the bold visage of Adam Woodcock, in spite of the reinforcement
which his natural hardihood had received from the berry-brown ale
of Holyrood.

'' What was it he said about a churl's head, that grim Lord of
Morton?" said the disconcerted falconer to his friend.

^* Nay, it was my Lord Begent, who said that he expected, if the
Abbey was injured, your Eiiight would send him the head of the

'* Nay, but is this done like a good Protestant," said Adam Wood-
cock, "or a true Lord of the Congregation? We used to be their
white-boys and darlings when we pulled down the convents in Fife
and Perthshire."

"Ay, but that," said Michael, "was when old mother Eome held
her own, and her great folks were determined she should have no
shelter for her head in Scotland. But, now that the priests are fled
in all quarters, and their houses and lands are given to our grandees,
they cannot see that we are working the work of reformation in
destroying the palaces of zealous Protestants."

"But I tell you Saint Mary's is not destroyed!" said Woodcock,
in increasing agitation; " some trash of painted windows there were
broken — ^things that no nobleman could have brooked in his house —

t Both ibeee Border ohieftains vere great friendB of Queen Mary.

188 THE ABBOT.

■ome stone saints were brought on their marrow-bo&aiy like old
Widdrington at Cheyy-Chase; bat as for fire-raising, there waa not
so much as a lighted lunt amongst us, save the match which the
dragon had to light the burning tow withal, which he was to spit
against Saint Creorge; nay, I had caution of that."

'* How! Adam Woodcock," said his comrade, ^ I trust thou hadst
no hand in such a fair worki Look you, Adam, I were loth to
terrify you, and you just come from a journey; but I promise you.
Earl Morton hath brought you down a Maiden from Halifax, you
never saw the like of her — and she'll clasp you round the neck, and
your head will remain in her arms."

'^ Pshaw !" answered Adam, ''I am too old to have my head turned
by any maiden of them all. I know my Lord of Morton will go as
far for a buxom lass as any one; but what the devil took him to
Halifax all the way? and if he has got a gamester there, what hath
she to do with my head?"

** Much, much !" answered MichaeL '' Herod's daughter, who did
such execution with her foot and ankle, danced not men's heads off
more cleanly than this maiden of Morton.t Tis an axe, man, — an
axe which falls of itself like a sash window, and never gives the
headsman the trouble to wield it."

<< By my faith, a shrewd device," said Woodcock; ^ Heaven keep
us free on't!"

The page, seeing no end to the conversation between these two
old comrades, and anxious, from what he had heard, concerning the
fate of the Abbot, now interrupted their conference.

'' Methinks," he said, *^ Adam Woodcock, thou hadst better deliver
thy master's letter to the Begent ; questionless he hath therein stated
what has chanced at Kennaquhair, in the way most advantageous
for all concerned."

" The boy is right," said Michael Wing-the-wind, " my lord will
be very impatient."

^' The child hath wit enough to keep himself warm,'' said Adam
Woodcock, producing from his hawking-bag his lord's letter, addressed
to the Earl of Murray, '' and for that matter so have L So, Master
Eoland, you will e'en please to present this yourself to Ihe Lord
Begent; his presence will be better graced by a young page than by
an old falconer."

"Well said, canny Yorkshire!" replied his friend; "and but now
you were so earnest to see our good Lord ! — Why, wouldst thou put

t Maiden of Morton—a, species of guillotine which the Begent Morton Inoaflpht doiwn
from Halifikz certainly at a period considerably later than intimated in the tale. He
was himself the first who snffered by the engine.

Um I*d into t)i« noose Uint thon ma-jut dip tether IliTHeUI — or doat
thoa liiiiik tlie Maiden will daip bia fair jonng neck more willingly
tiuuk thy dd aanbnmt weaaaiuD"

"Go to," answered the falconer; "tbj wit towera high an it coald
strike the qnany. I tell tbee, the yvaOi haa nought to fear — ha had
uoUiing to do with the gambol— a rare gambol it was, Michael, u
madcaps ever played; and I had made aa rare a ballad, if we had
had the luck to get it aung to an end. Bat mnm for that — taoe, as I
said before, ie Latin for a candle. Cany the youth to the presence,

and I win remain here, with bridle in hand, ready to atrike the spun
np to &« rowel'heada, in caae the hawk flies ray way. — I will soon
pnt Boltra-edge, I trow, betwiri the Regent and me, if ha meana m«
less thtm fair play."

" Come on then, my lad," aaid Michael, " since thoa must needs
take the spring befOTe canny Yorkahire." Bo saying, he led the
way through winding pesaages, doeely followed by Boland Qneme,
until tliey arrived at a. lajge winding stone stair, the steps of whidi

170 THE ABBOT.

were so long and broad, and at the same time so low, as to render
the ascent uncommonly easy. When they had ascended about the
height of one story, the guide stepped aside, and pushed open the
door of a dark and gloomy antechamber; so dark, indeed, that his
youthful companion stumbled, and nearly fell down upon a low step,
which was awkwardly placed on the very threshold.

'^ Take heed,'' said Michael Wing-the-wind, in a very low tone of
voice, and first glancing cautiously round to see if any one listened
— " Take heed," my young friend, for those who fall on these boards
seldom rise again. — Seest thou that," he added, in a still lower voice,
pointing to some dark crimson stains on the floor, on which a ray of
light, shot through a small aperture, and traversing the general gloom
of the apartment, fell with mottled radiance — Seest thou that, youth?
walk warily, for men have fallen here before you.''

''What mean you?" said the page, his flesh creeping, though he
scarce knew why; " Is it blood?"

'' Ay, ay," said the domestic, in the same whispering tone, and
dragging the youth on by the arm — " Blood it is, — but this is no
time to question, or even to look at it. Blood it is, foully and fea]>
fully shed, as foully and fearfully avenged. The blood," he added,
in a still more cautious tone, " of Seignior David.*'

Boland 'Graeme's heart throbbed when he found himself so un-
expectedly in the scene of Bizzdo's slaughter, a catastrophe which
had chilled with horror all even in that rude age, which had been
the theme of wonder and pity through every cottage and castle in
Scotland, and had not escaped that of AveneL But his guide
hurried him forward, permitting no farther question, and with the
manner of one who has already tampered too much with a danger-
ous subject. A tap which he made at a low door at one end of
the vestibule, was answered by a huissier, or usher, who, opening
it cautiously, received Michael's intimation that a page waited the
Eegent's leisure, who brought letters from the Knight of AveneL

" The Council is breaking up," said the usher; " but give me the
packet; his graxie the Begent will presently see the messenger."

"The packet," replied the page, "must be delivered into the
Begenf s own hands; such were the orders of my master."

The usher looked at him from head to foot, as if surprised at his
boldness, and then replied, with some asperity, "Say you so, my
young master? Thou crowest loudly to be but a chicken, and from
a country barn-yard too."

" Were it a time or place," said Boland, " thou shouldst see I can
do more than crow; but do your duty, and let the Begent know I
wait his pleasure."

THE ABBOT. l^l

^ Thou art bat a pert knave to tell me of my duty/' said the courtier
in office; " but I will find a time to show you you are out of yours;
meanwhile, wait there till you are wanted.'^ So saying, he shut the
door in Boland's face.

Michael Wing-the-wind, who had shrunk from his youthful com-
panion during this altercation, according to the established maxim
of courtiers of all ranks, and in all ages, now transgressed their
prudential line of conduct so far as to come up to him once more.
" Thou art a hopeful young springald," said he, " and I see right well
old Yorkshire had reason in his caution. Thou hast been five
minutes in the court, and hast employed thy time so well, as to make
a powerful and a mortal enemy of the usher of the council-chamber.
Why, man, you might almost as well have offended the deputy
butler !»

" I care not what he is," said iftoland Graeme; " I will teach whom-
ever I speak with, to speak civilly to me in return. I did not come
from Avenel to be browbeaten in Holyrood."

"Bravo, my lad !" said Michael; " it is a fine spirit if you can but
hold it — but see, the door opens."

The usher appeared, and, in a more civil tone of voice and man-
ner, said, that his Grace the Eegent would receive the Knight of
Avenel's message; and accordingly marshalled Eoland Grseme the
way into the apartment, from which the Council had been just dis-
missed, after finishing their consultations. There was in the room a
long oaken table, surrounded by stools of the same wood, with a
large elbow-chair, covered with crimson velvet, at the head. Writ-
ing materials and papers were lying there in apparent disorder; and
one or two of the privy councillors who had lingered behind, assum-
ing their cloaks, bonnets, and swords, and bidding farewell to the
Eegtent, were departing slowly by a large door, on the opposite side
to that through which the page entered. Apparently the Earl of
Murray had made some jest, for the smiling countenances of the
statesmen expressed that sort of cordial reception which is paid by
courtiers to the condescending pleasantries of a prince.

The Begent himself was laughing heartily as he said, " Farewell,
my lords, and hold me remembered to the Cock of the North."

He then turned slowly round towards Eoland Grseme, and the
marks of gaiety, real or assumed, disappeared from his countenance,
as completely as the passing bubbles leave the dark mirror of a still
profound lake into which a traveller has cast a stone; in the course
of a minute his noble features had assumed their natural expression
of deep and even melancholy gravity.

This distinguished statesman, for as such his worst enemiea

172 THE ABBOT.

acknowledged him, poflBesBed all the external dignity^ as veil as
almost all the noble qualities, which cotdd grace the power that he
enjoyed; and had he succeeded to the throne as his legitimate in>
heritance, it is probable he would have been recorded as one of
Scotland's wisest and greatest kings. But that he held his autho-
rity by the deposition and imprisonment of his sister and benefactress,
was a crime which those only can excuse who think ambition an
apology for ingratitude. He was dressed plainly in black velyety
after the Flemish fashion, and wore in his high-crowned hat a
jewelled clasp, which looped it up on one side, and formed the only
ornament of his appareL He had his poniard by his side, and his
sword lay on the council table.

Such was the personage before whom Eoland Graeme now pre-
sented himself, with a feeling of breathless awe, very different from
the usual boldness and yivacity of his temper. In facty he was,
from education and nature, forward but not impudent, and was
much more easily controlled by the moral superiority, arising from
the elevated talents and renown of those with whom he conversed,
than by pretensions founded only on rank or exteroal show. He
might have braved with indifference the presence of an earl, merely
distinguished by his belt and coronet; but he felt overawed in that
of the eminent soldier and statesman, the wielder of a nation's power,
and the leader of her armies. The greatest and wisest are flattered
by the deference of youth — so graceful and becoming in itself; and
Murray took, with much courtesy, the letter from the hands of the
abashed and blushing page, and answered with complaisance to the
imperfect and half-muttered greeting which he endeavoured to
deliver to him on the part of Sir Halbert of Avenel. He even
paused a moment ere he broke the silk with which the letter was
secured, to ask the page his name — so much he was strudc with lus
very handsome features and form.

"Eoland Graham;" he said, repeating the words after the hesi-
tating page. '' What I of the Grahams of the Lennox 'i'*

"No, my lord," replied Eoland; "my parents dwelt in the
Debateable Land."

Muiray made no farther inquiry, but proceeded to read his des-
patches ; during the perusal of which, his brow began to assume a
stem expression of displeasure, as that of one who found ^something
which at once surprised and disturbed him. He sat down on the
nearest seat, frowned till his eyebrows almost met together, read the
letter twice over, and was tiien silent for several minutes. ^ At
length, raising his head, his eye encountered that of the usher, who
in vain endeavoured to exchange the look of eager and carious

THE ABBOT. I'/S

observation with which he had been perosing the Begenfs features,"
for that open and nnnotidng expression of countenance, which, in
looking at all, seems as if it saw and marked nothing — a cast of
look which may be practised with advantage by all those, of what-
ever degree, who are admitted to witness the familiar and unguarded
hours of their superiors. Great men are as jealous of their thoughts
as the wife of Eang Candaules was of her charms, and will as readily
punish those who have, however involuntarily, beheld them in
mental d6shabill6 and exposure.

''Leave the apartment, Hyndman," said the Eegent sternly, ''and
carry your observation elsewhere. You are too knowing, sir, for
your post, which, by special order, is destined for men of blunter
capacity. Sol now you look more like a fool than you did" (for
Hyndman, as may easily be supposed, was not a little disconcerted
by this rebuke) — " keep that confused stare, and it may keep your
office. Begone, sir!"

The usher departed in dismay, not forgetting to register, amongst
his other causes of dislike to Eoland Graeme, that he had been the
witness of this disgraceful chiding. When he had left the apart-
ment, the Begent again addressed the page.

"Your name you say is Armstrong?"

"No," replied Boland, "my name is Graeme, so please you —
Eoland Graeme, whose forbears were designated of Heathergill, in
the Debateable Land.*

"Ay, I knew it was a name from the Debateable Land. Hast
thou any acquaintances here in Edinburgh?"

" My lord, replied Boland, willing rather to evade this question
than to answer it directly, for the prudence of being silent with
respect to Lord Seyton's adventure immediately struck him, "I have
been in Edinburgh scarce an hour, and that for the first time in
my life."

"What! and thou Sir Halbert Glendinning's page?" said the
Begent.

" I was brought up as my Lady's page," said the youth, " and left
Avenel Castle for the first time in my life — ^at least since my child-
hood — only three days since."

"My Lady's page!" repeated the Earl of Murray, as if speaking
to himself; " it was strange to send his Lady's page on a matter of
such deep concernment — ^Morton will say it is of a piece with the
nomination of his brother to be Abbot; and yet in some sort an
inexperienced youth will best serve the turn. — What hast thou been
taught, young man, in thy doughty apprenticeship?"

" To hunt, my lardy and to hawk," said Boland Grseme,

174 THE ABBOT.

''To hunt coneys, and to hawk at ouzels?" said the Eegent,
smiling; '^ for such are the sports of ladies and their followers."

Graeme's cheek reddened deeply as he replied, not without some
emphasis, '* To hunt red-deer of the first head, and to strike down
herons of the highest soar, my lord, which, in Lothian speech, may
be termed, for aught I know, coneys and ouzels; — ^also, I can wield
a brand and couch a lance, according to our Border meaning; in
inland speech these may be termed water-flags and bulrushes."

'^ Thy speech rings like metal," said the Begent, *^ and I pardon
the sharpness of it for the truth. — ^Thou knowest, then, what belongs
to the duty of a man-at-arms?"

" So far as exercise can teach it, without real service in the field,"
answered Boland Grseme; ''but our Knight permitted none of his
household to make raids, and I never had the good fortune to see a
stricken field."

"The good fortune!" repeated the Begent, smiling somewhat
sorrowfully, "take my word, young man, war is the only game from
which both parties rise losers."

" Not always, my lord," answered the page, with his characteristic
audacity, " if fame speaks truth."

" How, sir?" said the Begent, colouring in his turn, and perhaps
suspecting an indiscreet allusion to the height which he himself had
attained by the hap of civil war.

" Because, my lord," said Boland Grseme, without change of tone,
"he who fights well must have fame in life, or honour in death;
and so war is a game from which no one can rise a loser."

The Begent smiled and shook his head, when at that moment
the door opened, and the Earl of Morton presented himself.

" I come somewhat hastily," he said, " and I enter unannoxmced,
because my news are of weight — It is as I said; Edward Glendin-
ning is named Abbot, and"

"Hush, my lord!" said the Begent, "I know it, but"-

" And perhaps you knew it before I did, my Lord of Murray,"
answered Morton, his dark red brow growing darker and redder as
he spoke.

" Morton," said Murray, " suspect me not — ^touch not mine honour
—I have to suffer enough from the calumnies of foes, let me not
have to contend with the unjust suspicions of my friends. — ^We are
not alone," said he, recollecting himself, " or I could tell yon more."

He led Morton into one of the deep embrasures which the win-
dows formed in the massive wall, and which afforded a retiring
place for their conversing apart. Li this recess, Boland obeerved
them speak together with much earnestness, Murray appearing to

THE ABBOT. 176

be grave and earnest, and Morton haying a jealous and offended
air, which seemed gradually to give way to the assurances of the
Begent.

As their conversation grew more earnest, they became gradually
louder in speech, having perhaps forgotten the presence of the page,
the more readily as his position in the apartment placed him out
of sight, so that he found himself unwillingly privy to more of their
discourse than he cared to hear. For, page though he was, a mean
curiosity after the secrets of others had never been numbered
amongst Boland's failings; and, moreover, with all his natural
rashness, he could not but doubt the safety of becoming privy to the
secret discourse of these powerful and dreaded men. Still he could
neither stop his ears, nor with propriety leave the apartment; and
while he thought of some means of signifying his presence, he had
already heard so much, that, to have produced himself suddenly
would have been as awkward, and perhaps as dangerous, as in quiet
to abide the end of their conference. What he overheard, however,
was but an imperfect part of their communication; and although
an expert politician, acquainted with the circumstances of the
times, would have had little difficulty in tracing the meaning, yet
Boland Graeme could only form very general and vague conjectures
as to the im{k>rt of their discourse.

** All is prepared,'* said Murray, "and Lindesay is setting forward
— She must hesitate no longer — ^thou seest I act by thy counsel, and
harden myself against softer considerations.*'

" True, my lord," replied Morton, " in what is necessary to gain
power, you do not hesitate, but go boldly to the mark. But are you
as careful to defend and preserve what you have won? — ^Why this
establishment of domestics around her? — has not your sister men
and maidens enough to tend her, but you must consent to this super-
fluous and dangerous retinue?"

"For shame, Morton! — a Princess, and my sister, could I do less
than allow her due tendance?"

"Ay," replied Morton, "even thus fly all your shafts — smartly
enough loosened from the bow, and not unskilfully aimed — ^but a
breatli of foolish affection ever crosses in the mid volley, and sways
the arrow from the mark."

" Say not so, Morton !" replied Murray, " I have both dared and
done"

" Yes, enough to gain, but not enough to keep — ^reckon not that
she will think and act thus — ^you have wounded her deeply both in
pride and in poiwer — ^it signifies nought that you would tent now
the wound with unavailing salves — aa matters stand witL ^o'v^.^'^qx^l

176 THE ABBOT.

must forfeit the title of an affectionate brother, to hold that of a bold
and determined statesman.^'

" Morton \" said Murray, with some impatience, " I brook not these
taunts — ^what I have done I have done — ^what I must farther do, I
must and will — ^but I am not made of iron like thee, and I cannot
but remember — ^Enough of this — my purpose holds."

''And I warrant me," said Morton, ''^e choice of these domestic
consolations will rest with"

Here he whispered names which escaped Boland Graeme's ear.
Murray replied in a similar tone, but so much raised towards the
conclusion of the sentence, that the page heard these words —
''And of him I hold myself secure, by Glendinning's recommen-
dation."

" Ay, which may be as much trustworthy as his late conduct at
the Abbey of Saint Mary's — ^you have heard that his brother's elec-
tion has taken place. Your favourite Sir HaJbert, my Lord of
Murray) has as much fraternal affection as yourself."

" By Heaven, Morton, that taunt demanded an unfriendly answer,
but I pardon it, for your brother also is concerned; but this election
shall be annulled. I tell you. Earl of Morton, while I hold the sword
of state in my royal nephew's name, neither Lord nor Ejiight in
Scotland shall dispute my authority; and if I bear with insults from
my friends, it is only while I know them to be such, and forgive
their follies for their faithfulness."

Morton muttered what seemed to be some excuse, and the Begent
answered him in a milder tone, and then subjoined, " Besides, I have
another pledge than Glendinning's recommendation for this youth's
fidelity — ^his nearest relative has placed herself in my hands as his
security, to be dealt withal as his doings shall deserve."

" That is something," replied Morton; " but yet, in fair love and
good-will, I must still pray you to keep on your guard. The foes
are stirring again, as horse-flies and hornets become buGfy so soon as
the storm-blast is over. George of Seyton was crossing the causeway
this morning with a score of men at his back, and had a rufOle with
my friends of the house of Leslie — they met at the Tron, and were
fighting hard, when the provost with his guard of partisans came in
thirdsman, and staved them asunder with their halberds, 98 men
part dog and bear."

" He hath my order for such interference," said the Begent— '^ Has
any one been hurt?"

" George of Seyton himself, by black Balph Leslie — ^the devil take
the rapier that ran not through from dde to side ! Balph has a
bloody cozjDomhf by a blow from a messan-page whom nobodj lamw

THE ABBOT. 1T7

— Dick Seyton of Windygowl is run througli the arm, and two gal-
lants of the Leslies have su£fered phlebotomy. This is all the gentle
blood which has been spilled in the revel; but a yeoman or two on
both sides have had bones broken and ears chopped. The ostlere-
wives, who are like to be the only losers by their miscarriage, have
dragged the knaves off the street, and are crying a drunken coro-
nach over them.''

**You take it lightly, Douglas,*' said the Begent; ** these broils
and feuds would shame the capital of the Great Turk, let alone that
of a Christian and reformed state. But, if I live, this gear shall be
amended; and men shall say, when they read my story, that if it
were my cruel hap to rise to power by the dethronement of a sister,
I employed it, when gained, for the benefit of the common weal.''

" And of your friends," replied Morton; " wherefore I trust for
your instant order annulling the election of this lurdane Abbot,
Edward Glendinning."

'' You shall be presently satisfied," said the Begent, and stepping
forward, he began to caU, '^So ho, Hyndman I" when suddenly his
eye lighted on Boland Graeme — '^ By my faith, Douglas," said he
turning to his friend, '^ here have been three at counsel !"

"Ay, but only two can keep counsel," said Morton; "the galliard
must be disposed of."

" For shame, Morton — an orphan boy ! — ^Hearken thee, my child
— ^Thou hast told me some of thy accomplishments — canst thou speak
truth?"

" Ay, my lord, when it serves my turn," replied Graeme.

" It shall serve thy turn now," said the Begent; " and falsehood
shall be thy destruction. How much hast thou heard or understood
of what we two have spoken together?"

" But little, my lord," replied Boland Graeme boldly, " which met
my apprehension, saving that it seemed to me as if in something you
doubted the faith of the Knight of Avenel, under whose roof I was
nurtured."

" And what hast thou to say on that point, young man?" continued
the Begent, bending his eyes upon him with a keen and strong ex-
pression of observation.

" That," said the page, " depends on the quality of those who speak
against his honour whose bread I have long eaten. If they be my
inferiors, I say they lie, and will maintain what I say with my baton;
if my equals, still I say they lie, and will do battle in the quarrel,
if they list, with my sword; if my superiors" — he paused.

"Proceed boldly," said the Begent — "What if thy superiors said
aught that nearly touched your master's honour?"

178 THE ABBOT.

''I would say/' replied Eoland Graeme, ''that he did ill to slander
the absent, and that my master was a man who could render an
account of his actions to any one who should manfully demand it of
him to his face/'

'' And it were manfully said/' replied the Begent — ** what thinkest
thou, my Lord of Morton?"

'' I think," replied Morton, '^ that if the young galliard resemble a
certain ancient friend of ours, as much in the craft of his disposition
as he does in eye and in brow, there may be a wide difference betwixt
what he means and what he speaks."

''And whom meanest thou that he resembles so closely?" said
Murray.

" Even the true and trusty Julian Avenel," replied Morton.

''But this youth belongs to the Debateable Land," said Murray.

" It may be so; but Julian was an outlying striker of venison, and
made many a far cast when he had a fair doe in chase."

"Pshaw!" said the Begent, "this is but idle talk — ^Here, thou
Hyndman — ^thou curiosity," calling to the usher, who now entered,
" conduct this youth to his companion. — You will both," he said to
Graeme, "keep yourselves in readiness to travel on short notice." —
And then motioning to him courteously to withdraw, he broke up the
interview.

CHAPTEE XLX.

It is and is not— 'tis the thing I sought for.

Have kneel'd for, pray'd for, risk'd my fame and life for.

And yet it is not — no more than the shadow

Upon the hard, cold, flat, and polish'd mirror,

Is the warm, graceful, rounded, living substance

Which it presents in form and lineament.

Old Play,

The usher, with gravity which ill concealed a jealous scowl, conducted
Eoland Graeme to a lower apartment, where he found his comrade
the falconer. The man of office then briefly acquainted them that
this would be their residence till his Grace's further orders; that they
were to go to the pantry, to the buttery, to the cellar, and to the
kitchen, at the usual hours, to receive the allowances becoming their
station, — ^instructions which Adam Woodcock's old familiarity with
the court made him perfectly understand — ^" For your beds," he said,
you must go to the hostelrie of Saint Michael's, in respect the palace
18 now iviHl of the domestics of the greater nobles."

THE ABBOT. 179

No sooner was the usher's hsuck. tamed than Adam exclaimed^
with all the glee of eager cariosity, " And now, Master Eoland, the
news — ^the news— come, anbatton thy poach, and give as thy tidings
— ^What says the Begent? asks he for Adam Woodcock? — and is all
soldered ap, or mast the Abbot of Unreason strap for it?"

"All is well in that qaarter," said the page; "and for the rest —
Bat, hey-day, what ! have yoa taken the chain and medal off from
my bonnet?"

" And meet time it was, when yon asher, vinegar-faced rogae that
he is, began to inquire what popish trangam you were wearing-By
the mass, the metal woald have been confiscated for conscience-sake,
like your other rattle-trap yonder at Avenel, which Mrs. Lilias bears
aboat on her shoes in the gaise of a pair of shoe-backles — ^This comes
of carrying popish nicknackets aboat yoa."

"The jade!" exclaimed Koland Graeme, "has she melted down
my rosary into backles for her clumsy hoofs, which will set off sach
a garnish nearly as well as a coVs might? — Bat, hang her, let her
keep them — ^many a dog's trick have I played old Lilias, for want of
having something better to do, and the backles will serve for a
remembrance. Do yoa remember the verjaice I pat into the comfits,
when old Wingate and she were to breakfast together on Easter
morning?"

" In troth do I, Master Eoland — ^the major-domo's month was as
crooked as a hawk's beak for the whole morning afterwards, and any
other page in yoar room woald have tasted the discipline of the
porter's lodge for it. — Bat my Lady's f avoar stood between your skin
and many a jerking — ^Lord send yoa may be the better for her pro-
tection in sach matters 1"

" I am at least grateful for it, Adam; and I am glad yoa pat me
in mind of it."

" Well, but the news, my yoang master," said Woodcock, " spell
me the tidings — ^what are we to fly at next? — ^what did the Eegent
say to yoa?"

" Nothing that I am to repeat again," said Eoland Graeme, shaking
his head.

"Why, hey-day," said Adam, "how prudent we are become all of
a sadden ! Yoa have advanced rarely in brief space, Master Eoland.
Yoa have well-nigh had your head broken, and you have gained your
gold chain, and yoa have made an enemy. Master Usher to wit,
with his two legs like hawks' perches, and yoa have had aadience
of the first man in the realm, and bear as mach mystery in yoar
brow, as if you had flown in the coart-sky ever since you were
hatched. — ^I believe, in my soul, you would run with a piece of thA

180 THE ABBOT.

egg-shell on your head like the curlews, which (I would we were after
them again) we used to call whaups in the Halidome and its neigh-
bourhood. — ^But sit thee down, boy; Adam Woodcock was never the
lad to seek to enter into forbidden secrets — sit thee down, and I will
go and fetch the vivers — ^I know the butler and the pantler of old."

The good-natured falconer set forth npon his errand, busying him-
self about procuring their refreshment; and, during his absence,
Eoland Graeme abandoned himself to the strange, complicated, and
yet heart-stirring reflections, to which the events of the morning had
given rise. Yesterday he was of neither mark nor likelihood, a
vagrant boy, the attendant on a relative, of whose sane judgment he
himself had not the highest opinion; but now he had become, he
knew not why, or wherefore, or to what extent, the custodier, as the
Scottish phrase went, of some important state secret, in the safe
keeping of which the Begent himself was concerned. It did not
diminish from, but rather added to, the interest of a situation so un-
expected, that Eoland himself did not perfectly understand wherein
he stood committed by the state secrets, in which he had unwittingly
become participator. On the contrary, he felt like one who looks on
a romantic landscape, of which he sees the features for the first time,
and then obscured with mist and driving tempest. The imperfect
glimpse which the eye catches of rocks, trees, and other objects
around him, adds double dignity to these shrouded mountains and
darkened abysses, of which the height, depth, and eiptent^ are left
to imagination.

But mortals, especially at the well-appetized age which precedes
twenty years, are seldom so much engaged either by real or conjec-
tural subjects of speculatioD, but that their earthly wants claim
their hour of attention. And with many a smile did our hero, so
the reader may term him if he will, hail the re-appearanoe of his
friend Adam Woodcock, bearing on one platter a tremendous por-
tion of boiled beef, and on another a plentiful allowance of greens,
or rather what the Scotch call lang-kail. A groom followed with
bread, salt, and the other means of setting forth a meal; and when
they had both placed on the oaken table what they bore in their
hands, the falconer observed, that since he knew the court, it had
got harder and harder every day to the poor gentlemen and yeoman
retainers, but that now it was an absolute flaying of a flea for the
hide and tallow. Such thronging to the wicket, and such churlish
answers, and such bare beef -bones, such a shouldering at the buttery-
hatch and cellarage, and nought to be gained beyond small insuffi-
cient single ale, or at best with a single straike ai malt to oounter-
balance a double allowance of water — *^ By the maa^ though| mj

THE ABBOT. 181

young friend," said he, while he saw the food disappearing fast under
Boland's addye exertions, "' it is not so well to lament for former
times as to take the advantage of the present, else we are like to lose
on both sides."

So saying, Adam Woodcock drew his chair towards the table, un-
sheathed his knife (for every one carried that minister of festive dis-
tribution for himself), and imitated his young companion's example,
who for the moment had lost his anxiety for the future in the eager
satisfaction of an appetite sharpened by youth and abstinence.

In truth, they made, though the materials were sufficiently simple,
a very respectable meal, at the expense of the royal allowance; and
Adam Woodcock, notwithstanding the deliberate censure which he
had passed on the household beer of the palace, had taken the fourth
deep draught of the black-jack ere he remembered him that he had
spoken in its dispraise. Then, flinging himself joUily and luxuriously
back in an old danske elbow-chair, and looking with careless glee
towards the page, extending at the same time his right leg, and
stretching the other easily over it, he reminded his companion that
he had not yet heard the ballad which he had made for the Abbot
of Unreason's reveL And accordingly he struck merrily up with

"The Pope, that pagan full of pride,
Has blinded us fuU lang "

Boland Graeme, who felt no great delight, as may be supposed, in
Uie falconer's satire, considenng its subject, began to snatch up his
mantle, and fling it around his shoulders, an action which instantly
interrupted the ditty of Adam Woodcock.

" Where the vengeance are you going now," he said, " thou rest-
less boy? — ^Thou hast quicksilver in the veins of thee to a certainty,
and canst no more abide any douce and sensible communing, than a
hoodless hawk would keep perched on my wrist !"

*' Why, Adam," replied the page, " if you must needs know, I am
about to take a walk and look at this fair city. One may as well be
still mewed up in the old castle of the lake, if one is to sit the live-
long night between four walls, and hearken to old ballads."

"It is a new ballad — ^the Lord help thee!" replied Adam, "and
that one of the best that ever was matched with a rousing chorus."

" Be it so," said the page, " I will hear it another day, when the
rain is dashing against the windows, and there is neither steed
stamping, nor spur jingling, nor feather waving in the neighbourhood,
to mar my marking it well. But, even now, I want to be in the
world, and to look about me."

"But the never a stride shall you go without me," said the falconer,

182 THE ABBOT.

''until the Begent shall take you whole and sound off my hand; and
so, if you will, we may go to the hostelrie of Saint Michael's and
there you will see company enough, but through the casement, mark
-you me; for as to rambling through the street to seek Seytons and
Leslies, and having a dozen holes drilled in your new jacket with
rapier and poniard, I will yield no way to it."

'' To the hostelrie of Saint Michael's, then, with all my heart,*' said
the page; and they left the palace accordingly, rendered to the sen-
tinels at the gate, who had now taken their posts for the evening, a
strict account of their names and business, were dismissed through a
small wicket of the close-barred portal, and soon reached the inn or
hostelrie of Saint Michael, which stood in a large court-yard, off the
main street, dose under the descent of the Galton-hilL The place,
wide, waste, and uncomfortable, resembled rather an Eastern caravan-
sary, where men found shelter indeed, but were obliged to supply
themselves with every thing else, than one of our modem inns;

** Where not one comfort shall to those be lost,;
Who never ask, or never feel, the cost.''

But still, to the inexperienced eye of Boland Graeme, the bustle and
confusion of this place of public resort furnished excitement and
amusement. In the large room, into which they had rather found
their own way than been ushered by mine host, travellers and natives
of the city entered and departed, met and greeted, gamed or drank
together, forming the strongest contrast to the stem and monotonous
order and silence with which matters were conducted in the well-
ordered household of the Knight of AveneL Altercation of every
kind, from brawling to jesting, was going on amongst the groups
around them, and yet the noise and mingled voices seemed to disturb
no one, and indeed to be noticed by no others than by those who
composed the group to which the speaker belonged.

The falconer passed through the apartment to a projecting latticed
window, which formed a sort of recess from the room itself; and
having here enscoDced himself and his companion, he called for some
refreshments; and a tapster, after he had shouted for the twentieth
time, accommodated him with the remains of a cold capon and a neaf s
tongue, together with a pewter stoup of weak French vin-de-pays.
" Fetch a stoup of brandy-wine, thou knave. — ^We will be jolly to-
night. Master Boland," said he, when he saw himself thus accom-
modated, " and let care come to-morrow."

But Boland had eaten too lately to enjoy the good cheer; and feel-
ing his curiosity much sharper than his appetite, he made it his choice
to look out of the lattice, which overhung a large yard surrounded

THE ABBOT. 183

by the stables of the hostelrie, and fed his eyes on the busy sight be-
neath, while Adam Woodcock, after he had compared his companion
to the ''Laird of Macfarlane's geese, who liked their play better than
their meat,*' disposed of his time with the aid of cup and trencher,
occasionally humming the burden of his birth-strangled ballad, and
beating time to it with his fingers on the little round table. In this
exercise he was frequently interrupted by the exclamations of his
companion, as he saw something new in the yard beneath, to attract
and interest him.

It was a busy scene, for the number of gentlemen and nobles who
were now crowded into the city, had filled all spare stables and places
of public reception with their horses and military attendants. There
were some score of yeomen dressing their own or their masters'
horses in the yard, whistling, singing, laughing, and upbraiding each
other, in a style of wit which the good order of Avenel Castle
rendered strange to Boland Graeme's ears. Others were busy repair-
ing their own arms, or cleaning those of their masters. One fellow,
having just bought a bundle of twenty spears, was sitting in a
comer, employed in painting the white staves of the weapons with
yellow and vermilion. Other lackeys led large stag-hounds, or wolf-
dogs, of noble race, carefully muzzled to prevent accidents to passen-
gers. All came and went, mixed together and separated, under the
delighted eye of the page, whose imagination had not even conceived
a scene so gaily diversified with the objects he had most pleasure in
beholding; so that he was perpetually breaking the quiet reverie of
honest Woodcock, and the mental progress which he was making in
his ditty, by exclaiming, ''Look here, Adam — ^look at the bonny bay
horse ^^aint Anthony, what a gallant forehand he hath got ! — and
see the goodly grey, which yonder fellow in the frieze-jacket is dress-
ing as awkwardly as if he had never touched aught but a cow— I
would I were nigh him to teach him his trade ! — And lo you, Adam,
the gay Milan armour that the yeoman is scouring, all steel and
silver, like our Ejiighfs prime suit, of which old Wingate makes such
account — ^And see to yonder pretty wench, Adam, who comes tripping
through them all with her milkpail — I warrant me she has had a
long walk from the loaning; she has a stammel waistcoat, like your
favourite Cicely Sunderland, Master Adam !"

"By my hood, lad,** answered the falconer, "it is well for thee
thou wert brought up where grace grew. Even in the Castle of
Avenel thou wert a wild-blood enough, but hadst thou been nurtured
here, within a flight-shot of the Court, thou hadst been the veriest
crack-hemp of a page that ever wore feather in thy bonnet or steel
by thy side; truly, I wish it may end well with thee."

184 THE ABBOT.

" Nay, bat leave thy seiiBeleBS hiunming and dnunming, old Adam^
and come to the window ere thou hast drenched thy senses in the
pint-pot there. See here comes a merry minstrel with his crowds
and a wench with him, that dances with bells at her ankles; and see,
the yeomen and pages leave their horses and the armour they were
cleaning, and gather round, as is very natural, to hear the music.
CJome, old Adam, we will thither too."

'^Tou shall call me cutt if I do go down/' said Adam; ''you are
near as good minstrelsy as the stroller can make, if you had but the
grace to listen to it."

" But the wench in the stammel waistcoat is stopping too, Adam
>— by Heaven, they are going to dance ! Frieze-jacket wants to dance
with stammel- waistcoat, but she is coy and recusant."

Then suddenly c^ianging his tone of levity into one of deep interest
and surprise, he ezdaimed, ''Queen of Heaven! what is it that I
see! " and then remained silent.

The sage Adam Woodcock, who was in a sort of languid degree
amused with the page's exclamations, even while he professed to
despise them, became at length rather desirous to set his tongue once
more a-going, that he might enjoy the superiority afforded by his
own intimate familiarity with aU the circumstances which excited in
his young companion's mind so much wonderment.

" Well, then," he said at last, " what is it you do see. Master Boland,
that you have become mute all of a sudden? "

Boland returned no answer.

" I say. Master Boland Graeme," said the falconer, " it is mannera
in my country for a man to speak when he is spoken to."

Boland GrsBine remained silent.

" The murrain is in the boy," said Adam Woodcock, " he has stared
out his eyes and talked his tongue to pieces, I think ! "

The falconer hastily drank off his can of wine, and came to Boland,
who stood like a statue, with his eyes eagerly bent on the court-yard,
though Adam Woodcock was unable to detect amongst the joyous scene
which it exhibited aught that could deserve such devoted attention.

*' The lad is mazed ! " said the falconer to himself.

But Boland Graeme had good reasons for his surprise, though they
were not such as he could communicate to his companion.

The touch of the old minstrel's instrument, for he had already
begun to play, had drawn in several auditors from the street, when
one entered the gate of the yard, whose appearance exclusively
arrested the attention of Boland Graeme. He was of his own age,
or a good deal younger, and from his dress and bearing might be of
the same rank and calling, having all the air of coxcombry and pre-

TBE ABBOT. 1S6

tenaion, wUah Moorded with a lundsome, thoa^ ili^ and low
figure, and an elegant dnoa, in part hid b; a large purple cloak. Am
be entered he oaet a glance up towards the windows, and to hia
extreme astonishment, under the purple Tslvet bonnet and white
feather, BoUnd recognized the featoree bo deeplj impressed on bis
memoij, the bright and dnstered treesea, the laughing fuU blue eyea,
the well-formed eyebrows, the ncee, with the Blightest possible in-
clination to be aquiline, the rabj lip, of which an arch and haU-
snppreesed smile seemed the habitual expression — in short, the form
and face of Catherine Sexton; in man's attire, however, and mimick-
ing, as it seemed not unsooceesfullj, the bearing of a youthful bnt
forward page.

"Saint Oeorge and Saint Andrew!" exclaimed the amazed Boland
Qneme to himself, "was there ever such an audacious quean! — she
seems a little ashamed of her mummery too, for she holds the lap of
her cloak to her face, and her colour is height«ned— but Santa
Maria, how she threads the throng, with as firm and bold a step as
if she had never tied petticoat round her waist ! — Holy saints ! she
holds Dp her riding-rod as if she would lay it about some of tlkeir
eats, that stand moat in ber way — by the baud of my fatlier ! she
bears herself like the very model of pagehood. — Hey! what! sure she
will not strike frieze-jacket in earnest! " But he was not long left in
doubt ; for the lout whom he had before repeatedly noticed, standing in
the way of the bustling page, and maintaining hia place with clown-

186 THE ABBOT.

ish obstinacy or stupidity, the advanced riding-rod waa, without a
moment's hesitation, sharply applied to his shoulders, in a manner
which made him spring aside, rubbing the part of the body
which had received so unceremonious a hint that it was in the way
of his betters. The x>arty injured growled forth an oath or two of
indignation, and Boland Grseme began to think of flying downstairs
to the assistance of the translated Catherine; but the laugh of the
yard was against frieze-jacket, which indeed had, in those days,
small chance of fair play in a quarrel with velvet and embroidery;
so that the fellow, who was a menial in the inn, slunk back to finish
his task of dressing the bonny grey, laughed at by all, but most by
the wench in the stammel waistcoat, his fellow-servant, who, to
crown his disgrace, had the cruelty to cast an applauding smile upon
the author of the injury, while, with a freedom more like the milk-
maid of the town than she of the plains, she accosted him with — " Is
there any one you want here, my pretty gentleman, that you seem
in such haste ! '*

** I seek a sprig of a lad," said the seeming gallant, ''with a sprig
<^ holly in his cap, black hair, and black eyes, green jacket, and the
air of a country coxcomb— I have sought him through every dose
and alley in the Canongate, the flend gore him ! ''

"Why, €rod-a-mercy. Nun!** muttered Eoland Gr«me, much
bewildered.

" I will inquire him presently out for your fair young worship,**
said the wench of the inn.

" Do,** said the gallant squire, " and if you bring me to him, you
shall have a groat to-night, and a kiss on Sunday when you have on
a cleaner kirtle.*'

" Why, €rod-a-mercy. Nun ! ** again muttered Bol^d, ^ this is a
note above E La.**

In a moment after, the servant entered the room, and ushered in
the object of his surpriee.

While the disguised vestal looked with unabashed brow, and bold
and rapid glance of her eye, through the various parties in the large
old room, Boland Graeme, who felt an internal awkward sense of
bashful confusion, which he deemed altogether unworthy of the bold
and dashing character to which he aspired, determined not to be
browbeaten and put down by this singular female, but to meet her
with a glance of recognition so sly, so penetrating, so expressively
humorous, as should show her at once he was in possession of her
secret and master of her fate, and should compel her to humble
herself towards him, at least into the look and manner of respectful
and deprecating observance.

THE ABBOT. 187

This "was extremely well planned ; but just as Boland had called
up the knowing glance, the suppressed smile, the shrewd intelligent
look, which was to insure his triumph, he encountered the bold, firm,
and steady gaze of his brother and sister page, who, casting on him
a falcon glance, and recognizing him at once as the object of his
search, walked up with the most unconcerned look, the most free
and undaunted composure, and hailed him with '^ Tou, Sir Holly-
top, I would speak with you."

The steady coolness and assurance with which these words were
uttered, although the voice was the very voice he had heard at the
old convent, and although the features more nearly resembled those
<^ Catherine when seen close than when viewed from a distance,
produced, nevertheless, such a confusion in Boland's mind, that he
became uncertain whether he was not still under a mistake from the
beginning; the knowing shrewdness which should have animated his
visage faded into a sheepish bashfulness, and the half -suppressed but
most intelligible smile, became the senseless giggle of one who laughs
to cover his own disorder of ideas.

" Do they understand a Scotch tongue in thy country, Hollytop?''
said this marveUous specimen of metamorphosis. <' I said I would
speak with thee."

** "What is your business with my comrade, my young chick of the
game?" said Adam Woodcock, willing to step in to his companion's
assistance, though totally at a loss to account for the sudden disap-
pearance of all Boland's usual smartness and presence of mind.

" Nothing to you, my old cock of the perch," replied the gallant ;
"go mind your hawk's castings. I guess by your bag and your
gauntlet that you are squire of the body to a sort of kites."

He laughed as he spoke, and the laugh reminded Boland so irre-
sistibly of the hearty fit of risibility in which Catherine had in-
dulged at his expense when they first met in the old nunnery, that he
could scarce help exclaiming, "Catherine Seyton, by Heavens!" —
He checked the exclamation, however, and only said, " I think, sir,
we two are not totally strangers to each other."

"We must have met in our dreams then," said the youth; "and
my days are too busy to remember what I think on at nights."

" Or apparently to remember upon one day those whom you may
have seen on the preceding eve," said Eoland Graeme.

The youth in his turn cast on him a look of some surprise, as he
replied, " I know no more of what you mean than does the horse
I ride on — ^if there be offence in your woixis, you shall find me as
ready to take it as any lad in Lothian."

"You know well," said Boland, "though it pleases you to use

188 THE ABBOT.

the language of a straDger, that with you I can have no purpose to
quarreL''

'^ Let me do mine errand then, and be rid of you,'' said the page.
^' Step hither this way, out of that old leathern fist's hearing."

They walked into the recess of the window, which Eoland had
left upon the youth's entrance into the apartment. « The messenger
then turned his back on the company, after casting a hasty and
sharp glance around to see if they were observed. Boland did the
same, and the page in the purple mantle thus addressed him,
taking at the same time from under his doak a short but beautifully-
wrought sword, with the hilt and ornaments upon the sheath of
silver, massively chased and over-gilded — ^^ I bring you this weapon
from a friend, who gives it you under the solemn condition, that you
will not imsheathe it until you are commanded by your rightful
Sovereign. For your warmth of temper is known, and the presump-
tion with which you intrude yourself into the quarrels of others;
and, therefore, this is laid upon you as a penance by those who wish
you well, and whose hand will influence your destiny for good or for
evil. This is what I was charged to tell you. So if you will give
a fair word for a fair sword, and pledge your promise, with hand
and glove, good and well; and if not, I wUl carry back Calibum to
those who sent it.^

''And may I not ask who these are?'' said Boland Grseme, ad-
miring at the same time the beauty of the weapon thus offered
him.

'' My commission in no way leads me to answer such a question,"
said he of the purple mantle.

''But if I am offended," said Boland, " may I not draw to defend
myself? "

" Not this weapon," answered the sword-bearer ; " but you have
your own at command, and, besides, for what do you wear your
poniard?"

" For no good," said Adam Woodcock, who had now approached
close to them, " and that I can witness as well as any one."

" Stand back, fellow," said the messenger; "thou hast an intrusive
curious face, that will come by a buffet if it is found where it has no
concern."

"A buffet, my young Master Malapert?" said Adam, drawing
back, however; " best keep down fist, or, by Our Lady, buffet will
beget buffet."

"Be patient, Adam Woodcock," said Boland Graeme; — "and let
me pray you, fair sir, since by such addition you choose fw the
joresent to be addressed, may I not barely unsheathe this fair

THB ABBOT. 189

weapctn, in pare simplicity of desire to know whether so fair a hilt
and scabbard are matched with a befitting blade?"

" By no manner of means," said the messenger; ^'at a word, you
must take it nnder the promise that you never draw it until you
receive the commands of your lawful Sovereign, or you must leave
it alone."

^' Under that condition, and coming from your friendly hand, I
accept of the sword," said Boland, taking it from his hand ; ^' but
credit me, that if we are to work together in any weighty emprise,
as I am induced to believe, some confidence and openness on your
part will be necessary to give the right impulse to my zeal — I press
for no more at present, it is enough that you understand me."

'' I understand youl " said the page, exhibiting the appearance of
unfeigned surprise in his turn, — "Benounce me if I do! — ^here you
stand jiggeting, and sniggling, and looking cunning, as if there were
some mighty matter of intrigue and common understanding betwixt
you and me, whom you never set your eyes on before! "

"What!" said Boland Graeme, "will you deny that we have met
before?"

" Marry that I will, in any Christian court," said the other page.

"And will you also deny," said Boland, "that it was recommended
to us to study each other's features well, that in whatever disguise
the time might impose upon us, each should recognize in the other
the secret agent of a mighty work? Do not you remember, that
Sister Magdalen and Dame Bridget"

The messenger here interrupted him, shrugging up his shoulders
with a look of compassion, "Bridget and Magdalen! why, this is
madness and dreaming ! Hark ye. Master Holly-top, your wits are
gone on wool-gathering; comfort yourself with a caudle, thatch
your brain-sick noddle with a woollen night-cap, and so Qod be with
you! "

As he concluded this polite parting address, Adam Woodcock,
who was again seated by the table on which stood the now empty
can, said to him, " Will you drink a cup, young man, in the way of
courtesy, now you have done your errand, and listen to a good
song?" and without waiting for an answer, he commenced his
ditty,—

'* The Pope, that pagan full of pride,
Hath blinded us full long "

It is probable that the good wine had made some innovation in
the fedconer's brain, otherwise he would have recollected the
danger of introducing anything like political or polemical pleaaantcy

190 THE ABBOT.

into a public assemblages at a time when men's minds were in a
state of great irritability. To do him justice, he perceived his error,
and stopped short so soon as he saw that the word Pope had at once
interrupted the separate conversations of the various parties which
were assembled in the apartment ; and that many began to draw
themselves up, bridle, look big, and prepare to take part in the
impending brawl ; while others, more decent and cautious persons,
hastily paid down their lawing, and prepared to leave the place ere
bad should come to worse.

And to worse it was soon likely to come; for no sooner did
Woodcock's ditty reach the ear of the stranger page, than, uplifting
his riding-rod, he exclaimed, ''He who speaks irreverently of the
Holy Father of the church in my presence, is the cub of a heretic
wolf-bitch, and I will switch him as I would a mongrel cur ! "

''And I will break thy young pate," said Adam, " if thou darest
to lift a finger to me." And then, in defiance of the young Draw-
cansir's threats, with a stout heart and dauntless accent, he again
uplifted the stave,

'' The Pope, that pagan full of pride.
Hath blinded "

But Adam was able to proceed no farther, being himself unfor-
tunately blinded by a stroke of the impatient youth's switch across
his eyes. Enraged at once by the smart and the indignity, the
falconer started up, and darkling as he was, — for his eyes watered
too fast to permit his seeing anything, — ^he would soon have been
at close grips with his insolent adversary, had not Boland Graeme,
contrary to his nature, played for once the prudent man and the
peace-maker, and thrown himself betwixt them, imploring Wood-
cock's patience. " You know not," he said, " with whom you have
to do. — ^And thou," addressing the messenger, who stood scornfully
laughing at Adam's rage, "get thee gone, whoever thou art; if
thou be'st what I guess thee, thou well knowest there are earnest
reasons why thou shouldst."

"Thou hast hit it right for once. Holly-top," said the gallant^
"though I guess you drew your bow at a venture. — Here, host, let
this yeoman have a pottle of wine to wash the smart out of his eyes
— and there is a French crown for him." So saying, he threw the
piece of money on the table, and left the apartment, with a quick
yet steady pace, looking firmly at right and left, as if to defy inter-
ruption: and, snapping his fingers at two or three respectable
burghers, who, declaring it was a shame that any one should be
Buffered to rant and raffle in defence of the Pope, were labouring to

THE ABBOT. 191

find the hilts of their swords, which had got for the present
unhappily entangled in the folds of their cloaks. But, as the
adversary was gone ere any of them had reached his weapon, they
did not think it necessary to unsheathe cold iron, but merely
observed to each other, ^' This is more than masterful violence, to
see a poor man stricken in the face just for singing a ballad against
the whore of Babylon ! If the Pope's champions are to be bangsters
in our very chaii^-houses, we shall soon have the old shavelings
back again.''

^ The provost should look to it,** said another, " and have some
five or six armed with partisans, to come in upon the first whistle,
to teach these gallants their lesson. For, look you, neighbour Lug-
leather, it is not for decent householders like ourselves to be brawl-
ing with the godless grooms and pert pages of the nobles, that are
bred up to little else save bloodshed and blasphemy."

"For all that, neighbour," said Lugleather, "I would have curried
that youngster as properly as ever I curried a lamb's hide, had not
the hilt of my bilbo been for the instant beyond my grasp ; and
before I could turn my girdle, gone was my master! "

"Ay," said the others, " the devil go with him, and peace abide
with us — I give my rede, neighbours, that we pay the lawing, and
be stepping homeward, like brother and brother; for old Saint
Giles's is tolling curfew, and the street grows dangerous at
night"

With that the good burghers adjusted their cloaks, and prepared
for their departure, while he that seemed the briskest of the three,
laying his hand on his Andrea Ferrara, observed, " that they that
spoke in praise of the Pope on the High-gate of Edinburgh, had
best bring the sword of Saint Peter to defend them."

While the ill-humour excited by the insolence of the young
aristocrat was thus evaporating in empty menace, Boland Graeme
had to control the far more serious indignation of Adam Woodcock.
" Why, man, it was but a switch across the mazzard — blow your
nose, dry your eyes, and you will see all the better for it."

" By this light, which I cannot see," said Adam Woodcock, " thou
hast been a false friend to me, young man — ^neither taking up my
rightful quarrel, nor letting me fight it out myself."

" Fy for shame, Adam Woodcock," replied the youth, determined
to turn the tables on him, and become in turn the counsellor of good
order and peaceable demeanour — " I say, fy for shame ! — Alas, that
you will speak thus ! Here are you sent with me, to prevent my
innocent youth getting into snares"

" I wish your innocent youth were cut short with a halter, with

19S THE ABBOT.

all my heart !" said Adam, who began to see which way the admoni-
tion tended.

— '^And instead of setting before me," continued Boland, ^^an
example of patience and sobriety becoming the falconer of Sir
Halbert Glendinning, yon quaff me off I know not how many flagons
of ale, besides a gallon of wine, and a full measure of strong wat^is l"

''It was but one small pottle/' said poor Adam, whom conscious-
ness of his own indiscretion now reduced to a merely defensive war-
fare.

" It was enough to pottle you handsomely, however,** said the page
— " And then, instead of going to bed to sleep off your liquor, must
you sit singing your roistering songs about popes and pagans, till
you have got your eyes almost switched out of your head; and but
for my interference, whom your drunken ingratitude accuses of
deserting you, yon galliard would have cut your throat, for he was
whipping out a whinger as broad as my hand, and as sharp as a razor
— ^And these are lessons for an inexperienced youth ! — Oh, Adam !
out upon you ! out upon you !"

^ Marry, amen, and with all my heart," said Adam; '' out upon my
folly for expecting any thing but impertinent raillery from a page
like thee, that if he saw his father in a scrape, would laugh at him,
instead of lending him aid \**

" Nay, but I will lend you aid," said the page, still laughing, ^ that
is, I will lend thee aid to thy chamber, good Adam, where thou shalt
sleep off wine and ale, ire and indignation, and awake the next morn-
ing with as much fair wit as nature has blessed thee withaL Only
one thing I will warn thee, good Adam, that henceforth and for
ever, when thou railest at me for being somewhat hot at hand, and
rather too prompt to out with poniard or so, thy admonition shall
serve as a prologu^e to the memorable adventure of the switching of
Saint Michael's."

With such condoling expressions he got the crest-fallen falconer
to his bed, and then retired to his own pallet, where it was some
time ere he could fall asleep. If the messenger whom he had seen
were really Catherine Seyton, what a masculine virago and termagant
must she be! and stored with what an inimitable command of
insolence and assurance ! — ^The brass on her brow would furbish the
front of twenty pages; *' and I should know," thought Eoland, " what
that amounts to— And yet, her features, her look, her light gait, her
laughing eye, the art with which she disposed the mantle to show
no more of her limbs than needs must be seen — I am glad she had
at least that grace left — the voice, the smile — ^it must have been
Ckl^enne Seyton, or the devH in her likeness 1 One thing is good, I

THE ABBOT. 193

have silenced the eternal predications of that ass, Adam Woodcock,
who has set np for being a preacher and a governor over me, so soon
as he has left the hawks' mew behind him.''

And with this comfortable reflection, joined to the happy indif-
ference which youth hath for the events of the morrow, Boland
Gi*8eme fell fast asleep.

CHAPTEE XX

Now have you reft me from my staff, my guide,

Who taught my youth, as men teach untamed falcons,

To use my strength discreetly — I am reft

Of comrade and of counsel!

Old Play.

In the grey of the next morning's dawn, there was a loud knocking
at the gate of the hostelrie; and those without, proclaiming that they
came in the name of the Begent, were instantly admitted. A moment
or two afterwards, Michael Wing-the-wind stood by the bedside of
our travellers."

"Up! up!" he said, "there is no slumber where Murray hath
work ado."

Both sleepers sprung up, and began to dress themselves.

"You, old friend," said Wing-the-wind to Adam Woodcock,
" must to horse instantly, with this packet to the Monks of Kenna-
quhair; and with this," delivering them as he spoke, " to the Knight
of AveneL"

"As much as commanding the monks to annul their election,
I'll warrant me, of an Abbot," quoth Adam Woodcock, as he put
the packet^ into his bag, " and charging my master to see it done —
To hawk at one brother with another, is less than fair play, me-
thinks."

" Fash not thy beard about it, old boy," said Michael, " but betake
thee to the saddle presently; for if these orders are not obeyed, there
will be bare walls at the Kirk of Saint Mary's, and it may be at the
Castle of Avenel to boot; for I heard my Lord of Morton loud with
the Begent, and we are at a pass that we cannot stand with him anent
trifles."

" But," said Adam, " touching the Abbot of Unreason — ^what say
they to that outbreak? — An they be shrewishly disposed, I were
better pitch the packets to Satan, and take the other side of the
Border for my bield."

194 THE ABBOT.

" O, that was paflsed over as a jest, since there was little harm done.
— But, hark thee, Adam/' continued his comrade, ''if there were a
dozen vacant abbacies in your road, whether of jest or earnest, reason
or unreason, draw thou never one of their mitres over thy brows —
The time is not fitting, man 1 — besides, our Maiden longs to clip the
neck of a fat churchman."

'' She shall never sheer mine in that capacity,'' said the falconer,
while he knotted the kerchief in two or three double folds around
his sunburnt bullneck, calling out at the same time, '' Master Boland,
Master Boland, make haste ! we must back to perch and mew, and,
thank Heaven more than our own wit, with our bones whole, and
without a stab in the stomach."

"Nay, but," said Wing-the-wind, "the page goes not back with
you, the Begent has other employment for him."

" Saints and sorrows !" exclaimed the falconer — ^" Master Boland
Graeme to remain here, and I to return to Avenel ! — ^Why, it cannot
be — ^the child cannot manage himself in this wide world without
me, and I question if he will stoop to any other whistle than mine
own; there are times I myself can hardly bring him to my lure."

It was at Boland's tongue's end to say something concerning the
occasion they had for using mutually each other's prudence, but the
real anxiety which Adam evinced at parting with him, took away
his disposition to such ungracious raillery. The falconer did not
altogether escape, however, for, in turning his face towards the lattice,
his friend Michael caught a glimpse of it, and exclaimed, " I prithee,
Adam Woodcock, what hast thou been doing with these eyes of
thine? They are swelled to the starting from the socket!"

" Nought in the world," said he, after casting a deprecating glance
at Boland Graeme, " but the effect of sleeping in this d— d truckle
without a pillow."

" Why, Adam Woodcock, thou must be grown strangely dainty,"
said his old companion; " I have known thee sleep all night with no
better pillow than a bush of ling, and start up with the sun, as gleg
as a falcon; and now thine eyes resemble"

"Tush, man, what signMes how mine eyes look now?" said Adam
— " let us but roast a crab>apple, pour a bottle of ale on it, and bathe
our throats withal, thou shalt see a change in me."

" And thou wilt be in heart to sing thy jolly ballad about the Pope,"
said his comrade.

" Ay, that I will," replied the falconer, " that is, when we have
left this quiet town five miles behind us, if you will take your hobby
and ride so far on my way."

"Najr, that I may not," said Michael — " I can but stop to partake

THE ABBOT. 196

your morning draught, and see you fairly to horse — I will see that
they saddle them, and toast the crab for thee, without loss of
time."

During his absence the falconer took the page by the hand — "May
I never hood hawk again," said the good-natured fellow, " if I am
not as sorry to part with you as if you were a child of mine own,
craving pardon for the freedom — I cannot tell what makes me love
you so much, unless it be for the reason that I loved the vicious devil
of a brown galloway nag, whom my master the Knight called Satan,
till Master Warden changed his name to Seyton; for he said it was
over boldness to call a beast after the Ellng of Darkness"

" And," said the page, " it was over boldness in him, I trow, to call
a vicious brute after a noble family."

'* Well," proceeded Adam, " Seyton or Satan, I loved that nag over
every other horse in the stable — There was no sleeping on his back
— he was for ever fidgeting, bolting, rearing, biting, kicking, and
giving you work to do, and may be the measure of your back on the
heather to the boot of it aJL And I think I love you better than
any lad in the castle, for the self -same qualities."

"Thanks, thanks, kind Adam. I regard myself bound to you for
the good estimation in which you hold me."

" Nay, interrupt me not," said the falconer — " Satan was a good
nag — ^But, I say, I think I shall call the two eyasses after you, the
one Boland, and the other Graeme; and, while Adam Woodcock lives,
be sure you have a friend — Here is to thee, my dear son."

Boland most heartily returned the grasp of the hand, and Wood*
cock, having taken a deep draught, continued his farewell speech.

"There are three things I warn you against, Boland, now that you
are to tread this weary world without my experience to assist you.
In the first place, never draw dagger on slight occasion — every man's
doublet is not so well stuffed as a certain abbof s that you wot of.
Secondly, fly not at every pretty girl, like a merlin at a thrush — you
will not always win a gold chain for your labour — and, by the way
-here I return to you your fanf arena — keep it close, it is weighty, and
may benefit you at a pinch more ways than one. Thirdly, and to
conclude, as our worthy preacher says, beware of the pottle-pot — it
has drenched the judgment of wiser men than you. I could bring
some instances of it, but I dare say it needeth not; for if you should
forget your own mishaps, you will scarce fail to remember mine —
And so farewell, my dear son."

Boland returned his good wishes, and failed not to send his humble
duty to his kind Lady, charging the falconer, at the same time, to
•zpresB hifl regret that he should have offended \i^x, «iSi<^ \^ ^t^Xi^x-

196 THE ABBOT.

mination so to bear him in the world that she would not be ashamed
of the generous protection she had afforded him.

The falconer embraced his young friend, mounted his stout, round-
made, trotting nag, which the serving-man, who had attended him,
held ready at the door, and took the road to the southward. A sullen
and heavy sound echoed from the horse's feet, as if indicating the
sorrow of the good-natured rider. Every hoof -tread seemed to tap
upon Boland's heart as he heard his comrade withdraw with so little
of his usual alert activity, and felt that he was once more alone in
the world.

He was roused from his reverie by Michael Wing-the-wind, who
reminded him that it was necessary they should instantly return to
the palace, as my Lord Eegent went to the Sessions early in the
morning. They went thither accordingly, and Wing-the-wind, a
favourite old domestic, who was admitted nearer to the Begenfs
person and privacy than many whose posts were more ostensible,
soon introduced Graeme into a small matted chamber, where he had
an audience of the present head of the troubled State of Scotland.
The Earl of Murray was clad in a sad-coloured morning-gown, with
a cap and slippers of the same cloth, but, even in this easy d6shabill6,
held his sheathed rapier in his hand, a precaution which he adopted
when receiving strangers, rather in compliance with the earnest
remonstrances of his friends and partisans, than from any personal
apprehensions of his own. He answered with a silent nod the
respectful obeisance of the page, and took one or two turns through
the small apartment in silence, fixing his keen eye on Boland, as if
he wished to penetrate into his very souL At length he broke
silence.

'' Your name is, I think, Julian Graeme?"

" Boland Graeme, my lord, not Julian," replied the page.

"Bight — I was misled by some trick of my memory — Boland
Graeme, from the Debateable Land. — Boland, thou knowest the
duties which belong to a lady's service?"

"I should know them, my lord," replied Boland, "having been
bred so near the person of my Lady of Avenel; but I trust never
more to practise them, as the Knight hath promised "

" Be silent, young man," said the Begent; " I am to speak, and
you to hear and obey. It is necessary that, for some space at least,
you ^all again enter into the service of a lady, who, in rank, hath
no equal in Scotland; and this service accomplished, I give thee my
word Bs Ejiight and Prince, that it shall open to you a course of
ambition, such as may well gratify the aspiring wishes of one whom
circumstances entitle to entertain much higher views than thou. I

THE ABBOT. 197

will take thee into my household and near to my person, or, at your
own choice, I will give you the command of a foot-company — either
is a preferment which the proudest laird in the land might be glad
to ensure for a second son.^

" May I presume to ask, my lord," said Roland, observing the
Earl paused for a reply, " to whom my poor services are in the first
place destined?'*

"You will be told hereafter," said the Regent; and then, as if
overcoming some internal reluctance to speak further himself, he
added, " or why should I not myiself tell you, that you are about to
enter into the service of a most illustrious — ^most unhappy lady —
into the service of Mary of Scotland."

'' Of the Queen, my lord ! " said the page, unable to repress his
surprise.

"Of her who was the Queen!" said Murray, with a singular
mixture of displeasure and embarrassment in his tone of voice.
" You must be aware, young man, that her son reigns in her stead."

He sighed from an emotion, partly natural perhaps, and partly
assumed.

" And am I to attend upon her Grace in her place of imprison-
ment, my lord?" again demanded the page, with a straightforward
and hardy simplicity, which somewhat disconcerted the sage and
powerful statesman.

" She is not imprisoned," answered Murray, angrily; " God forbid
she Bhould-she is only sequestrated from state aflfairs, and from the
business of the public, until the world be so effectually settled, that
she may enjoy her natural and uncontrolled freedom, without her
royal disposition being exposed to the practices of wicked and
designing men. It is for this purpose," he added, " that while she is
to be furnished, as right is, with such attendance as may befit her
present secluded state, it becomes necessary that those placed around
her are persons on whose prudence I can have reliance. You see,
therefore, you are at once called on to discharge an office most honour-
able in itself, and so to discharge it that you may make a friend of
the Regent of Scotland. Thou art, I have been told, a singularly
apprehensive youth; and I perceive by thy look, that thou dost
already understand what I would say on this matter. In this
schedule your particular points of duty are set down at length — ^but
the sum required of you is fidelity — I mean fidelity to myself and to the
state. You are, therefore, to watch every attempt which is made, or
inclination displayed, to open any communication with any of the
lords who have become banders in the west — ^with Hamilton, Seyton,
with Fleming, or the like. It is true that my groidoxiA ^^at^t^^^^jc^.-

1$>8 THE ABBOT.

ing upon the ill chances that have happened to the state of this poor
kingdom, from evil counsellors who have abused her royal nature in
time past, hath determined to sequestrate herself from state affairs
in future. But it is our duty, as acting for, and in the name of, our
infant nephew, to guard against the evils which may arise from any
mutation or vacillation in her royal resolutions. Wherefore, it will
be thy duty to watch, and report to our lady mother, whose guest
our sister is for the present, whatever may infer a disposition to
withdraw her person from the place of security in which she is
lodged, or to open communication with those without. If, however,
your observation should detect any thing of weight, and which may
exceed mere suspicion, fail not to send notice by an especial mes>
senger to me directly, and this ring shall be thy warrant to order
horse and man on such service. — ^And now begone. If there be half
the wit in thy head that there is apprehension in thy look, thou fully
comprehendest all that I would say — Serve me faithfully, and sure
as I am belted earl, thy reward shsdl be great."
Eoland Graeme made an obeisance, and was about to depart
The Earl signed to him to remain. " I have trusted thee deeply,"
he said, ''young man, for thou art the only one of her suite who has
been sent to her by my own reconunendation. Her gentle-women
are of her own nomination — ^it were too hard to have barred her that
privilege, though some there were who reckoned it inconsistent with
sure policy. Thou art young and handsome. Mingle in their follies,
and see they cover not deeper designs under the appearance of female
levity — if they do mine, do thou countermine. For the rest, bear all
decorum and respect to the person of thy mistress— she is a princess,
though a most unhappy one, and hath been a queen, though now,
alas ! no longer such. Pay, therefore, to her all honour and respect,
consistent with thy fidelity to the King and me — ^and now, farewell
— ^Yet stay — ^you taravel with Lord Lindesay, a man of the old world,
rough and honest, though untaught; see that thou offend him not^
for he is not patient of raillery, and thou, I have heard, art a crack*
halter." This he said with a smile, then added, '' I could have wished
the Lord Lindesay's mission had been intrusted to some other and
more gentle noble."

"And wherefore should you wish that, my lord?" said Morton,
who even then entered the apartment; " the Council have decided
for the best — we have had but too many proofs of this lady's stub-
bornness of mind, and the oak that resists the sharp steel axe, must
be riven with the rugged iron wedge. — ^And this is to be her page?
— ^My Lord Begent hath doubtless instructed you, young man, how
^on 9h»il ^de yourself in these matters ; I will add but a littib hint

THB ABBOT. 199

on my part You axe going to the castle of a Douglas, where
treachery never thrives — ^the first moment of suspicion will be the
last of your life. My kinflman, William Douglas, understands no
raillery, and if he once have cause to think you false, you will waver
in the wind from the castle battlements ere the sun set upon his
anger. — ^And is the lady to have an almoner withal? ''

'' Occasionally, Douglas," said the Eegent; '' it were hard to deny
the spiritual consolation which she thinks essential to her salvation."

" You are ever too soft-hearted, my lord — ^What ! a false priest to
communicate her lamentations, not only to our unfriends in Scotland,
but to the Guises, to Borne, to Spain, and I know not where ! "

''Fear not," said the Begent, ''we will take such order that no
treachery shall happen."

"Look to it then," said Morton; "you know my mind respecting
the wench you have consented she shall receive as a waiting- woman
— one of a family, which, of all others, has ever been devoted to her,
and inimical to us. Had we not been wary, she would have been
purveyed of a page as much to her purpose as her waiting-damseL
I hear a rumour that an old mad Bomish pilgrimer, who passes for
at least half a saint among them, was employed to find a fit subject."

" We have escaped that danger at least," said Murray, " and con-
verted it into a point of advantage, by sending this boy of Glendin-
ning^s — ^and for her waiting-damsel, you cannot grudge her one poor
maiden instead of her four noble Marys, and all their silken train ! "

" I care not so much for the waiting-maiden," said Morton, " but
I cannot brook the almoner — I think priests of all persuasions are
much like each other. Here is John Knox, who made such a noble
puller-down, is ambitious of becoming a setter-up, and a founder of
schools and colleges out of the Abbey lands, and bishops' rents, and
other spoils of Bome, which the nobility of Scotland have won with
their sword and bow, and with which he would endow new hives
to sing the old drone."

" John is a man of Q<xi," said the Begent, " and his scheme is a
devout imagination."

The sedate smile with which this was spoken, left it impossible
to conjecture whether the words were meant in approbation, or in
derision, of the plan of the Scottish Beformer. Turning then to
Boland Graeme, as if he thought he had been long enough a witness
of this conversation, he bade him get him presently to horse, siaoe
my Lord of Lindesay was already mounted. The page made his
reverence, and left the apartment.

Guided by Michael Wing-the-wind, he found his horse ready
saddlad and prepared for the jou^iey in front of thft \b2a»6 ^^x^

200 THE ABBOT.

where hovered about a score of men-at-arms, whose leader showed
no small symptoms of surly impatience.

'^Is this the jackanape page for whom we have waited thus long?"
said he to Wing-the-wind.— " And my Lord Buthven will reach the
castle long before us I''

Michal assented, and added that the boy had been detained by
the Begent to receive some parting instructions. The leader made
an inarticulate sound in his throat, expressive of sullen acquiescence,
and caUing to one of his domestic attendants, '^ Edward,'' said he,
" take the gallant into your charge, and let him speak with no one
else."

He then addressed, by the title of Sir Robert, an elderly and
respectable-looking gentleman, the only one of the party who seemed
above the rank of a retainer or domestic, and observed that they
must get to horse with all speed.

During this discourse, and while they were riding slowly along
the street of the suburb, Boland had time to examine more accurately
the looks and figure of the Baron, who was at their head.

Lord Lindesay of the Byres was rather touched than stricken with
years. His upright stature and strong limbs still showed him fully
equal to all the exertions and fatigues of war. His thick eyebrows,
now partially grizzled, lowered over large eyes full of dark fire,
which seemed yet darker from the uncommon depth at which they
were set in his head. His features, naturally strong and harsh, had
their sternness exaggerated by one or two scars received in battle.
These features, naturally calculated to express the harsher passions,
were shaded by an open steel cap, with a projecting front, but having
no visor, over the gorget of which fell the black and grizzled beard
of the grim old Baron, and totally hid the lower part of his face.
The rest of his dress was a loose buff-coat, which had once been
lined with silk and adorned with embroidery, but which seemed
much stained with travel, and damaged with cuts, received probably
in battle. It covered a corselet, which had once been of polished
steel, fairly gilded, but was now somewhat injured with rust. A sword
of antique make and uncommon size, framed to be wielded with
both hands, a kind of weapon which was then beginning to go out
of use, hung from his neck in a baldrick, and was so disposed as to
traverse his whole person, the huge hilt appearing over his left
shoulder, and the point reaching well-nigh to the right heel, and
jarring against his spur as he walked. This unwieldy weapon oould
only be unsheathed by pulling the handle over the left shoulder —
for no human arm was long enough to draw it in the usual manner.
2ie whole eqvdpm&at was that of a rude warrior, negligent of his

THE ABBOT. 201

exterior even to misanthropical sullenness; and the short, harsh,
haughty tone which he used towards his attendants, belonged to the
same unpolished character.

The personage who rode with Lord Lindesay, at the head of the
party, was an absolute contrast to him, in manner, form, and features.
Has thin and silky hair was already white, though he seemed not
above forty-five or fifty years old. His tone of voice was soft and
insinuating — ^his form thin, spare, and bent by an habitual stoop —
his pale cheek was expressive of shrewdness and intelligence — his
eye was quick, though placid, and his whole demeanour mild and
conciliatory. He rode an ambling nag, such as were used by ladies,
clergymen, or others of peaceful professions — ^wore a riding habit of
black velvet, with a cap and feather of the same hue, fastened up by
a golden medal — and for show, and as a mark of rank rather than
for use, carried a walking sword (as the short light rapiers were
called), without any other arms, offensive or defensive.

The party had now quitted the town, and proceeded, at a steady
trot, towards the west. — Ab they prosecuted their journey, Boland
Graeme would gladly have learned something of its purpose and
tendency, but the countenance of the personage next to whom he
had been placed in the train, discouraged all approach to familiarity.
The Baron himself did not look more grim and inaccessible than
his feudal retainer, whose grisly beard fell over his mouth like the
portcullis before the gate of a castle, as if for the purpose of prevent-
ing the escape of any word, of which absolute necessity did not
demand the utterance. The rest of the train seemed under the same
taciturn influence, and journeyed on without a word being exchanged
amongst them — ^more like a troop of Carthusian friars than a party
of military retainers. Boland Graeme was surprised at this extremity
of discipline; for even in the household of the Knight of Avenel,
though somewhat distinguished for the accuracy with which decorum
was enforced, a journey was a period of license, during which jest and
song, and everything within the Hmits of becoming mirth and pas-
time, were freely permitted. This unusual silence was, however, so
far acceptable, that it gave him time to bring any shadow of judg-
ment which he possessed to council on his own situation and prospects,
which would have appeared to any reasonable person in the highest
degree dangerous and perplexing.

It was quite evident that he had, through various circumstances
not under his own control, formed contradictory connections with
both the contending factions, by whose strife the kingdom was dis-
tracted, without being properly an adherent of either. It seemed
also clear> that l^e same situation in the houaoihold oi \\i<^ ^^^la^

S02 THE ABBOT.

Queen, to which he was now promoted by the influence of the Begent,
had been destined to him by his enthusiastic grandmother, Magdalen
Graeme; for on this subject, the words which Morton had dropped
had been a ray of light; yet it was no less clear that these two per-
sons, the one the declared enemy, the other the enthusiastic votary^
of the Catholic religion, — ^the one at the head of the King's new
government, the other, who regarded that government as a criminal
usurpation, — must have required and expected very different services
from the individual whom they had thus united in recommending.
It required very little reflection to foresee that these contradictory
claims on his services might speedily place him in a situation where
his honour afi well as his life might be endangered. But it was not
in Boland Graeme's nature to anticipate evil before it came, or to
prepare to combat difficulties before they arrived. *' I will see this
beautiful and unfortunate Mary Stewart," said he, ''of whom we have
heard so much, and then there will be time enough to determine
whether I will be kingsman or queensman. None of them
can say I have given word or promise to either of their factions; for
they have led me up and down like a blind Billy, without giving me
any light into what I was to do. But it was lucky that grim
Douglas came into the Begenf s closet this morning, otherwise I had
never got free of him without plighting my troth to do all the Earl
would have me, which seemed, after all, but foul play to the poor
imprisoned lady, to place her page as an espial on her.'*

Skipping thus lightly over a matter of such consequence, the
thoughts of the hare-brained boy went a wool-gathering after more
agreeable topics. Now he admired the Gothic towers of Bambougle,
rising from the sea-beaten rock, and overlooking one of the most
glorious landscapes in Scotland — and now he began to consider what
notable sport for the hounds and the hawks must be aflbrded by the
variegated ground over which they travelled — and now he compared
the steady and dull trot at which they were then prosecuting their
journey, with the delight of sweeping over hill and dale in pursuit
of his favourite sports. As, under the influence of these joyous
recollections, he gave his horse the spur, and made him execute a
gambade, he instantly incurred the censure of his grave neighbour,
who hinted to him to keep the pace, and move quietly and in order,
unless he wished such notice to be taken of his eccentric movements
as was likely to be very displeasing to him.

The rebuke and the restraint under which the youth noir found
himself, brought back to his recollection his late good-humoured and
accommodating associate and guide, Adam Woodcock; and from that
topic his imagination made a short flight to Avenel CMitl% to th«

THE ABBOT. 203

qniet and unconfined life of its inhabitants, the goodness of his early
proteotress, not foz^tting the denizens of its stables, kennels, and
hawk-mewB. In a brief space, all these subjects of meditation gave
way to the remembrance of that riddle of womankind, Catherine
Sejton, who appeared before the eye of his mind — ^now in her female
form — now in her male attire — ^now in both at once — ^like some
strange dream, which presents to us the same individual under two
different characters at the same instant. Her mysterious present
also recurred to his recollection — the sword which he now wore at
bis side, and which he was not to draw, save by command of his
legitimate Sovereign ! But the key of this mystery he judged he
was likely to 'find in the issue of his present journey.

With such thoughts passing through his mind, Boland Graeme
accompanied the party of Lord Lindesay to the Queen's-Ferry,
which they passed in vessels that lay in readiness for them. They
encountered no adventure whatever in their passage, excepting one
horae being lamed in getting into the boat, an incident very common
on such occasions, until a few years ago, when the Ferry was com-
pletely regulated. What waa more peculiarly characteristic of the
olden age, was the discharge of a culverin at the party from the
battlements of the old castle of Bosythe, on the north side of the
Ferry, the lord of which happened to have some public or private
quarrel with the Lord Lindesay, and took this mode of expressing
his resentment The insult, however, as it was harmless, remained
unnoticed and unavenged, nor did anything else occur worth notice
until the band had come where Lochleven spread its magnificent
sheet of waters to the beams of a bright summer sun.

The ancient castle, which occupies an island nearly in the centre
of the lake, recalled to the page that of Avenel, in which he had
been nurtured. But the lake was much larger, and adorned with
several islets besides that on which the fortress was situated; and
instead of being embosomed in hilla like that of Avenel, had upon
the southern side only a splendid mountainous screen, being the
descent of one of the Lomond hills, and on the other was surrounded
by the extensive and fertile plain of Kinross. Boland Grseme looked
with some degree of dismay on the water-girdled fortress, which
then, aa now, consisted only of one large donjon-keep, surrounded
with a court-yard, with two round flanking towers at the angles,
which contained within its circuit some other buildings of inferior
importance. A few old trees, clustered together near the castle,
gave some relief to the air of desolate seclusion; but yet the page,
while he gazed upon a building so sequestrated, could not but feel
lor the sitaation of a captive Princess doomed to dwell there, «a n7«LI

204 THE ABBOT.

as for his own. " I must have been bom," he thought, "under the
star that presides over ladies and lakes of water, for I cannot by any
means escape from the service of the one, or from dwelling in the
other. But if they allow me not the fair freedom of my sport and
exercise, they shall find it as hard to confine a wild-drake, as a youth
who can swim like one.'*

The band had now reached the edge of the water, and one of the
party advancing displayed Lord Lindesay^s pennon, waving it
repeatedly to and fro, while that Baron himself blew a clamorous
blast on his bugle. A banner was presently displayed from the roof
of the castle in reply to these signals, and one or two figures were
seen busied as if unmooring a boat which lay dose to the islet.

" It will be some time ere they can reach us with the boat,** said
the companion of the Lord Lindesay; "should we not do well to
proceed to the town, and array ourselves in some betterorder, ere
we appear before"

" You may do as you list. Sir Eobert," replied Lindesay, " I have
neither time nor temper to waste on such vanities. She has cost
me many a hard ride, and must not now take offence at the thread-
bare cloak and soiled doublet that I am arrayed in. It is the livery
to which she has brought all Scotland."

" Do not speak so harshly," said Sir Eobert; " if she hath done
wrong, she hath dearly abied it ; and in losing all real power, one
would not deprive her of the little external homage due at once to
a lady and a princess."

" I say to you once more. Sir Robert Melville," replied Lindesay,
"do as you will — for me, I am now too old to dink myself as a
gallant to grace the bower of dames."

" The bower of dames, my lord !" said Melville, looking at the rude
old tower — " is it yon dark and grated castle, the prison of a captive
Queen, to which you give so gay a namel"

" Name it as you list," replied Lindesay; " had the Regent desired
to send an envoy capable to speak to a captive Queen, there are
many gallants in his court who would have courted the occasion to
make speeches out of Amadis of Gaul, or the Mirror of Knight-
hood. But when he sent blunt old Lindesay, he knew he would
speak to a misguided woman, as her former misdoings and her
present state render necessary. I sought not this employment — ^it
has been thrust upon me; and I will not cumber myself with more
form in the discharge of it, than needs must be tacked to such an
occupation."

So saying, Lord Lindesay threw himself from horseback, and^
wrapping his riding-cloek around him, lay down at lazy length upon

THE ABBOT. 206

the swardy to await the arrival of the boat, which was now seen
rowing from the castle towards the shore. Sir Eobert Melville, who
had also dismounted, walked at short turns to and fro upon the
bank, his arms crossed on his breast, often looking to the castle,
and displaying in his countenance a mixture of sorrow and of
anxiety. The rest of the party sate like statues on horseback, with-
out moving so much as the points of their lances, which they held
upright in the air.

As soon as the boat approached a rude quay or landing-place, near
to which they had stationed themselves. Lord Lindesay started up
from his recumbent posture, and asked the person who steered, why
he had not brought a larger boat with him to transport his retinue.

" So please you," replied the boatman, " because it is the order of
our lady, that we bring not to the castle more than four persons.''

'' Thy lady is a wise woman," said Lindesay, " to suspect me of
treachery! — Or, had I intended it, what was to hinder us from throw-
ing you and your comrades into the lake, and filling the boat with
my own fellows 1"

The steersman, on hearing this, made a hasty signal to his men
to back their oars, and hold ofif from the shore which they were
approaching.

**Why, thou ass," said Lindesay, "thou didst not think that I
meant tiiy fool's head serious harm? Hark thee, friend — with fewer
than three servants I will go no whither — Sir Bobert Melville will
require at least the attendance of one domestic; and it will be at
your peril and your lady's to refuse us admission, come hither as
we are on matters of great national concern."

The steersman answered with firmness, but with great civiUty of
expression, that his orders were positive to bring no more than four
into the island, but he offered to row back to obtain a revisal of his
orders.

" Do so, my friend, " said Sir Bobert Melville, after he had in vain
endeavoured to persuade his stubborn companion to consent to a
temporary abatement of his train, " row back to the castle, sith it
will be no better, and obtain thy lady's orders to transport the Lord
Lindesay, myself, and our retinue hither."

" And hearken," said Lord Lindesay, " take with you this page,
who comes as an attendant on your lady's guest. — Dismount, sirrah,"
said he^ addressing Boland, " and embark with them in that boat."

*'And what is to become of my horse?" said Graeme; "I am
answerable for him to my master."

" I will relieve you of the charge," said Lindesay, "thou wilt have
little enough to do with horse, saddle, or bridle, for ten. yoax^ \jc> <^tsi<^

206

THE ABBOT.

— Thoa mayBt take the halter an tfaon wilt — it may Bteiul tlwe in

" If I thought BO," said Boland' — bnt he was intermpted bj Sir
Eobert Melville, who said to him, good-hmnonredly, "Diaputo it
not, yoong friend — resistanoe can do no good, bnt may well run tioa
into danger."

Boland Gneme felt the juetice of what he said, and, though
neither delighted with the matter nor manner of LindesaT's addren,
deemed it beat to submit to neceidtj, and to embark without fniiJier

remonstrance. The men plied their oats. The quay with the part^
of horse stationed near it, receded from the page's eyes — Uie caatle
and the islet seemed to draw neai' in the same proportion, and in
a brief space he landed under the shadow of a h<^ old tree which
overhang the landing-place. The steerBman and Gneme levied
ashore; the boatmen remained lying on their oars ready for furUier

THE ABBOT. fi07

CHAPTER XXL

Could Yalour auglit avail or people^s love»
France had not wept Navarre's brave Henry slain ;

If wit or beauty could compassion move,
The Kose of Scotland had not wept in vain.

EUgy in a Royal Mausoleum, — Lewis.

At the gate of the court-yard of Lochleven appeared the stately
form of the Lady of Lochleven, a female whose early charms had
oaptiyated James Y., by whom she became mother of the celebrated
Begent Murray. As she was of noble birth (being a daughter of the
House of Mar) and of great beauty, her intimacy with James did
not prevent her being afterwards sought in honourable marriage
by many gallants of the time, among whom she had preferred Sir
WiUiam Douglas of Lochleven. But well has it been said,

** Our pleasant vices

Are made the whips to scourge us "

The station which the Lady of Lochleven now held as the wife of
a man of high rank and interest, and the mother of a lawful family,
did not prevent her nourishing a painful sense of degradation, even
while she was proud of the talents, the power, and the station of
her son, now prime ruler of the state, but still a pledge of her illicit
interoourse. ''Had James done to her," she said, in her secret
hearty '' the justice he owed her, she had seen in her son, as a source
of unmixed delight and of imchastened pride, the lawful monarch
of Scotland, and one of the ablest who ever swayed the sceptre. The
House of Mar, not inferior in antiquity or grandeur to that of
Drummond, would then have also boasted a Queen among its
daughters, and escaped the stain attached to female frailty, even
when it has a royal lover for its apology." While such feelings
preyed upon a bosom naturally proud and severe, they had a
corresponding effect on her countenance, where, with the remains
of great beauty, were mingled traits indicative of inward discontent
and peevish melancholy. It perhaps contributed to increase this
habitual temperament, that the Lady Lochleven had adopted un-
commonly rigid and severe views of religion, imitating in her ideas
of reformed faith the very worst eiTors of the Catholics, in limiting
the benefit of the gospel to those who profess their own speculative
tenets.

In every respect, the unfortunate Queen Mary, now the compul-
sory guest, or rather prisoner, of this sullen lady, was obnoxious tA

208 THE ABBOT,

her hostess. Lady Lochleven disliked her aa the daughter of Mary
of Guise, the legal possessor of those rights over James's heart and
hand, of which she conceived herself to have been injnrionsly
deprived; and yet more so as the professor of a religion which she
detested worse than Paganism.

Such was the dame, who, with stately mien, and sharp yet hand-
some features, shrouded by her black velvet ooif, interrogated the
domestic who steered her barge to the shore, what had become of
Lindesay and Sir Bobert Melville. The man related what had
passed, and she smiled scornfully as she replied, ''Fools must be
flattered, not foughten with. — Bow back — ^make tiby excuse as thou
canst — say Lord Buthven hath already reached this castle, and that
he is impatient for Lord Lindesay's presence. Away with thee^
Bandal — yet stay — ^what galopin is that thou hast brought hither?"

" So please you, my lady, he is the page who is to wait upon"

"Ay, the new male minion," said the Lady Lochleven; ''the
female attendant arrived yesterday. I shall have a well-ordered
house with this lady and her retinue; but I trust they will soon find
some others to undertake such a charge. Begone, Bs^dal — and you"
(to Boland Grseme) "follow me to the garden."

She led the way with a slow and stately step to the small garden,
which, inclosed by a stone wall ornamented with statues, and an
artificial fountain in the centre, extended its dull parterres on the
side of the court-yard, with which it communicated by a low and
arched portaL Within the narrow circuit of its formal and limited
walks, Mary Stewart was now learning to perform the weary part of
a prisoner, which, with little intervsd, she was doomed to sustain
during the remainder of her life. She was followed in her slow and
melancholy exercise by two female attendants; but in the first
glance which Boland Graeme bestowed upon one so illustrious by
birth, so distinguished by her beauty, accomplishments, and misfor-
tunes, he was sensible of the presence of no other than the unhappy
Queen of Scotland.

Her face, her form, have been so deeply impressed upon the
imagination, that even at the distance of nearly three centuries, it is
unnecessary to remind the most ignorant and uninformed reader of the
striking traits which characterize that remarkable countenance,
which seems at once to combine our ideas of the majestic, the
pleasing, and the brilliant, leaving us to doubt whether they express
most happily the queen, the beauty, or the accomplished woman.
Who is there, that, at the very mention of Mary Stewart's name,
has not her countenance before him, familiar as that of the mistress
of his youth, or the favourite daughter of his advanced aget Even

THE ABBOT. 209

those who feel themselves compelled to believe all, or much, of what
her enemies laid to her charge^ cannot think without a sigh upon a
countenance expressive of anything rather than the foul crimes with
which she was charged when living, and which still continue to
shade, if not to blacken, her memory. That brow, so truly open and
regal — ^those eyebrows, so regularly graceful, which yet were saved
from the charge of regular insipidity by the beautiful effect of the
hazel eyes which they over-arched, and which seemed to utter a
thousand histories — the nose, with all its Grecian precision of outline
— ^the mouth, so well proportioned, so sweetly formed, as if designed to
speak nothing but what was delightful to hear — ^the dimpled chin —
the stately swanlike neck, form a countenance, the like of which we
know not to have existed in any other character moving in that
dass of life, where the actresses as well as the actors command
general and undivided attention. It is in vain to say that the
portraits which exist of this remarkable woman are not like each
other ; for, amidst their discrepancy, each possesses general, features
which the eye at once acknowledges as peculiar to the vision which
our imagination has raised while we read her history for the first
time, and which has been impressed upon it by the numerous prints
and pictures which we have seen. Indeed we cannot look on the
worst of them, however deficient in point of execution, without
saying that it is meant for Queen Mary ; and no small instance it is
of the power of beauty, that her charms should have remained the
subject not merely of admiration, but of warm and chivalrous
interest, after the lapse of such a length of time. We know that by
far the most acute of those who, in latter days, have adopted the
unfavourable view of Mary's character, longed, like the executioner
before his dreadful task was performed, to kiss the fair hand of her
on whom he was about to perform so horrible a duty.

Ihressed, then, in a deep mourning robe, and with all those
charms of face, shape, and manner, with which faithful tradition
has made each reader familiar, Mary Stewart advanced to meet the
Lady of Lochleven, who, on her part, endeavoured to conceal dislike
and apprehension under the appearance of respectful indifference.
The truth was, that she had experienced repeatedly the Queen's
superiority in that species of disguised yet cutting sarcasm, with
which women can successfully avenge themselves, for real and sub-
stantial injuries. It may be well doubted, whether this talent was
not as &tal to its possessor as the many others enjoyed by that
highly .gifted, but most unhappy female; for, whUe it often afforded
her a momentary triumph over her keepers, it failed not to exasper-
ate their resentment; and the satire and sarcaam in ^loicSb. ^<6 V^

210 THE ABBOT.

indulged, were frequently retaliated by the deep and bitter haidBhips
which they had the power of inflicting. It is well known that her
death was at length hastened by a letter which ahe wrote to Queen
Elizabeth, in which ahe treated her jealous rival, and the Countess
of Shrewsbury, with the keenest irony and ridicule.

As the ladies met together, the Queen said, bending her head at
the same time in return to the obeisance of l^e Lady Lochleven,
'^ We are this day fortunate — ^we enjoy the company of our amiable
hostess at an unusual hour, and during a period which we have
hitherto been permitted to give to our private exercise. But our
good hostess knows well she has at all times access to our presence,
and need not observe the useless ceremony of requiring our per-
mission."

" I am sorry my presence is deemed an intrusion by your Grace,"
said the Lady of Lochleven. " I came but to announce the arrival
of an addition to your train," motioning with her hand towards
Boland Grsame; ''a circumstance to which ladies are seldom
indifferent."

''O! I crave your ladyship's pardon; and am bent to the earth
with obligations for the kindness of my nobles — or my sovereigns,
shall I call them? — who have permitted me such a respectable
addition to my personal retinue."

*' They have indeed studied, madam," said the Lady of Lochleven,
''to show their kindness towards your Grace — something at the
risk perhaps of sound policy, and I trust their doings will not be
misconstrued."

''Lnpossible!" said the Queen; ''the bounty which peimits the
daughter of so many kings, and who yet is Queen of the reahn, the
attendance of two waiting-women and a boy, is a grace which
Mary Stewart can never sufficiently acknowledge. Why I mv
train will be equal to that of any country-dame in this your *king-
dom of Fife, saving but the lack of a gentleman-usher, and a pair
or two of blue-coated serving-men. But I must not forget, in my
selfish joy, the additional trouble and charges to which this magnifi-
cent augmentation of our train will put our kind hostess, and the
whole house of Lochleven. It is this prudent anxiety, I am aware,
which clouds your brows, my worthy lady. But be of good cheer;
the crown of Scotland has many a fair manor, and your affiectionate
son, and my no less affectionate brother, will endow the good
knight your husband with the best of them, ere Mary should be
dismissed from this hospitable castle from your ladyship's lack of
means to support the charges."

The Douglasses of Lochleven, madam," answered the lady,

ii'

THE ABBOT. Sll

''have known for ages how to discharge their duty to the State,
without looking for reward, even when the task was both irksome
and dangerous/'

"Nay! but, my dear Lochleven," said the Queen, "you are
* over-scrupulous — ^I pray you accept of a goodly manor; what
should support the Queen of Scotland in this her princely court,
saving her own crown-lands — and who should minister to the
wants of a mother, save an affectionate son like the Earl of Murray,
who possesses so wonderfully both the power and inclination?
— Or said you it was the danger of the task which clouded your
smooth and hospitable brow? — ^No doubt, a page is a formidable
addition to my body-guard of females ; and I bethink me it must
have been for that reason that my Lord of Lindesay refused even
now to venture within the reach of a force so formidable, without
being attended by a competent retinue."

The Lady Lochleven started, and looked something surprised;
and Mary, suddenly changing her manner from the smooth ironical
affectation of mildness to an accent of austere command, and
drawing up at the same time her fine person, said, with the full
majesty of her rank, "Yes! Lady of Lochleven; I know that
Euthven is already in the castle, and that Lindesay waits on the
bank the return of your barge to bring him hither along with Sir
Bobert Melville. For what purpose do these nobles come — ^and why
am I not in ordinary decency apprised of their arrival? "

" Their purpose, madam," replied the Lady of Lochleven, " they
must themselves explain — but a formal annunciation were needless,
where your Grace hath attendants who can play the espial so
welL"

"Alas! poor Fleming," said the Queen, turning to the elder of
the female attendants, " thou wilt be tried, condenmed, and gibbeted,
for a spy in the garrison, because thou didst chance to cross the
great hall while my good Lady of Lochleven was parleying at the
full pitch of her voice with her pilot EandaL Put black wool in
thy ears, girl, as you value the weaiing of them longer. Bemember,
in the Castle of Lochleven, ears and tongues are matters not of use,
but for show merely. Our good hostess can hear, as well as speak,
for us all. — ^We excuse your further attendance, my lady hostess,"
she said, once more addressing the object of her resentment, "and
retire to prepare for an interview with our rebel lords. We will
use the ante-chamber of our sleeping apartment as our hall of
audience. — ^You, young man," she proceeded, addressing Eoland
Greame, and at once softening the ironical sharpness of her manner
into good-humoured raillery, " you, who are all o\xr T[ia\!& «X^\L^AXi»b<)

212 THE ABBOT.

from our Lord High Chamberlain down to onr least galopin, follow
us to prepare our court."

She turned, and walked slowly towards the castle. The Ladj of
Lochleven folded her arms, and smiled in bitter resentment, as she
watched her retiring steps.

"Thy whole male attendance !** she muttered, repeating the
Queen's last words, "and well for thee had it been had thy train
never been larger;" then turning to Boland, in whose way she had
stood while making this pause, she made room for him to pass,
saying at the same time, "Art thou already eaves-dropping] follow
thy mistress, minion, and, if thou wilt, tell her what I have now
said."

Boland Graeme hastened after his royal mistress and her attend-
ants, who had just entered a postern-gate communicating betwixt
the castle and the small garden. They ascended a winding-stair as
high as the second story, which was in a great measure occupied by
a suite of three rooms, opening into each other, and assigned as the
dwelling of the captive Princess. The outermost was a small hall
or anteroom, within which opened a large parlour, and from that
again the Queen's bedroom. Another small apartment, which
opened into the same parlour, contained the beds of the gentlewomen
in waiting.

Boland Graeme stopped, as became his station, in the outermost
of these apartments, there to await such orders as might be com-
municated to him. From the grated window of the room he saw
Lindesay, Melville, and their followers, disembark; and observed
that they were met at the castle gate by a third noble, to whom
Lindesay exclaimed, in his loud harsh voice, "My Lord of Buthven,
you have the start of us!"

At this instant, the page's attention was called to a burst of
hysterical sobs from the inner apartment, and to the hurried ejacu-
lations of the terrified females, which led him almost instantly to
hasten to their assistance. When he entered, he saw that the Queen
had thrown herself into the large chair which stood nearest the door,
and was sobbing for breath in a strong fit of hysterical affection.
The elder female supported her in her arms, while the younger
bathed her face with water and with tears alternately.

"Hasten, young man!" said the elder lady, in alann^ "fly — call in
assistance— she is swooning!"

But the Queen ejaculated in a faint and broken voice, ^ Stir not^
I charge you! — caU no one to witness — I am better — ^I shall recover
instantly." And, indeed, with an effort which seemed like that of
one atruggling for life, she sate up in her chair, and endeavoured to

THE ABBOT. 213

resume her composure, while her features yet trembled with the
violent emotion of body and mind which she had undergone. '' I
am ashamed of my weakness, girls," she said, taking the hands of
her attendants; " but it is over — and I am Mary Stewart once more.
The savage tone of that man's voice — my knowledge of his insolence
— ^the name which he named — the purpose for which they come, may
excuse a moment's weakness — ^and it shall be a moment's only."
She snatched from her head the curch or cap, which had been dis-
ordered during her hysterical agony — shook down the thick clustered
tresses of dark brown which had been before veiled under it — and,
drawing her slender fingers across tlTe labyrinth which they formed,
she arose from the chair, and stood like the inspired image of a
Grecian prophetess, in a mood which partook at once of sorrow and
pride, of smiles and of tears. " We are ill appointed," she said, " to
meet our rebel subjects; but, as far as we may, we will strive to
present ourselves as becomes their Queen. Follow me, my maidens,"
she said; " What says thy favourite song, my Fleming?

«My maids, come to my dressmg-bower,

And deck my nut-brown hair;
Where'er ye laid a plait before.
Look ye lay ten times mair.*

Alas!" she added, when she had repeated with a smile these lines
of an old ballad, " violence has already robbed me of the ordinary
decorations of my rank; and the few that nature gave me have been
destroyed by sorrow and by fear." Yet while die spoke thus, she
again let her slender fingers stray through the wilderness of the
beautiful tresses which veiled her kingly neck and swelling bosom,
as if, in her agony of mind, she had not altogether lost the conscious-
ness of her unrivaUed charms. Boland Graeme, on whose youth,
inexperience, and ardent sense of what was dignified and lovely, the
demeanour of so fair and high-bom a lady wrought like the charm
of a magician, stood rooted to the spot with surprise and interest,
longing to hazard his life in a quarrel so fair as that which Mary
Stewart's must needs be. She had been bred in France — she was
possessed of the most distinguished beauty — she had reigned a Queen,
and a Scottish Queen, to whom knowledge of character was as
essential as the use of vital air. In all these capacities, Mary was,
of all women on the earth, most alert at perceiving and using the
advantages which her charms gave her over almost all who came
within the sphere of their influence. She cast on Eoland a glance
which might have melted a heart of stone. " My poor boy," she
said, with a feeling partly real, partly politic, '^ t\io\x «^ ^ ^i^«s^!$l3sc:

214 THE ABBOT.

to US — sent to this doleful captivity from the society of some tender
mother, or sister, or maiden, with whom you had freedom to tread
a gay measure round the Maypole. I grieve for you; — ^but you are
the only male in my limited household — ^wilt thou obey my orders?"

" To the death, madam," said Graeme, in a determined tone.

''Then keep the door of mine apartment," said the Queen; ''keep
it till they offer actual violence, or till we shall be fitly arrayed to
receive these intrusive visitors."

" I will defend it till they pass over my body," said Boland Graeme;
anj hesitation which he had felt concerning the line of conduct he
ought to pursue, being completely swept away by the impulse of the
moment.

" Not so, my good youth," answered Mary; " not so, I command
thee. If I have one faithful subject beside me, much need, God
wot, I have to care for his safety. Besist them but till they are put
to the shame of using actual violence, and then give way I charge
you. Bemember my commands." And, with a smile expressive at
once of favour and of authority, she turned from him, and, followed
by her attendants, entered the bedroom.

The youngest paused for half a second ere she followed her com-
panion, and made a signal to Boland Graeme with her hand. He
had been already long aware that this was Catherine Seyton — a
circumstance which could not much surprise a youth of quick in-
tellects, who recollected the sort of mysterious discourse which had
passed betwixt the two matrons at the deserted nunnery, and on
which his meeting with Catherine in this place seemed to cast so
much light. Yet such was the engrossing effect of Mary's presence,
that it surmounted for the moment even the feelings of a youthful
lover; and it was not imtil Catherine Seyton had disappeared, that
Boland began to consider in what relation they were to stand to each
other. — " She held up her hand to me in a commanding manner," he
thought; "perhaps she wanted to confirm my purpose for the execu-
tion of the Queen's commands; for I think she could scarce puipose
to scare me with the sort of discipline which she administered to the
groom in the frieze jacket, and to poor Adam Woodcock. But we
will see to that anon; meantime, let us do justice to the trust reposed
in us by this unhappy Queen. I think my Lord of Murray will
himself own that it is the duty of a faithful page to defend his lady
..gainst intrusion on her privacy."

Accordingly, he stepped to the little vestibule, made fast, with
lock and bar, the door which opened from thence to the large stair-
case^ and then sat himself down to attend the result. He had not
long to wait — a. rude and strong band first essayed to lift the latcii,

THE ABBOT. 216

then pushed and shook the door with violence, and, when it resisted
his attempt to open it, exdaimed, '* Undo the door there, you with-
in!"

" Why, and at whose command," said the page, " am I to undo the
door of the apartments of the Queen of Scotland? "

Another vain attempt, which made hinge and bolt jingle, showed
that the impatient applicant without would willingly have entered
altogether regardless of his challenge; but at length an answer was
returned.

" Undo the door, on your peril — ^the Lord Lindesay comes to speak
with the Lady Mary of Scotland."

''The Lord Lindesay, as a Scottish noble," answered the page,
''must await his Sovereign's leisure."

An earnest altercation ensued amongst those without, in which
Eoland distinguished the remarkable harsh voice of Lindesay in
reply to Sir Bobert Melville, who appeared to have been using some
soothing language — "No! no! no! I tell thee, no! I wUl place a
petard against the door rather than be baulked by a profligate
woman, and bearded by an insolent f ootboy."

" Yet, at least," said Melville, " let me try fair means in the first
instance. Violence to a lady would stain your scutcheon for ever.
Or await till my Lord Buthven comes."

"I will await no longer," said Lindesay; "it is high time the
business were done, and we on our return to the coimcU. But thou
mayst try thy fair play, as thou callest it, while I cause my train to
prepare the petard. I came hither provided with as good gun-
powder as blew up the Kirk of Field."

"For God's sake, be patient," said Melville; and, approaching the
door; he said, as speaking to those within, " Let the Queen know
that I, her faithful servant, Bobert Melville, do entreat her, for her
own sake, and to prevent worse consequences, that she will undo the
door, and admit Lord Lindesay, who brings a mission from the
C!ouncil of State."

" I will do your errand to the Queen," said the page, " and report
to you her answer."

He went to the door of the bedchamber, and tapping against it
gently, it was opened by the elderly lady, to whom he communicated
his errand, and returned with directions from the Queen to admit
Sir Bobert Melville and Lord Lindesay. Boland Graeme returned
to the vestibule, and opened the door accordingly, into which the
Lord Lindesay strode, with the air of a soldier who has fought his
way into a conquered fortress; while Melville, deeply dejected,
f oUowed him more slowly.

S16 THE ABBOT.

^ I draw you to witness, and to record^" said the page to this last,
" that save for the especial commands of the Queen, I would have
made good the entrance^ with my best strength, and my best blood,
against all Scotland."

*' Be silent, young man," said Melville, in a tone of grave rebuke ;
"add not brands to fire— this is no time to make a flourish of thy
boyish chivalry."

" She has not appeared even yet," said Idndesay, who had now
reached the midst of the parlour or audience-room; "how call you
^ this trifling?"

"Patience, my lord," replied Sir Eobert, "time presses not — and
Lord Buthven hath not as yet descended."

At this moment the door of the inner apartment opened, and
Queen Maiy presented herself, advancing with an air of peculiar
grace and majesty, and seeming totally unruffled, either by the visits
or by the rude manner in which it had been enforced. Her dress
was a robe of black velvet; a small rufl^, open in front, gave a full
view of her beautifully-formed chin and neck, but veiled the bosom.
On her head she wore a small cap of lace, and a transparent white
veil himg from her shoulders over the long black robe, in large loose
folds, so that it could be drawn at pleasure over the face and
person. She wore a cross of gold around her neck, and had her
rosary of gold and ebony hanging from her girdle. She was closely
followed by her two ladies, who remained standing behind her during
the conference. Even Lord Lindesay, though the rudest noble of
that rude age, was surprised into something like respect by the
unconcerned and majestic mien of her, whom he had expected to
find frantic with impotent passion, or dissolved in useless and vain
sorrow, or overwhelmed with the fears likely in such a situation to
assail fallen royalty.

" We fear we have detained you, my Lord of Lindesay," said the
Queen, while she curtsied with dignity in answer to his reluctant
obeisance; "but a female does not willingly receive her visitors
without some minutes spent at the toilette. Men, my lord, are less
dependent on such ceremonies."

Lord Lindesay, casting his eye down on his own travel-stained
and disordered dress, muttered something of a hasbj journey, and
the Queen paid her greeting to Sir Bobert Melville with courtesy
and even, as it seemed, with kindness. There was then a dead
pause, during which Lindesay looked towards the door, as if
expecting with impatience the colleague of their embassy. The Queen
alone was entirely unembarrassed, and, as if to break the silence, she
addresaed Lord Lindesay, with a glance at the large and cumbrous

THE ABBOT. 2l7

sword 'which he wore, as already mentioned, ha.nging from his
neck.

" Yon have there a trusty and a weighty traveUing companion, my
lord. I trust you expected to meet with no enemy here, against
whom sach a formidable weapon could be necessary ? It is, methinks,
somewhat a singular ornament for a court, though I am, as I well
need to be, too much of a Stewart to fear a sword.''

^ It is not the first time, madam," replied Lindesay, bringing round
the weapon so as to rest its point on the groimd, and leaning one
hand on the huge cross-handle, " it is not the first time that this
weapon has intruded itself into the presence of the House of
Stewart''

"Possibly, my lord," replied the Queen, "it may have done service
to my ancestors — ^Tour ancestors were men of loyalty."

"Ay, madam," replied he, "service it hath done; but such as
kings love neither to acknowledge nor to reward. It was the service
which the knife senders to the tree when trimming it to the quick,
and depriving it of the superfluous growth of rank and unfruitful
BUflken which rob it of nourishment."

"Yoa talk riddles, my lord," said Mary; "I will hope the
explanation carries nothing insulting with it."

" Yoa shall judge, madam," answered Lindesay. " With this good
sword was Archibald Douglas, Earl of Angus, girded on the
iDfiinorable day when he acquired the name of Bell-the-Cat, for
dragging from the presence of your great-grandfather, the third
James of the race, a crew of minions, flatterers, and favourites, whom
he' banged over the bridge of Lauder, as a warning to such reptiles
how they approach a Scottish throne. With this same weapon, the
same inflexible champion of Scottish honour and nobility slew at
one blow Spens of Kilspindie, a courtier of your grandfather, James
the Fourth, who had dared to speak lightly of him in the royal
preeenoe. They fought near the brook of Fala; and Bell-the-Cat,
with this blade, sheared through the thigh of his opponent, and lopped
the limb as easily as a shepherd's boy slices a twig from a sapling."

"iMy lord," repHed the Queen, reddening, "my nerves are too
good to be alarmed even by this terrible history — May I ask how a
blade so illustrious passed from the House of Douglas to that of
Lindesay? — ^Methinks it should have been preserved as a consecrated
relic, by a family who have held all that they cotdd do against their
king, to be done in favour of their country."

** Nay, madam," said Melville, aimously interfering, " ask not that
question of Lord Lindesay — And you, my lord, for shame — for
decency— forbear to reply to it."

218 THE ABBOT.

^' It is time that this lady should hear the trath,^ replied Lindesay.

" And be assured," said the Queen, " that she will be moved to
anger by none that you can tell her, my lord. There are cases in
which just scorn has always the mastery over just anger."

'' Then know,'' said Lii^desay, '' that upon the field of Garberry-
hiU, when that false and infamous traitor and murderer, James,
sometime Earl of Bothwell, and nicknamed Duke of Orkney, offered
to do personal battle with any of the associated nobles who came to
drag him to justice, I accepted his challenge, and was by the noble
Earl of Morton gifted with his good sword that I might therewith
fight it out — ^Ah! so help me Heaven, had his presumption been one
grain more, or his cowardice one grain less, I shotdd have done such
work with this good steel on his traitorous corpse, that the hounds
and carrion-crows should have found their morsels daintily carved
to their use!"

The Queen's courage well-nigh gave way at the mention of Both-
well's name — ^a name connected with such a train of guilt, shame,
and disaster. But the prolonged boast of Lindesay gave her time
to rally herself, and to answer with an appearance of cold contempt —
''It is easy to slay an enemy who enters not the lists. But had
Mary Stewart inherited her father's sword as well as his sceptre, the
boldest of her rebels should not upon that day have complained that
they had no one to cope withal. Your lordship will forgive me if
I abridge this conference. A brief desmption of a bloody fight is
long enough to satisfy a lady's curiosity; and unless my Lord of
Lindesay has something more important to tell us than of the deeds
which old Bell-the-Cat achieved, and how he would himaftlf have
emulated them, had time and tide permitted, we will retire to our
private apartment, and you, Fleming, shaU finish reading to us
yonder little treatise Des Rodomontades EspagnoUes"

" Tarry, madam," said Lindesay, his complexion reddening in his
turn; " I know your quick wit too well of old to have sought an
interview that you might sharpen its edge at the expense of my
honour. Lord Buthven and myself, with Sir Bobert Melville as a
concurrent, come to your Grace on the part of the Secret Coundl, to
tender to you what much concerns the safety of your own life and the
welfare of the State."

''The Secret Council?" said the Queen; "by what powers can
it subsist or act, while I, froifii whom it holds its character, am
here detained under unjust restraint? But it matters not— what
concerns the welfare of Scotland shall be acceptable to Mary
Stewart, come from whatever quarter it will — and for what concerns
her own life, she has lived long enough to be weary of it^ even at

THE ABBOT. 219

the a^ of twenty-five. — ^Where is your colleague, my lord — why
tarries he?"

'' He comes, madam,'' said Melyille, and Lord Buthven entered at
the instant, holding in his hand a packet. As the Queen returned
his salutation, she became deadly pale, but instantly recovered her-
self by dint of strong and sudden resolution, just as the noble, whose
appearance seemed to escite such emotions in her bosom, entered the
apartment in company with G^rge Douglas, the youngest son of the
Knight of Lochleven, who, during the absence of his father and
brethren, acted aa Seneschal of the Castle, under the direction of the
elder Lady Lochleven, his father's mother.

CHAPTER XXIL

I give this heavy weight from off my head,
And this unwieldy sceptre from my hand ;
With mine own tears I wash away my balm.
With mine own hand I give away my crown.
With mine own tongue deny my sacred state,
With mine own breath release all duteous oaths.

Richard 11.

Lord Euthven had the look and bearing which became a soldier
and a statesman, and the martial cast of his form and features pro-
cured him the popular epithet of Greysteil, by which he was distin-
guished by his intimates, after the hero of a metrical romance then
generally known. His dress, which was a buff coat embroidered,
had a half-military character, but exhibited nothing of the sordid
negligence which distinguished that of Lindesay. But the son of an
ill-fated sire, and the father of a yet more unfortunate family, bore
in his look that cast of inauspicious melancholy, by which the physi-
ognomists of that time pretended to distinguish those who were
predestined to a violent and unhappy death.

The terror which the presence of this nobleman impressed on the
Queen's mind, arose from the active share he had borne in the
slaughter of David Bizzio; his father having presided at the per-
petration of that abominable crime, although so weak from long and
wasting illness, that he could not endure the weight of his armour,
having arisen from a sick-bed to commit a murder in the presence
of his Sovereign. On that occasion his son also had attended and
taken an active part. It was little to be wondered at, that the Queen,
considering her condition when such a deed of horror was acted in

2^ TH£ ABBOT.

her presence, should retain an instinctive terror for the principal
actors in the murder. She returned, however, with grace the salu-
tation of Lord Buthven, and extended her hand to George Douglas, who
kneeled, and kissed it with respect; the first mark of a subject's
homage which Boland Graeme had seen any of them render to the
captive Sovereign. She returned his greeting in silence, and there
was a brief pause, during which the steward of the castle, a man of
a sad brow and a severe eye, placed, under George Douglas's direc-
tions, a table and writing materials; and the page, obedient to his
mistress's dumb signal, advanced a large chair to the side on which
the Queen stood, the table thus forming a sort of bar which divided
the Queen and her personal followers from her imwelcome visitors.
The steward theii withdrew after a low reverence. When he had
closed the door behind him, the Queen broke silence — *^ With your
favour, my lords, I will sit — my walks are not indeed extensive
enough at present to fatigue me greatly, yet I find repose something
more necessary than usTial."

She sat down accordingly, and, shading her cheek with her beauti-
ful hand, looked keenly and impressively at each of the nobles in
turn. Mary Fleming applied her kerchief to her eyes, and Catherine
Seyton and Eoland Graeme exchanged a glance, which showed that
both were too deeply engrossed with sentiments of interest and com-
miseration for their royal mistress, to think of any thing which
regarded themselves.

" I wait the purpose of your mission, my lords," said the Queen,
after she had been seated for about a minute without a word being
spoken, — "I wait your message from those you call the Secret
Council. — I trust it is a petition of pardon, and a desire that I will
resume my rightful throne, without using with due severity my right
of punishing those who have dispossessed me of it?"

" Madam," replied Euthven, " it is painful for us to speak harsh
truths to a Princess who has long ruled us. But we come to offer,
not implore, pardon. In a word, madam, we have to propose to you
on the part of the Secret Council, that you sign these deeds, which
will contribute greatly to the pacification of the State, the advance-
ment of God's word, and the welfare of your own future life."

"Am I expected to take these fair words on trust, my lord? or
may I hear the contents of these reconciling papers, ere I am asked
to sign them?"

" Unquestionably, madam; it is our purpose and wish you should
read what you are required to sign," replied Euthven.

"Eequired?" replied the Queen, with some emphasis; "but the
phrase BuitB well the matter —read, my lord."

THE ABBOT. 221

The Lord Buthven proceeded to read a formal instniment, rnn-
ning in the Queen's name, and setting forth that she had been called,
at an early age, to the administration of the crown and realm of
Scotland, and had toiled diligently therein, until she was in body and
spirit so wearied out and disgusted, that she was unable any longer
to endure the trayail and pain of State affairs; and that since Grod
had blessed her with a fair and hopeful son, she was desirous to
ensure to him, even while she yet liyed, his succession to the crown,
which was his by right of hereditary descent. "Wherefore," the
instrument proceeded, " we, of the motherly affection we bear to our
said son, have renounced and demitted, and by these our letters of
free good-will, renounce and demit, the Crown, government, and
guiding of the realm of Scotland, in favour of our said son, that he
may succeed to us as native Prince thereof as much as if we had been
removed by disease, and not by our own proper act. And that this
demission of our royal authority may have the more full and solemn
effect^ and none pretend ignorance, we give, grant, and commit, full
and free and plain power to our trusty cousins. Lord Lindesay of the
Byres, and William Lord Buthven, to appear in our name before as
many of the nobility, clergy, and burgesses, as may be assembled at
Stirling, and there, in our name and behalf, pubUcly, and in their
presence, to renounce the Crown, guidance, and government of this
our kingdom of Scotland/'

The Queen here broke in with an air of extreme surprise. " How is
this, my lords?'' she said; "Are my ears turned rebels, that they
deceive me with sounds so extraordinary? — ^And yet it is no wonder
that, having conversed so long with rebellion, they should now force
its language upon my understanding. Say I am mistaken, my lords
— say, for the honour of yourselves and the Scottish nobility, that
my right trusty cousins of Lindesay and Buthven, two barons of
warlike fame and ancient line, have not sought the prison-house of
their kind mistress for such a purpose as these words seem to imply.
Say, for the sake of honour and loyalty, that my ears have deceived
me."

" No, madam," said Buthven gravely, " your ears do not deceive
you — ^they deceived you when they were closed against the preachers
of the evangele, and the honest advice of your faithful subjects; and
when they were ever open to flattery of pick-thanks and traitors^
foreign cubiculars and domestic minions. The land may no longer
brook the rule of one who cannot rule herself; wherefore I pray you
to comply with the last remaining wish of your subjects and coun-
sellors, and spare yourself and us the further agitation of matters so
painful."

222 THE ABBOT.

''And is this aJll my loving subjects require of me, my lordl" said
Mary, in a tone of bitter irony. '' Do they really stint themselyes to
the easy boon that I should yiMd up the crown, which is mine by
birthright, to an infant which is scarcely more than a year old — ^fling
down my sceptre, and take up a distaff? — O no ! it is too little for them
to ask — ^That other roll of parchment contains something harder to
be complied with, and which may more highly task my readiness to
comply with the petitions of my lieges.''

'' This parchment/' answered Buthven, in the same tone of inflex-
ible gravity, and unfolding the instrument as he spoke, '' is one by
which your Grace constitutes your nearest in blood, and the most
honourable and trastworthy of your subjects, James, Earl of Murray,
Begent of the kingdom during the minority of the young Eong. He
already holds the appointment from the Secret Ck>uncil.''

The Queen gave a sort of shriek, and clapping her hands togethei',
exclaimed, " Comes the arrow out of his quiver] — out of my brother's
bow \ — Alas ! I looked for his return from France as my sole, at least
my readiest, chance of deliverance. — And yet, when I heard that he
had assumed the government, I guessed he would shame to wield it
in my name."

" I must pray your answer, madam," said Lord Buthven, '' to the
demand of the Council"

"The demand of the Council!" said the Queen; "say rather the
demand of a set of robbers, impatient to divide the spoil they have
seized. To such a demand, and sent by the mouth of a traitor, whose
scalp, but for 'my womanish mercy, should long since have stood
on the city gates, Mary of Scotland has no answer."

" I trust, madam," said Lord Buthven, " my being unacceptable to
your presence will not add to your obduracy of resolution. It may
become you to remember that the death of the minion, Bizzio, cost
the house of Buthven its head and leader. My father, more worthy
than a whole province of such vile sycophants, died in exile, and
broken-hearted."

The Queen clasped her hands on her face, and resting her arms on
the table, stooped down her head and wept so bitterly, that the tears
were seen to find their way in streams between the white and slender
fingers with which she endeavoured to conceal them.

" My lords," said Sir Bobert Melville, " this is too much rigour.
Under your lordships' favour, we came hither, not to revive old griefe,
but to find the mode of avoiding new ones."

" Sir Bobert Melville," said Buthven, " we best know for what
purpose we were delegated hither, and wherefore you were somewhat
unnecessarily sent to attend us."

THE ABBOT. 223

"Nay, by my hand,'' said Lord Lindesay, "I know not why we
were cumbered with the good knight, miless he comes in place of
the lump of sugar which pothicars put into their wholesome but
bitter medicaments, to please a froward child — a needless labour,
methinks, where men have the means to make them swaUow the
physic otherwise."

"Nay, my lords," said Melville, "ye best know your own secret
instructions. I conceive I shaU best obey mine in striving to mediate
between her Grace and you."

" Be silent. Sir Bobert Melville," said the Queen, arising, and her
face still glowing with agitation as she spoke. " My kerchief, Flem-
ing — I shame that traitors should have power to move me thus. —
Tell me, proud lords," she added, wiping away the tears as she spoke,
"by what earthly warrant can liege subjects pretend to challenge
the rights of an anointed Sovereign — ^to throw off the allegiance they
have vowed, and to take away the crown from the head on which
Divine warrant hath placed it?"

" Madam," said Ruthven, " I will deal plainly with you. Your
reign, from the dismal field of Pinkie-deuch, when you were a babe
in the cradle, till now that ye stand a grown dame before us, hath
been sudi a tragedy of losses, disasters, civil dissensions and foreign
wars, that the like is not to be found in our chronicles. The French
and English have, with one consent, made Scotland the battle-field
on which to fight out their own ancient quarrel. — For ourselves,
every man's hand hath been against his brother, nor hath a year
passed over without rebellion and slaughter, exile of nobles, and
oppressing of the commons. We may endure it no longer; and,
therefore, as a prince, to whom God hath refused the gift of hearken-
ing to wise counsel, and on whose dealings and projects no blessing
hath ever descended, we pray you to give way to other rule and
governance of the land, that a remnant may yet be saved to this dis-
tracted realm."

" My lord," said Mary, " it seems to me that you fling on my un-
happy and devoted head those evils, which, with far more justice, I
may impute to your own turbulent, wild, and untameable dispositions
— ^liie frantic violence with which you, the Magnates of Scotland,
enter into feuds against each other, sticking at no cruelty to gratify
your wrath, taking deep revenge for the slightest offences, and set-
ting at defiance those wise laws which your ancestors made for stanch-
ing of such cruelty, rebelling against the lawful authority, and bearing
yourselves as if there were no king in the land; or rather as if each
were king in his own premises. And now you throw the blame on
me — on me, whose life has been embittered — whose iU^^ V:a& \^^\l

224 THE ABBOT.

broken — ^whose happiness has been wrecked, by your dissensians.
Have I not myself been obliged to traverse wilds and mountains, at
the head of a few faithful followers, to TnaintAin peace and to put
down oppression? Have I not worn harness on my person, and
carried pistols at my saddle; fsdn to lay aside the softness of a woman,
and the dignity of a Queen, that I might show an example t6 my
followers]"

'^ We grant, madam," said lindesay, ''that the affi»,ys occasioned
by your misgovemment may sometimes have startled you in the
midst of a masque or galliard; or it may be that such may have
interrupted the idolatry of the mass, or the Jesuitical ooimsels of some
French ambassador. But the longest and severest journey which
your Grace has taken in my memory, was from Hawick to Hermitage
Castle; and whether it was for the weal of the State, or for your own
honour, rests with your Grace's conscience."

The Queen turned to him with inexpressible sweetness of tone and
manner, and that engaging look which Heaven had assigned her, as
if to show that the choicest arts to win men's affections may be given
in vain. " Lindesay," she said, ''you spoke not to me in this stem
tone, and with such scurril taunt, yon fair summer evening, when
you and I shot at the butts against the Earl of Mar and Maiy
Livingstone, and won of them the evening's collation, in the privy
garden of Saint Andrews. The Master of Lindesay was then my
friend, and vowed to be n^ soldier. How I have offended the Lord
of Lindesay, I know not, unless honours have changed manners."

Hardhearted as he was, Lindesay seemed struck with this unex-
pected appeal, but almost instantly replied, "Madam, it is well
known that your Grace could in those days make fools of whom-
ever approached you. I pretend not to have been wiser than others.
But gayer men and better courtiers soon jostled aside my rude hom-
age, and I think your Grace cannot but remember times, when my
awkward attempts to take the manners that pleased you, were the
sport of the court-popinjays, the Marys and the French-women."

" My lord, I grieve if I have offended you through idle gaiety,"
said the Queen; "and can but say it was most unwittingly done.
You are fully revenged ; for through gaiety," she said with a sigh,
" will I never offend any one more."

" Our time is wasting, madam," said Lord Buthven; " I must pray
your decision on this weighty matter which I have submitted to
you."

" What, my lord I" said the Queen, " upon the instant, and witiioat
a moment's time to deliberate ? Can the Coundli as they term them-
sdvea, expect this of mel"

THE ABBOT. 225

^'Madam,** replied Buthven, ''the Council hold the opinion, that
since the fatal term which passed betwixt the night of King Henry's
murder and the day of Carberry-hill, your Grace should have held
you prepared for l^e measure now proposed, as the easiest escape
from your numerous dangers and difficulties.''

** Great God \" exclaimed the Queen ; " and is it as a boon that you
propose to me, what every Christian king ought to regard as a loss
of honour equal to the loss of life ! You take from me my crown,
my power, my subjects, my wealth, my state. What, in the name
of every saint, can you o£fer, or do you o£fer, in requital of my com-
pliance?"

"We give you pardon," answered Buthven, sternly-^" we give
you space and means to spend your remaining life in penitence and
seclusion — ^we give you time to make your peace with Heaven, and
to receive the pure Gx)spel, which you have ever rejected and per-
secuted."

The Queen turned pale at the menace which this speech, as well
as the rough and inflexible tones of the speaker, seemed distinctly
to infer — "And if I do not comply with your request so fiercely
urged, my lord, what then follows 1"

She said this in a voice in which female and natural fear was con-
tending with the feelings of insulted dignity. — There was a pause,
as if no one cared to return to the question a distinct answer. At
length Buthven spoke: "There is little need to tell to your Grace,
who are well read both in the laws and in the chronicles of the realm,
that murder and adultery are crimes for which ere now queens them-
selves have suffered death."

" And where, my lord, or how, found you an accusation so horrible,
against her who stands before youl" said Queen Mary. "The foul
and odious calumnies which have poisoned the general mind of Scot-
land, and have placed me a helpless prisoner in your hands, are surely
no proof of guilt 1"

"We need look for no further proof," replied the stem Lord
Buthven, " than the shameless marriage betwixt the widow of the
murdered and the leader of the band of murderers! — ^They that
joined hands in the fated month of May, had already united hearts
and counsel in the deed which preceded that marriage but a few brief
weeks."

"My lord, my lord!" said the Queen, eagerly, "remember well
there were more consents than mine to that fatal union, that most
unhappy act of a most unhappy life. The evil steps adopted by
sovereigns are often the suggestion of bad counsellors; but these
counsellors are worse than fiends who tempt and betc^.^, \1 ^^i

226 THE ABBOT.

themselves are the first to call their unfortunate princes to answer
for the consequences of their own advioe. — ^Heard ye never of a bond
by the nobles^ my lords, recommending that ill-&tted union to the
ill-fated Mary? Methinks, were it carefully examined, we should
see that the names of Morton, and of lindesay, and of Buthven, may
be found in that bond, which pressed me to marry that unhappy
man. — ^Ah ! stout and loyal Lord Herries, who never knew guile or
dishonour, you bent your noble knee to me in vain, to warn me of
my danger, and wert yet the first to draw thy good sword in my
cause when I suffered for neglecting thy counsel ! Faithful kni^t
and true noble, what a difference betwixt thee and those couimellori
of evil, who now threaten my life for having fedlen into the snares
they spread for me l"

" Madam,*^ said Buthven, ''we know that you are an oratcnr; and
perhaps for that reason the Council has sent hither men, whose con-
verse hath been more with the wars, than with the language of the
schools or the cabals of state. We but desire to know if, on assur-
ance of life and honour, ye will demit the rule of this kingdom of
Scotland?"

''And what warrant have I," said the Queen, "that ye will keep
treaty with me, if I should barter my kingly estate for seclusion, and
leave to weep in secret?"

" Our honour and our word, madam," answered Buthven.

" They are too slight and imsolid pledges, my lord," said the Queen;
"add at least a handful of thistle-down to give them weight in the
balance."

" Away, Buthven," said landesay ; "she was ever deaf to counsel,
save of slaves and sycophants; let her remain by her refusal, and
abide by it!"

" Stay, my lord," said Sir Bobert Melville, " or rather permit me
to have but a few minutes' private audience with her Grace. If my
presence with you could avMl ought, it must be as a mediator— do
not, I conjure you, leave the castle, or break off the conference, until
I bring you word how her Grace shall finally stand disposed."

"We will remain in the hall," said Lindesay, "for half an houz^s
space; but in despising our words and our pledge of honour, she has
touched the honour of my name — let her look herseK to the course
she has to pursue. If the half hour should pass away without her
determining to comply with the demands of the nation, her career
will be brief enough."

With little ceremony the two nobles left the apartment, t r a v era ed
the vestibule, and descended the winding stairs, the dash of Linde-
Baya huge sword being heard as it rang against each stop in hk

THE ABBOT. 8S7

descent. George Douglas followed them, after exchanging with
Melville a gesture of surprise and fif3rmpathy.

As soon as they were gone, the Queen, giving way to grief, fear,
and agitation, threw herself into the seat, wrung her hands, and
seemed to abandon herself to despair. Her female attendants, weep-
ing themselves, endeavoured yet to pray her to be composed, and
Sir Bobert Melville, kneeling at her feet, made the same entreaty.
After giving way to a passionate burst of sorrow, she at length said
to Melville, "Kneel not to me, Melville — ^mock me not with the
homage of the person, when the heart is far away — ^Why stay you
behind with the deposed, the condemned? her who has but few
hours perchance to live ? Tou have been favoured as well as the
rest; why do you continue the empty show ef gratitude and thank-
fulness any longer than they?"

" Madam," said Sir Bobert Melville, "so help me Heaven at my
need, my heart is as true to you as when you were in your highest
place."

" True to me i true to me ! " repeated tibe Queen with some scorn ;
" tush, Melville, what signifies the truth which walks hand in hand
with my enemies' falsehood? — ^thy hand and thy sword have never
been so well acquainted that I can trust thee in aught where man-
hood is required — O, Seyton, for thy bold father, who is both wise,
true, and valiant ! "

Boland Graeme could withstand no longer his earnest desire to o£fer
his services to a princess so distressed and so beautiful. " If one
sword," he said, " madam, can do anything to back the wisdom of
this grave counsellor, or to defend your rightful cause, here is my
weapon, and here is my hand ready to draw and use it." And raising
his sword with one hand, he laid the other upon the hilt.

Ab he thus held up the weapon, Catherine Seyton exclaimed,
"Methinks I see a token from my father, madam;" and immediately
crossing the apartment, she took Boland Graeme by the skirt of the
doak, and asked him earnestly whence he had that sword.

The page answered with surprise, " Methinks this is no presence
in which to jest — Surely, damsel, you yourself best know whence and
how I obtained the weapon."

" Is this a time for foUy ? " said Catherine Seyton ; "unsheathe the
sword instantly ! "

" If the Queen commands me," said the youth, looking towards his
royal mistress.

"^For shame, maiden ! " said the Queen ; " wouldst thou instigate
the poor boy to enter into useless strife with the two most approved
•oldien in Scotland ? *

2S8 THE ABBOT.

^ In your Grace's cause,'' replied the page, ^I will Yentore my life
upon them?" And as he spoke, he drew his weapon partly from
the sheath, and a piece of parchment^ rolled around the blade, fell
out and dropped on the floor. Catherine Seyton caught it up with
eager haste.

" It is my father's handwriting,'' she said, ^and doubtless conveys
his best duteous advice to your Majesty ; I Imow that it waa prepared
to be sent in this weapon, but I expected another messenger."

'* By my faith, fair one," thought Boland, ^and if you knew not
that I had such a secret missive about me, I was yet more ignoranf

The Queen cast her eye upon the scroll, and remained a few
minutes wrapped in deep thought ^ Sir Bobert Melville," she at
leogth said, '^ this scroll advises me to submit myself to necessity,
and to subscribe the deeds these hard men have brought with them,
as one who gives way to the natural fear iospired by the threats of
rebels and murderers. You, Sir Bobert, are a wise man, and Seyton
is both sagacious and brave. Neither, I think, would mislead me
in this matter."

''Madam," said Melville, ''if I have not the strength of body of
the Lord Herries or Seyton, I will yield to neither in zeal for your
Majesty's service. I cannot fight for you like these lords, but neither
of them is more willing to die for your service."

"I believe it, my old and faithful counsellor," said the Queen,
"and believe me, Melville, I did thee but a moment's injustice.
Bead what my Lord Seyton hath written to us, and give us thy best
counsel."

He glanced over the parchment, and instantly replied, — " O ! my
dear and royal mistress, only treason itself could give you other
advice than Lord Seyton has here expressed. He, Herries, Huntly,
the English ambassador Throgmorton, and others, your friends, are
all alike of opinion, that whatever deeds or instruments you execute
within these walls, must lose all force and effect, as extorted from
your Grace by duresse, by sufferance of present evO, and fear of
men, and harm to ensue on your refusal Yield, therefore, to the
tide, and be assured, that in subscribing what parchments they
present to you, you bind yourself to nothing, since your act of
signature wants tiiat which alone can make it valid, the free will of
the granter."

"Ay, so says my Lord Seyton," replied Mary; "yet methinks for
the daaghter of so long a line of sovereigns to resign her birthright^
because rebels press upon her with threats, argues little of royalty,
and will read ill for the fame of Mary in future chronides. Tush!
Sir Bobert Melville, the traitors may use black threats and bold

THE ABBOT. 229

words^ but they will not dare to pat their hands forth on our
person?''

'' Alas ! madam, they have already dared so far, and incurred such
peril by the lengths they have gone, that they are but one step from
the worst and uttermost."

*^ Surely/' said the Queen, her fears again predominating, ^* Scottish
nobles would not lend themselves to assassinate a helpless woman ? "

'^ Bethink you, madam," he replied, *^ what horrid spectacles have
been seen in our day; and what act is so dark, that some Scottish
hand has not been found to dare it ? Lord Lindesay, besides his
natural sullenness and hardness of temper, is the near kinsman of
Henry Damley, and Buthven has his own deep and dangerous plans.
The Council, besides, speak of proofs by writ and word, of a casket
with letters — of I know not what."

'' Ah ! good Melville," answered the Queen, ''were I as sure of the
evenhanded integrity of my judges, as of my own innocence — and
yet"—

''O! pause, madam," said Melville; ''even innocence must sometimes
for a season stoop to injurious blame. Besides, you are here"

He looked round, and paused.

" Speak out, Melville," said the Queen, "never one approached my
person who wished to work me evil ; and even this poor page,
whom I have to-day seen for the first time in my life, I can trust
safely with your communication."

"Nay, madam," answered Melville, "in such emergence, and he
being the bearer of Lord Seyton's message, I will venture to say
before him and these fair ladies, whose truth and fidelity I dispute
not — I say I will venture to say, that there are other modes besides
that of open trial, by which deposed sovereigns often die ; and that,
as Machiavel saitb, there is but one step betwixt a king's prison and
his grave."

" Oh ! were it but swift and easy for the body," said the unfortu-
nate Princess, " were it but a safe and happy change for the soul,
the woman lives not that would take the step so soon as I ! — ^But,
alas ! Melville, when we think of death, a thousand sins, which we
have trod as worms beneath our feet, rise up against us as flaming
serpents. Most injuriously do they accuse me of aiding Damley's
death; yet, blessed Lady! I afforded too open occasion for the
suspicion — I espoused Bothwell."

" Think not of that now, madam," said Melville, " think rather of
the immediate mode of saving yourseK and son. Comply with the
present unreasonable demands, and trust that better times will
shortly arrive."

S30 THE ABBOT.

''Madam," said Boland Gr»me, ''if it pleafles you that I ahonld
do so, I will presently swim through the lake, if they refuse me
other conveyanoe to the shore ; I will go to the courts saccesaiyely of
England, IVanee, and Spain, and will show you have subscribed
these vile instruments from no stronger impulse than the fear of
death, and I will do battle against them that say otherwise.''

The Queen turned her round, and with one of those sweet smiles
which during the era of life's romance, overpay every risk, held her
hand towards Boland, but without speaking a word. He kneeled
reverently, and kissed it, and Melville again resumed his plea.

"Madam," he said, " time presses, and you must not let those boats,
which I see they are even now preparing, put forth on the lake.
Here are enough of witnesses — ^your ladies — ^this bold youth — ^myself,
when it can serve your cause effectually, for I would not hastily
stand committed in this matter — ^but even without me here is evi-
dence enough to show, that you have yielded to the demands of the
Council through force and fear, but from no sincere and unconstrained
assent. Their boats are already manned for the return — oh ! permit
your old servant to recall them !"

" Melville," said the Queen, " thou art an ancient courtier — ^when
didst thou ever know a Sovereign Prince recall to his presence
subjects, who had parted from him on such terms as those on which
these envoys of the Council left us, and who yet were recalled with-
out submission or apology? — ^Let it cost me both life and crown, x
will not again command them to my presence."

" Alas ! madam, that empty form should make a barrier ! If I
rightly understand, you are not unwilling to listen to real and
advantageous counsel — but your scruple is saved — I hear them return-
ing to ask your final resolution. — O ! take the advice of the noble
Seyton, and you may once more command those who now usurp a
triumph over you. But hush ! I hear them in the vestibule."

As he concluded speaking, Greorge Douglas opened the door of the
apartment, and marshalled in the two noble envoys.

"We come, madam," said the Lord Buthven, "to request your
answer to the proposal of the CounciL"

"Your final answer," said Lord Lindesay; "for with a refusal
you must couple the certainty that you have precipitated your fate,
and renounced the last opportunity of making peace with Gk)d, and
ensuring your longer abode in the world."

" My lords," said Mary, with inexpressible grace and dignity, "the
evils we cannot resist we must submit to — I will subacribe thsM
parchments with such liberty of choice aa my condition permits me.
Were I on yonder shore, with a fleet jennet and ten good and loysl

THE ABBOT. 231

knights aroimd me, I would subsoribe my sentence of eternal con-
demnation as soon as the resignation of my throne. But here, in the
castle of Lochleven, with deep water around me — and you, my lords,
beside me, — I have no freedom of choice. — Give me the pen,
Melville, and bear witness to what I do, and why I do it."

'^ It is our hope your Grace will not suppose yourself compelled,
by any apprehensions from us,** said the Lord Buthven, ** to execute
what must be your own voluntary deed."

The Queen had already stooped towards the table, and placed the
parchment before her, with the pen between her fingers, ready for
the important act of signature. But when Lord Buthven had done
speaking, she looked up, stopped short, and threw down the pen.
*^ If," she said, ^* 1 am expected to declare I give away my crown of
free will, or otherwise than because I am compelled to renounce it
by the threat of worse evils to myself and my subjects, I will not
put my name to such an untruth — not to gain full possession of Eng-
land, France, and Scotland ! — all once my own, in possession, or by
right."

''Beware, madam," said lindesay, and snatching hold of the Queen's
arm, with his own gauntleted hand, he pressed it, in the rudeness of
his passion, more closely, perhaps, than he was himself aware of, —
'' beware how you contend with those who are the stronger, and have
the mastery of your fate !"

He held his grasp on her arm, bending his eyes on her with a stem
and intimidating look, till both Buthven and Melville cried shame 1
and Douglas, who had hitherto remained in a state of apparent apathy,
had made a stride from the door, as if to interfere. The rude Baron
then quitted his hold, disguising the confusion which he really felt
at having indulged his passion to such extent, under a sullen and
contemptuous smile.

The Queen immediately began, with an expression of pain, to bare
the arm which he had grasped, by drawing up the sleeve of her gown,
and it appeared that his gripe had left the purple marks of his iron
fingers upon her flesh — " My lord," she said, " as a knight and gentle-
man, you might have spared my frail arm so severe a proof that you
have the greater strength on your side, and are resolved to use it —
But I thank you for it — ^it is the most decisive token of the terms
on which this day's business is to rest. — I draw you to witness, both
lords and ladies," she said, showing the marks of the grasp on her
arm, '' that I subscribe these instruments in obedience to the sign
man u al of my Lord of Lindesay, which you may see imprinted on
mine arm."*

Lindesay would have spoken, but was restrained by his colleag;ue

Sn THE ABBOT.

KTititven, who said to tiim, " Peace, 1117' lord. Let the Lad^ Uarj
of Sootland ascribe her Bignature to what ebe will, it is oar bnBuien
to procnre it, and can; it to the CotmcdL Should Uiere be debate
hereafter on the maimer in which it was adhibited, there wiU be time
eDongh for it."

liindesa; was silent accordingly, only muttering within hia beard,
" I meant not to hurt her; but I think women's fleeh be as tender as
new-fallen snow."

The Queen meanwhile sabscribed the roUa of parchment with a
has^ indifference, as if the; had been matters of slight consequence,
or of mere formality.
Wben she had perfor-
med thin painful taak,
she arose, and, having
curtded to the lord^
was abont to withdraw
to her chamber. Buth-
ven and Sir Bobert
Melville made, the fint
a f onnal reverence, the

in which lus deeire to
acknowledge his sym-
pathy was obviouflly
checked by the fear of
appearing in the eyea
of his colleagnes too
partial to hia fonner
mistreBS. ButLindesay
stood motionleBs, even
when they were prepar-
ing to withdraw. At
length, as if moved hy
a sudden impnlse, he
walked round the table which had hitherto been betwixt them and
the Queen, kneeled on one knee, took her hand, kissed it, let it fall,
itnd arose — "I^y," he said, "thon art a noble creators, even though
thou hast abused God's choicest gifla. I pay that devotion to thy
manliness of spirit, which I would not have paid to the power thon
hast long undeservedly wielded — I kneel to Msiy Stewart, not to the
Queen."

"The Queen and Mary Stewart pity thee alike, Lindeoay," said
Mary — "alike they pit^, and they forgive thee. An hongnnd

THE ABBOT. 233

soldier hadsfc thou been by a king's side — leagued with rebels, what
art thou but a good blade in the hands of a ruffian? — ^Farewell, my
Lord Buthven, the smoother but the deeper traitor. — Farewell,
Melville — ^Mayst thou find masters that can understaud state policy
better, and have the means to reward it more richly, than Mary
Stewart 1 — ^Farewell, G^rge of Douglas — ^make your respected grand-
dame comprehend that we would be alone for the remainder of the
day — Ckxi wot, we have need to collect our thoughts."

All bowed and withdrew ; but scarce had they entered the vesti-
bule, ere Buthven and Lindesay were at variance. ** Chide not with
me, Buthven," Lindesay was heard to say in answer to something
more indistinctly uiged by his colleague — " Chide not with me, for I
will not brook it! You put the hangman's office on me in this
matter, and even the very hangman hath leave to ask some pardon
of those on whom he does his office. I would I had as deep cause to
be this lady's friend as I have to be her enemy — thou shouldst see
i£ I spared limb and life in her quarrel."

'' Thou art a sweet minion," said Buthven, ^' to fight a lady's quarrel,
and all for a brent brow and a tear in the eye ! Such toys have been
out of thy thoughts this many a year."

" Do me right, Buthven," said Lindesay. " You are like a polished
corslet of steel; it shines more gaudily, but it is not a whit softer —
nay, it is five times harder than a Glasgow breastplate of hammered
iron. Enough. We know each other."

They descended the stairs, were heard to summon their boats, and
the Queen signed to Boland Graeme to retire to the vestibule, and
leave her with her female attendants.

CHAPTEB XXIII.

Give me a morsel on the greensward rather,

Coarse as you will the cooking — ^Let the fresh spring

Bubble beside my napkin — and the free birds

Twittering and chirping, hop from bough to bough,

To claim the erombs I leave for perquisites —

Your prison feasts I like not.

The Woodsmarif a Drama.

A RECESS in the vestibule was enlightened by a small window, at
which Boland Graeme stationed himself to mark the departure of
the lords. He could see their followers mustering on horseback
under their respective banners — ^the western sun glancing on their
corslets and steel caps as they moved to and fro, mounted or dis-

234 THE ABBOT.

moonted, at intervalfl. On the narrow space betwixt the oastle and
the water, the Lords Buthven and Idndesay were already moTing
slowly to their boats, accompanied by the Lady of Lochleven, her
grandson, and their principal attendants. They took a ceremonious
leave of each other, as Boland could discern by their gestures, and
the boats put off from their landing-place; the boatmen stretched to
their oars, and they speedily diminished upon the eye of the idle
gazer, who had no better employment than to watch their motions.
Such seemed also the occupation of the Lady Lochleven and George
Douglas, who, returning from the landing-place, looked frequently
back to the boats, and at length stopped, as if to observe their pro-
gress, under the window at which Boland Grseme was stationed. —
As they gazed on the lake, he could hear the lady distinctly say,
'' And she has bent her mind to save her life at the expense of her
kingdom?"

''Her life, madam!" replied her son; ''I know not who would
dare to attempt it in the castle of my father. Had I dreamt that it
was with such purpose that Lindesay insisted in bringing his followers
hither, neither he nor they should have passed the iron gate of Loch-
leven Castle."

'' I speak not of private slaughter, my son, but of open trial, con-
demnation, and execution ; for with such she has been threatened,
and to such threats she has given way. Had she not more of the
false Guisian blood than of the royal race of Scotland in her veina^
she had bidden them defiance to their teeth — ^But it is all of the same
complexion, and meanness is the natural companion of profligacy. —
I am discharged, forsooth, from intruding on her gracious presence
this evening. Gk) thou, my son, and render the usual service of the
meal to this unqueened Queen."

" So please you, lady mother," said Douglas, " I care not greatly
to approach her presence."

"Thou art right, my son; and therefore I trust thy prudence, even
because I have noted thy caution. She is like an isle on the ocean,
surrounded with shelves and quicksands; its verdure fair and inviting
to the eye, but the wreck of many a goodly vessel which hath
approached it too rashly. But for thee, my son, I fear nought; and
we may not, with our honour, suffer her to eat without the
attendance of one of us. She may die by the judgment of Heaven,
or the fiend may have power over her in her despair; and then we
would be touched in honour to show, that in our house, and at our
table, she had had all fair play and fitting usage."

Here Boland was interrupted by a smart tap on the ahoiild€t%
reminding him sharply of Adam Woodcocks adventure ol the pre*

THI ABBOT. S3fi

oediiig srening. He tniiwd roond, almost ezpectmg to *ae the page
(£ Sunt Michael's hoetelrj. He nw, indeed, Catherine 8«yUm ; but
she was in female attire, difiering, no doubt, a great deal in ohape
and materiak from that which aha had worn when they first met,
and becoming her birth as the daughter of a great banm, and her
rank as the attendant on a princess. "So, fair page," said she,
" eaveiMlropping is one of your page-like qualities, I presume T"

" Fair sister," answered Boland, in the some tone, "if some friends
(^ mine be as well acquainted with the rest of our mystery as they
are with the arts oF swearing, swaggering, and swit«hing, they need
uk no page in Christendom for faxther insight into his TOCatioD."

" Unless that pretty speech infer that you have yourself had the
discipline of the switch since we last met, the probability whereof I
nothing doubt, I profess, fair page, I am at a loss to conjecture your
meaning. But there is no time to debate it now — they come with
tiie evening meaL Be pleased. Sir Page, to do your duty."

Four servants entered bearing dishes, preceded by the same stem
old steward whom Boland had already seen, and followed by George
Douglas, already mentioned as tlie grandson of the Lady of Locbleren,
and who, aotiug as seneachal, represented, upon this occasion, his
father, the Lord of (he Castle. He entered with his anns folded on

236 THE ABBOT.

bis bosom, and his looks bent on the gronnd. Witib tibe assistance
of Boland Graeme, a table was suitably covered in the next or middle
apartment, on which the domestics placed their hardens with great
reverence, the steward and Douglas bending low when they had seen
the table properly adorned, as if their royal prisoner had sat at the
board in question. The door opened, and Douglas, raising his eyes
hastily, cast them again on the earth, when he perceived it was only
the Lady Mary Fleming who entered.

" Her Grace,^ she said, " will not eat to-night."

''Let us hope she may be otherwise persuaded^" said Douglas;
''meanwhile, madam, please to see our duty performed."

A servant presented bread and salt on a silver plate, and the old
steward carved for Douglas a small morsel in succession from each
of the dishes presented, which he tasted, as was then the custom at
the tables of princes, to which death was often suspected to find its
way in the disguise of food.

" The Queen will not then come forth to-night ?".said Douglas.

" She has so determined," replied the lady.

"Our farther attendance then is unnecessaiy — ^we leave you to
your supper, fair ladies, and wish you good-even." '

He retired slowly as he came, and with the same air of deep
dejection, and was followed by the attendants belonging to the
castle. The two ladies sate down to their meal, and Boland Graeme,
with ready alacrity, prepared to wait upon them. Catherine Seyton
whispered to her companion, who replied with the question, spoken
in a low tone, but looking at the page, — " Is he of gentle blood and
well nurtured 1"

The answer which she received seemed satisfactory, for she said
to Boland, " Sit down, young gentleman, and eat with your sisters
in captivity."

" Permit me rather to perform my duty in attending Ihem," said
Boland, anxious to show he was possessed of the high tone of defer-
ence prescribed by the rules of chivalry towards the fair sex, and
especially to dames and maidensr of quality.

"You will find. Sir Page," said Catherine, "you will have little
time allowed you for jour meal; waste it not in ceremony, or you
may rue your poHteness ere to-morrow morning."

"Your speech is too free, maiden," said the elder lady; "the
modesty of the youth may teach you more fitting fashions towards
one whom to-day you have seen for the first time."

Catherine Seyton cast down her eyes, but not till she had given
a single glance of inexpressible archness towards Boland, whom her
more grave companion now addressed in a tone of protection.

THE ABBOT. 237

" Begard her not, young gentleman — she knows little of the world,
save the forms of a country nunnery — take thy place at the board-
end, and refresh thyself after thy journey.**

Boland Grseme obeyed willingly, as it was the first food he had that
day tasted; for lindesay and his followers seemed regardless of
human wants. Yet, notwithstanding the sharpness of his appetite,
a natural gallantry of disposition, the desire of showing himseK a
well-nurtured gentleman in all courtesies towards the fair sex, aad,
for aught I know, the pleasure of assisting Catherine Seyton, kept
his attention awake, during the meal, to all those nameless acts of
duty and service which gallants of that age were accustomed to
render. He carved with neatness and decorum, and selected duly
whatever was most delicate to place before the ladies. Ere they
could form a wish, he sprung from the table, ready to comply with
it — poured wine — tempered it with water — ^removed and exchanged
trenchers, and performed the whole honours of the table, with an air
at once of cheerful diligence, profound respect, and graceful prompti-
tude.

When he observed that they had finished eating, he hastened to
offer to the elder lady the silver ewer, basin, and napkin, with the
ceremony and gravity which he would have used towards Mary her-
self. He next, with the same decorum, having supplied the basin
with fair water, presented it to Catherine Seyton. Apparently, she
was determined to disturb his seK-possession, if possible; for while
in the act of bathing her hands, she contrived, as it were by accidents
to flirt some drops of water upon the face of the assiduous assistant.
But if such was her mischievous purpose she was completely dis-
appointed ; for Boland Graeme, internally piquing himself on his self-
command, neither laughed nor was discomposed; and all that the
maiden gained by her froHc was a severe rebuke from her companioo,
taxing her with mal-address and indecorum. Catherine replied not^
but sat pouting, something in the humour of a spoilt child, who
watches the opportunity of wreaking upon some one or other its
resentment for a deserved reprimand.

The Lady Mary Meming, in the meanwhile, was naturally well
pleased with the exact and reverent observance of the page, and said
to Catherine, after a favourable glance at Boland Graeme, — " You
might well say, Catherine, our companion in captivity was well bom
and gently nurtured. I would not make him vain by my praise, but
his services enable us to dispense with those which George Douglas>
condescends not to afford us, save when the Queen is herself in pre-
sence.''

^'Umph ! I think hardly," answered Catherine. ''George Douglaa

238 THE ABBOT.

is one of the most handsome gallants in Scotland, and 'tis pleasure
to see him even still, when the gloom of Lochleven Castle has shed
the same melancholy over him that it has done over everything else.
When he was at Holyrood, who would have said the young sprightly
Greorge Douglas would have been contented to play the locksman
here in Lochleyen, with no gayer amusement than that of turning
the key on two or three helpless women I — a strange office for a
Knight of the Bleeding Heart — ^why does he not leave it to his faUier
or his brothers 1"

'' Perhaps, like us, he has no choice,^ answered the Lady Fleming.
^' But, Catherine, thou hast used thy brief space at court well, to re-
member what George Douglas was then.^

^ ^' I used mine eyes, which I suppose was what I was designed to
do, and they were worth using there. When I was at the nunneiy,
they were very useless appurtenances ; and now I am at Lochleven,
they are good for nothing, save to look over that eternal work ci
embroidery."

'^Tou speak thus, when you have been but a few brief hours
amongst us — ^was this the maiden who would live and die in a
dungeon, might she but have permission to wait on her gradous
Queen?"

** Nay, if you chide in earnest, my jest is ended," said Catherine
Seyton. " I would not yield in attachment to my poor god-mother,
to the gravest dame that ever had wise saws upon her tongue, and a
double-starched ruff around her throat — ^you know I would not,
Dame Mary Fleming, and it is putting shame on me to say other-
wise."

''She will challenge the other court lady," thought Boland Graeme;
'' she will to a certainty fling down her glove, and if Dame Maiy
Fleming hath but the soul to lift it, we may have a combat in the
lists !" — but the answer of Lady Mary Fleming was such as turns
away wrath.

''Thou art a good child," she said, "my Catherine, and a faithful;
but Heaven pity him who shall have one day a creature so beautiful
to delight him, and a thing so mischievous to torment hitn — ^thou
art fit to drive twenty husbands stark mad."

"Nay," said Catherine, resuming the full career of her careless
good-humour, " he must be half-witted beforehand, that gives me
such an opportunity. But I am glad you are not angiy with me in
sincerity," casting herself as she spoke into the arms of her friend, and
continuing, with a tone of apologetic fondness, while she kissed her
on either side of the face; "you know, my dear Flemings that I
have to contend with both my father's lofty pride, and with my

THE ABBOT. S39

mother'fl high spirit — €k>d bleas them 1 they have left me these good
qualities, having small portion to give besides, as times go — and so
I am wilful and saucy ; but let me remain only a week in this castle,
and O, my dear Fleming, my spirit will be as chastised and as
htimble as thine own."

Dame Mary Fleming's sense of dignity, and love of form, could not
resist this affectionate appeaL She kissed Catherine Seyton in her
turn affectionately ; while, answering the last part of her speech, she
said, '' Kow, Our Lady forbid, dear Catherine, that you should lose
ought that is beseeming of what becomes so well your light heart
and lively humour. Keep but your sharp wit on this side of mad-
ness, and it cannot but be a blessing to us. But let me go, mad
wench — I hear her Grace touch her silver call." And, extricating
herself from Catherine's grasp, she went towards the door of Queen
Mary's apartment, from which was heard the low tone of a silver
whistle, which, now only used by the boatswains in the navy, was
then, for want of bells, the ordinary mode by which ladies, even of
the very highest rank, summoned their domestics. When she had
made two or three steps towards the door, however, she turned back,
and advancing to the young couple whom she left together, she said,
in a very serious though a low tone, ''I trust it is impossible
that we^i, any of lis, or in any drcmUmces, forget, thatfTw ao
we are, we form the household of the Queen of Scotland; and
that, in her calamity, all boyish mirth and childish jesting can only
Benre to give a great triumph to her enemies, who have already
found their account in objecting to her the lightness of every idle
folly, that the young and the gay practised in her court." So saying^
she left the apartment.

Catherine Seyton seemed much struck with this remonstrance —
She suffered herself to drop into the seat which she had qxiitted
when she went to embrace Dame Mary Fleming, and for some time
rested her brow upon her hands; while Boland Greeme looked at
her earnestly, with a mixture of emotions which perhaps he himself
could neither have analyzed nor explained. As she raised her face
slowly from the posture to which a momentary feeling of self-rebuke
had depressed it, her eyes encountered those of Boland, and became
gradu£Jly animated with their usual spirit of malicious drollery,
which not unnaturally excited a similar expression in those of the
equally volatQe page. They sat for the space of two minutes, each
looking at the other with great seriousness on their features, and
much mirth in Uieir eyes, until at length Catherine was the first to
break silence.

*^ May I pray you, fair sir," she began very demurely^ ^* to tA^UL xsi^

240 THE ABBOT.

what you see in my face to arouse looks so extremely sagadoiis and
knowing as those with which it is your worship's pleasure to honour
me? It would seem as there were some wonderful confidence and
intimacy betwixt us, fair sir, if one is to judge from your extreme)^
cunning looks; and so help me, Our Lady, as I never saw you but
twice in my life before."

<<And where were those happy occasions,'' said Boland, ''if I may
be bold enough to ask the question?"

" At the nunnery of St. Catherine's," said the damsel, '' in the
first instance; and, in the second, during five minutes of a certain
raid or foray which it was your pleasure to make into the lodging of
my lord and father. Lord Seyton, from which, to my surprise, as
probably to your own, you returned with a token of friendship and
favour, instead of broken bones, which were the more probaUe
reward of your intrusion, considering the prompt ire of the house of
Seyton. I am deeply mortified," she added, ironically, '' that your
recoUection should require refreshment on a subject so important;
and that my memory should be stronger than yours on such an
occasion, is truly humiliating."

''Tour own memory is not so exactly correct, fair mistress,"
answered the page, " seeing you have forgotten meeting the third,
in the hostelry of Saint Michael's, when it pleased you to lay your
switch across the face of my comrade, in order, I warrant, to show
that, in the house of Seyton, neither the prompt ire of its descendants,
nor the use of the doublet and hose, are subject to Salique law,
or confined to the use of the males."

" Fair sir," answered Catherine, looking at him with great steadi-
ness, and some surprise, " unless your fair wits have forsaken you, I
am at a loss what to conjecture of your meaning."

"By my troth, fair mistress," answered Boland, "and were I as
wise a warlock as Michael Scott, I could scarce riddle the dream you
read me. Did I not see you last night in the hostelry of Saint
Michael's? — Did you not bring me this sword, with command not to
draw it, save at tiie command of my native and rightful Sovereign!
And have I not done as you required me? Or is the sword a piece
of lath — ^my word a bulrush — ^my memory a dream — and my eyes good
for nought — espials which corbies might pick out of my head? "

" And if your eyes serve you not more truly on other occasioiifl
than in your vision of Saint Michael," said Catherine, " I know Jtat,
the pain apart, that the corbies would do you any great injury in the
deprivation — ^But hark, the bell — ^hush, for God's sake, we are inter-
rupted."

The damsel was right; for no sooner had the dull toll of the

THE ABBOT. 241

castle bell begun to resound through the yaulted apartment, than the
door of the vestibule flew open, and the steward, with his severe
countenance, his gold chain, and his white rod, entered the apart-
ment) followed by the same train of domestics who had placed the
dinner on the table, and who now, with the same ceremonious
formality, began to remove it.

The steward remained motionless as some old picture, while the
domestics did their office; and when it was accomplished, every-
thing removed from the table, and the board itself taken from its
tressels and disposed against the wall, he said aloud, without
addressing any one in particular, and somewhat in the tone of a
herald reading a proclamation, ''My noble Lady, Dame Mai^garet
Erskine, by marriage Douglas, lets the Lady Mary of Scotland and
her attendants to wit, that a servant of the true evangele, her reverend
chaplain, wiU to-night, as usual, expound, lecture, and catechise, ac-
cording to the forms of the congregation of gospellers."

"Hark you, my friend, Mr. Dryfesdale," said Catherine, "I
understand this announcement is a nightly form of yours. Now, I
pray you to remark, that the Lady Fleming and I — for I trust your
insolent invitation concerns us only — have chosen Saint Peter's
pathway to heaven, so I see no one whom your godly exhortation,
catechise, or lecture, can benefit, excepting this poor page, who,
being in Satan's hand as well as youiself , had better worship with
you than remain to cumber our better-advised devotions.''

The page was well-nigh giving a round denial to the assertions
which thiB speech impUed, when, remembering what had passed
betwixt him and the Begent, and seeing Catherine's finger raised in
a monitory fashion, he felt himself, as on former occasions at the
Castle of Avenel, obliged to submit to the task of dissimulation, and
followed Dryfesdale down to the castle chapel^ where he assisted in
the devotions of the evening.

The chaplain was named Elias Henderson. He was a man in the
prime of life, and possessed of good natural parts, carefully improved
by the beet education which those times afforded. To these qualities
were added a faculty of close and terse reasoning ; and, at intervals,
a flow of happy illustration and natniral eloquence. The religious
faith of Boland Graeme, as we have already had opportunity to
observe, rested on no secure basis, but was entertained rather in
obedience to his grandmother's behests, and his secret desire to con-
tradict the chaplain of Avenel Castle, than from any fixed or steady
reliance which he placed on the Bomish creed. His ideas had been
of late considerably enlarged by the scenes he had passed through ;
and feeling that there was shame in not understanding sometlvixi<^Qi

242 THE ABBOT.

those political disputes betwixt the professors of the ancient and of
the F^ormed faith, he listened with more attention than it had
hitherto been in his nature to yield on such occasions, to an animated
discussion of some of the principal points of difference betwixt the
churches. So passed away the first day in the Castle of Lochleven ;
and those which followed it were, for some time, of a very mono-
tonous and uniform tenor.

CHAPTEE XXIV.

'Tie a weary life this

Vaults overhead, and grates and bars around me.

And my sad hours spent with as sad companions,

Whose thoughts are brooding o'er their own mischances,

Far, far too deeply to take part in mine.

2%e Woodsman.

The course of life to which Mary and her little retinue were
doomed, was in the last degree secluded and lonely, varied only as
the weather permitted or rendered impossible the Queen's usual
walk in the garden, or on the battlements. The greater part of the
morning she wrought with her ladies at those pieces of needlework,
many of which still remain proofs of her indefatigable application.
At such hours the page was permitted the freedom of the castle
and islet ; nay, he was sometimes invited to attend George Douglas
when he went a-sporting upon the lake, or on its margin; oppor-
tunities of diversion, which were only clouded by the remarkable
melancholy which always seemed to brood on that gentleman's brow,
and to mark his whole demeanour, — a sadness so profound, that
Boland never observed him to smile, or to speak any word uncon-
nected with the immediate object of their exercise.

The most pleasant part of Boland's day, was the occasional
space which he was permitted to pass in personal attendance on
the Queen and her ladies, together with the regular dinner-time,
which he always spent with Dame Mary Fleming and Catherine
Seyton. At these periods, he had frequent occasion to admire the
lively spirit and inventive imagination of the latter damsel, who
was unwearied in her contrivances to amuse her mistress, and to
banish, for a time at least, the melancholy which preyed on her
bosom. She danced, she sung, she recited tales of ancient and
moden^ times, with that heartfelt exertion of talent, of which the
pleasure lies not in the vanity of displaying it to others, but in the
enthusiastic consciousness that we possess it ourselves. And yet
these high accomplishments were mixed with an air of mttioHy

THE ABBOT. 243

and harebrained vivacity, which seemed rather to belong to some
village-maid, the coquette of the ring around the Maypole, than to
the high-bred descendant of an ancient baron. A touch of audacity,
altogether short of effrontery, and far less approaching to vulgarity,
gave as it were a wildness to all that she did; and Mary, while
defending her from some of the occasional censures of her grave
companion, compared her to a' trained singing-bird escaped from a
cage, which practises in all the luxuriance of freedom, and in full
possession of the greenwood bough, the airs which it had learned
during its earlier captivity.

The moments which the page was permitted to pass in the pre-
sence of this fascinating creature danced so rapidly away, that, brief
as they were, they compensated the weary dulness of all the rest of
the day. The space of indulgence, however, was always brief, nor
were any private interviews betwixt him and Catherine permitted,
or even possible. Whether it were some special precaution respect-
ing the Queen's household, or whether it were her general ideas of
propriety, Dame Fleming seemed particularly attentive to prevent
the young people from holding any separate correspondence together,
and bestowed, for Catherine's sole benefit in this matter, the full
stock of prudence and experience which she had acquired when
mother of the Queen's maidens of honour, and by which she had
gained their hearty hatred. Casual meetings, however, could not be
prevented, unless Catherine had been more desirous of shunning, or
Boland Grseme less anxious in watching for them. A smile, a gibe,
a sarcasm, disarmed of its severity by the arch look with which it
was accompanied, was all that time permitted to pass between them
on such occasions. But such passing interviews neither afforded
means nor opportunity to renew the discussion of the circumstances
attending their earlier acquaintance, nor to permit Boland to investi-
gate more accurately the mysterious apparition of the page in the
purple velvet cloak at the hostelry of St. Michael's.

The winter months slipped heavily away, and spring was already
advanced, when Boland Grseme observed a gradual change in the
manners of his fellow-prisoners. Having no business of his own to
attend to, and being, like those of his age, education, and degree,
sufficiently curious concerning what passed around, he began by
degrees to suspect, and finally to be convinced, that there was some-
thing in agitation among his companions in captivity, to which they
did not desire that he should be privy. Nay, he became almost
certain that, by some means unintelligible to him, Queen Mary held
coirespondence beyond the walls and waters which surrounded her
prison-house^ and that she nourished some secret hope of deliverance

244 THE ABBOT.

or escape. In the conyersations betwixt her and her attendants, at
which he was necessarily present, the Queen could not always avoid
showing that she was acquainted with the events which were passing
abroad in the world, and which he only heard through her report
He observed that she wrote more and worked less than had been
her former custom, and that, as if desirous to lull suspicion asleep,
she dianged her manner towards the Lady Lochleven into one more
gracious, and which seemed to express a resigned submission to her
lot. ^' They think I am blind," he said to himself, '' and that I am
tmfit to be trusted because I am so young, or it may be because I
was sent hither by the Eegent. Well ! — ^be it so — ^they may be ^lad
to confide in me in the long run; and Catherine Seyton, for as saucy
as she is, may find me as safe a confidant as that sullen Douglas,
whom she is always running after. It may be they are angry with
me for listening to Master Elias Henderson; but it was their own fault
for sending me there; and if the man speaks truth and good sense,
and preaches only the word of Qod, he is as likely to be right as
either Pope or Councils."

It is probable that in this last conjecture, Boland Graeme had hit
upon the real cause why the ladies had not intrusted him with their
counsels. He had of late had several conferences with Henderson
on the subject of religion, and had given him to understand that he
stood in need of his instructions, although he had not thought there
was either prudence or necessity for confessing that hitherto he had
held the tenets of the Church of Home.

Elias Henderson, a keen propagator of the reformed faith, had
sought the seclusion of Lochleven Castle, with the express purpose
and expectation of making converts from Home amongst the domes-
tics of the dethroned Queen, and confirming the faith of those who
already held the Protestant doctrines. Perhaps his hopes soared a
little higher, and he might nourish some expectation of a proselyte
more distinguished, in the person of the deposed Queen. But the
pertinacity with which she and her female attendants refused to see
or listen to him, rendered such hope, if he nourished it, altogether
abortive.

The opportunity, therefore, of enlarging the religious information
of EoJd Gneme, and bringing him to a more due sense of his
duties to Heaven, was hailed by the good man as a door opened by
Providence for the salvation of a sinner. He dreamed not, indeed,
that he was converting a Papist, but such was the ignorance whidi
Boland displayed upon some material points of the reformed doctrine,
that Master Henderson, while praising his docility to the Lady
Lochleven and her grandson, seldom hUed to add, that his veneraUe

THE ABBOT. 245

brother, Heniy Warden, must be now decayed in strength and in
mind, since he found a catechumen of his flock so ill-grounded in the
princq)les of his belief. For this, indeed, Boland Grseme thought it
was imnecessary to assign the true reason, which was his having
made it a point of honour to forget all that Henry Warden taught
him, as soon as he was no longer compelled to repeat it over as a
lesson acquired by rote. The lessons of his new instructor, if not
more impressively delivered, were received by a more willing ear,
and a more awakened understanding, and the solitude of Lochleven
Castle was favourable to graver thoughts than the page had hitherto
entertained. He wavered yet, indeed, as one who was almost per-
suaded; but his attention to the chaplain's instructions procured him
&vour even with the stem old dame herself ; and he was once or
twice, but under great precaution, permitted to go to the neighbour-
ing village of Kinross, situated on the mainland, to execute some
ordinary commission of his unfortunate mistress.

For some time Eoland Graeme might be considered as standing
neuter betwixt the two parties who inhabited the water-girdled
Tower of Lochleven; but, as he rose in the opinion of the Lady of
the Castle and her chaplain, he perceived, with great grief, that he
lost ground in that of Mary and her female allies.

He came gradually to be sensible that he was regarded as a spy
upon their discourse, and that, instead of the ease with which they
had formerly conversed in his presence, without suppressing any of
the natural feelings of anger, of sorrow, or mirth, which the chance
topic of the moment happened to call forth, their talk was now
guardedly restricted to the most indifferent subjects, and a studied
reserve observed even in their mode of treating these. This obvious
want of confidence was accompanied with a correspondent change in
their personal demeanour towards the imf ortunate page. The Queen,
who had at first treated him with marked courtesy, now scarce spoke
to him, save to convey some necessary command for her service.
The Lady Fleming restricted her notice to the most dry and distant
expressions of civility, and Catherine Seyton became bitter in her
pleasantries, and shy, cross, and pettish, in any intercourse they had
together. What was yet more provoking, he saw, or thought he
saw, marks of intelligence betwixt George Douglas and the beautiful
Catherine Seyton; and, sharpened by jealousy, he wrought himself
almost into a certainty, that the looks which they exchanged con-
veyed matters of deep and serious import. " No wonder," he thought,
" if, courted by the son of a proud and powerful baron, she can no
longer spare a word or look to the poor fortuneless page.''

In a word, Boland Graeme's situation became truly d\ssy.<^^^»k^&^

246 THE ABBOT.

and his heart naturally enough rebelled against the injustice of this
treatment, which deprived him of the only comfort which he had
received for submitting to a confinement in other respects irksome.
He accused Queen Mary and Catherine Seyton (for concerning the
opinion of Dame Fleming he was indifferent) of inconsistency in
being displeased with him on account of the natural consequences of
an order of their own. Why did they send him to hear this over-
powering preacher? The Abbot Ambrosius, he recollected, under-
stood the weakness of their Popish cause better, when he enjoined
him to repeat within his own mind aves, and credos, and patersj all
the while old Henry Warden preached or lectured, that so he might
secure himself against lending even a momentary ear to his heretical
doctrine. '' But I will endure thi£( life no longer,'' said he to himself,
manfully; " do they suppose I would betray my mistress, because I
see cause to doubt of her religion? — that would be a serving, as they
say, the devil for (xod's sake. I will forth into the world — ^he that
serves fair ladies, may at least expect kind looks and kind words;
and I bear not the mind of a gentleman to submit to cold treatment
and suspicion, and a life-long captivity besides. I will speak to
George Douglas to-morrow when we go out a-fishing."

A sleepless night was spent in agitating this magnanimous reso-
lution, and he arose in the morning not perfectly decided in his own
mind whether he should abide by it or not. It happened that he
was summoned by the Queen at an unusual hour, and just as he was
about to go out with George Douglas. He went to attend her
commands in the garden; but as he had his angling-rod in his hand,
the circumstance announced his previous intention, and the Queen,
turning to the Lady Fleming, said, '^ Catherine must devise some
other amusement for us, ma bonne amie; our discreet page has already
made his party for the day's pleasure."

" I said from the beginning," answered the Lady Fleming, " that
your Grace ought not to rely on being favoured with the company
of a youth who has so many Huguenot acquaintances, and has the
means of amusing himself far more agreeably than with us."

'' I wish," said Catherine, her animated features reddening with
mortification, '' that his friends would sail away with him for good,
and bring us in return a page (if such a thing can be found) i^thful
to his Queen and to his religion."

*' One part of your wishes may be granted, madam," said Boland
Grseme, imable any longer to restrain his sense of the treatment
which he received on all sides ; and he was about to add, " I heartily
wish you a companion in my room, if such can be found, who is
capable of enduring women's caprices without going distracted."

THE ABBOT. S«7

LnckO^, ha recollected the remone which he had felt nt htmng given
way to the yivaxaty of bia tamper upou a similar occasion; and
daring his lips, imfrisoned, until it died on his tongue, a reproach

so misbecoming the presence of majeety.

"Why do yoa remain there,' said tbe Queen, "ae if yon were
rooted to the part«iTe1"

"I bnt attend jour Grace's commands," said the page.

"I have none to give you — Begone, sir!"

As he left the garden to go to tbe boat, be distinctly heard Mary
upbraid one of her attendants in these words : — " You see to what
yon have eipoeed us ! "

Thia brief scene at once determined Boland Qneme's resolution
to quit the castle, if it were possible, and to impart his reaolution
to George Douglas withont loss of time. That gentleman, in his
usual mood of silence, sate in tbe Bt«m of the little skiff which they
used on such occasiooB, tranming bis fiahing-tackle, and, from time
to time, indicating by signs to Gr^me, who pulled tbe oars, which
way be flbould row. When they were a forbng or two from the
castle, Boland rested on the oars, and addressed his companion some-
what abruptly, — " I have something of importance to say to you,
under your pleasure, fair sir."

The pensive melancholy of Douglas's countenance at one gave way
to the eager, keen, and etartled look of one who expects to hear
something of deep and alarming import.

248 THE ABBOT.

*' I am wearied to the very death of this Castle of Lodhleren,"
continued Koland.

'^ Is that all?" said Douglas ; '' I know none of its inhabitants who
are much better pleased with it."

'' Ay — ^but I am neither a native of the house, nor a prisoner in
it, and so I may reasonably desire to leave it."

" Tou might desire to quit it with equal reason," answered Douglas,
" if you were both the one and the other."

"But," said Eoland Grseme, "I am not only tired of living in
Lochleven Castle, but I am determined to qxiit it."

" That is a resolution more easily taken than executed," replied
Douglas.

" Not if yourself, sir, and your Lady Mother, choose to consent,"
answered the page.

"You mistake the matter, Eoland," said Douglas; "you will find
that the consent of two other persons is equally essential — ^that of
the Lady Mary your mistress, and that of my unde the Begent, who
placed you about her person, and who will not think it proper that
she should change her attendants so soon."

" And must I then remain whether I will or nol^ demanded the
page, somewhat appalled at a view of the subject, which would have
occurred sooner to a person of more experience.

" At least," said George Douglas, " you must will to remain till my
uncle consents to dismiss you."

" Frankly," said the page, " and speaking to you as a gentleman
who is incapable of betraying me, I will confess, that if I Uiought
myself a prisoner here, neither walls noi' water should confine me
long."

" Frankly," said Douglas, " I could not much blame you for the
attempt ; yet, for all that, my father, or uncle, or the earl, or any
of my brothers, or in short any of the king's lords into whose hands
you fell, would in such a case hang you Uke a dog, or like a sentinel
who deserts his post ; and I promise you that you will hardly escape
them. But row towards Saint Serfs island — there is a breeze from
the west, and we shall have sport, keeping to windward of the isle,
where the ripple is strongest. We will speak more of what you have
mentioned when we have had an hour's sport"

Their fishing was successful, though never did two anglers pursue
even that silent and unsocial pleasure with less of verbal intercourse.

When their time was expired, Douglas took the oars in his turn,
and by his order Boland Grseme steered the boat, directing her
course upon the landing-place at the castle. But he also stopped in
the midst of his course, and, looking around him, said to Gzseme,

THE ABBOT. 249

^ There is a thing which I could mention to thee ; but it is so deep
a secret, that even here, surrounded as we are by water and sky,
without the possibility of a listener, I cannot prevail on myself to
speak it out."

" Better leave it unspoken, sir," answered Boland Graeme, " if you
doubt the honour of him who alone can hear it."

"I doubt not your honour," replied George Douglas; "but you
are young, imprudent, and changeful"

" Young," said Boland, " I am, and it may be imprudent — but
who hath informed you that I am changeful?"

" One that knows you, perhaps, better than you know yourself,"
replied Douglas.

" I suppose you mean Catherine Seyton," said the page, his heart
rising ajs he spoke ; " but she is herself fifty times more variable in
her humour than the very water which we are floating upon."

" My young acquaintance," said Douglas, " I pray you to remem-
ber that Catherine Seyton is a lady of blood and birth, and must not
be lightly spoken of."

" Master George of Douglas," said Grseme, " as that speech seemed
to be made under the warrant of something like a threat, I pray you
to observe, that I value not the threat at the estimation of a fin of
one of those dead trouts ; and, moreover, I would have you to know
that the champion who undertakes the defence of every lady of
blood and birth, whom men accuse of change of faith and of fashion,
is like to have enough of work on his hands."

"Go to," said the Seneschal, but in a tone of good-humour, "thou
art a foolish boy, unfit to deal with any matter more serious than
the casting of a net, or the flying of a hawk."

" If your secret concern Catherine Seyton," said the page, " I care
not for it, and so you may tell her if you wilL I wot she can shape
you opportunity to speak with her, as she has ere now."

The flush which passed over Douglas's face, made the page aware
that he had alighted on a truth, when he was, in fact, speaking at
random ; and the feeling that he had done so, was like striking a
dagger into his own heart. His companion, without farther answer,
resumed the oars, and pulled lustily till they arrived at the island
and the castle. The servants received the produce of their sport, and
the two fishers, turning from each other in silence, went each to his
several apartment.

Boland Grseme had spent about an hour in grumbling against
Catherine Seyton, the Queen, the Begent, and the whole House of
Lochleven, with George Douglas at tiie head of it, when the time
approached that his duty called him to attend the meal of Queen

S50 THE ABBOT.

Maiy. As he arranged his dress for this purpose, he grudged the
trouble, which, on similar occasions, he used, with boyish foppery,
to consider as one of the most important duties of his day; and
when he went to take his place behind the chair of the Queen, it was
with an air of offended dignity, which could not escape her obser-
vation, and probably appeared to her ridiculous enough, for she
whispered something in French to her ladies, at which the Lady
Fleming laughed, and Catherine appeared half diverted, and half
discpncerted. This pleasantry, of which the subject was concealed
from him, the unfortunate page received, of course, as a new offence,
and called an additional degree of sullen dignity into his mien,
which might have exposed him to farther raillery, but that Maiy
appeared disposed to make allowance for and compassionate his
feelings.

With the peculiar tact and delicacy which no woman possessed in
greater perfection, she began to soothe by degrees the vexed spirit
of her magnanimous attendant. The excellence of the fish which he
had taken in his expedition, the high flavour and beautiful red
colour of the trouts, which have long given distinction to the lake,
led her first to express her thanks to her attendant for so agreeable
an addition to her table, especially upon a j<mr de jeune; and tben
brought on inquiries into the place where the fish had been taken,
their size, their peculiarities, the times when they were in season,
and a comparison between the Lochleven trouts and those which
are found in the lakes and rivers of the south of Scotland. The ill
humour of Eoland Greeme was never of an obstinate character. It
rolled away like mist before the sun, and he was easily engaged in
a keen and animated dissertation about Lochleven trout, and sea trout,
and river trout, and bull trout, and char, which never rise to a fly,
and par, which some suppose infant salmon, and herling$, which
frequent the Nith, and vendisses, which are only found in the Castle-
Loch of Lochmaben ; and he was hurrying on with the eager impet-
uosity and enthusiasm of a young sportsman, when he observed that
the smile with which the Queen at first listened to him died
languidly away, and that, in spite of her efforts to suppress them,
tears rose to her eyes. He stopped suddenly short, and, distressed
in his turn, asked, '' If he had had the misfortune unwittingly to
give displeasure to her Grace?"

" No, my poor boy," replied the Queen ; " but as you numbered
up the lakes and rivers of my kingdom, imagination cheated me, as
it will do, and snatched me from these dreary walls, away to the
romantic streams of Nithsdale, and the royal towers of Lochmaben.
— O land, which my fathers have so long ruled 1 of the pleasure?

THE ABBOT. 251

which jou extend so freely^ your Queen is now deprived, and the
poorest beggar, who may wander free from one landward town to
another, would scorn to change fates with Maiy of Scotland 1"

" Your Highness^" said the Lady Fleming, " will do well to with-
draw."

''Come with me, then, Homing," said the Queen, ''I would
not burden hearts so young as these are, wiUi the sight of my
sorrows."

She accompanied these words with a look of melancholy com-
passion towards Boland and Catherine, who were now left alone
together in the apartment.

The page found his situation not a little embarrassing; for, as
every reader has experienced who may have chanced to be in such a
situation, it is extremely difficult to maintain the full dignity of an
offended person in the presence of a beautiful girl, whatever reason
we may have for being angry with her. Catherine Seyton, on her
part, sate still like a lingering ghost, which, conscious of the awe
which its presence imposes, is charitably disposed to give the poor
confused mortal whom it visits, time to recover his senses, and com-
ply with the grand rule of demonology by speaking first. But as
Eoland seemed in no huny to avail himself of her condescension, she
carried it a step farther, and herself opened the conversation.

" I pray you, fair sir, if it may be permitted me to disturb your
august reverie by a question so simple, — ^what may have become of
your rosary?"

''It is lost, madam — lost some time since," said Eoland, partly
embarrassed and partly indignant.

" And may I ask farther, sir," said Catherine, " why you have not
replaced it with another? — I have half a mind," she said, taking from
her pocket a string of ebony beads adorned with gold, " to bestow
one upon you, to keep for my sake, just to remind you of former
acquaintance."

There was a little tremulous accent in the tone with which these
words were delivered, which at once put to flight Eoland Graeme's
resentment, and brought him to Catherine's side; but she instantly
resumed the bold and firm accent which was more familiar to her.
" I did not bid you," she said, " come and sit so close by me ; for the
acquaintance that I spoke of, has been stiff and cold, dead and buried,
for this many a day."

"Now Heaven forbid !" said the page, "it has only slept; and now
that you desire it should awake, fair Catherine, believe me that a
pledge of your returning favour"

"Nay, nay," said Catherine, withholding the rosary, towarda

252 THE ABBOT.

which, as he spoke, he extended his hand, '^I have changed my
mind on better reflection. What should a heretic do with these
holy beads, that have been blessed by the Father of the church him-
self?"

Boland winced grievously, for he saw plainly which way the
discourse was now likely to tend, and felt that it must at all events
be embarrassing. " Nay, but," he said, " it was as a token of your
own regard that you oflfered them."

'^ Ay, fair sir, but that regard attended the faithful subject, the
loyal and pious Catholic, the individual who was so solenmly devoted
at the same time with myself to the same grand duty ; which, you
must now understand, was to serve the church and Queen. To such
a person, if you ever heard of him, was my regard due^ and not to
him who associates with heretics, and is about to become a renegado."

" I should scarce believe, fair mistress," said Boland, indignantly,
" that the vane of your favour turned only to a Catholic wind, con-
sidering that it points so plainly to George Douglas, who, I think, is
both kingsman and Protestant."

"Think better of George Douglas," said Catherine, "than to

believe" and then checking herself, as if she had spoken too

much, she went on, " I assure you, fair Master Boland, that all who
wish you well are sorry for you."

"Their number is very few, I believe," answered Boland, "and
their sorrow, if they feel any, not deeper than ten minutes' time will
cure."

"They are more numerous, and think more deeply concerning
you, than you seem to be aware," answered Catherine. " But per-
haps they think wrong — You are the best judge in your own affairs;
and if you prefer gold and church-lands to honour and loyalty, and
the faith of your fathers, why should you be hampered in con-
science more than others?"

"May Heaven bear witness for me," said Bonald, "that if I enter-
tain any difference of opinion — ^that is, if I nourish any doubts in
point of religion, they have been adopted on the conviction of my
own mind, and the suggestion of my own conscience !"

"Ay, ay, your conscience — your conscience!" repeated she with
satiric emphasis ; " your conscience is the scape-goat ; I warrant it
an able one — ^it will bear the burden of one of the best manors of the
Abbey of Saint Mary of Kennaquhair, lately forfeited to our noble
Lord the King, by the Abbot and community thereof, for the high
crime of fidelity to their religious vows, and now to be granted by
the High and Mighty Traitor, and so forth, James, Earl of Murray,
to the good squire of dames Boland Grseme, for his loyal and faithfal

1*HE ABBOT. 253

service as under-espial and depaty-tomkey, for securing the person
of his lawful sovereign, Queen Mary."

'^You misconstrue me cruelly/' said the page; ''yes, Catherine,
most cruelly — God knows I would protect this poor lady at the risk
of my life, or with my life; but what can I do — ^what can any one
do for her?''

" Much may be done — enough may be done — ^all may be done — if
men will be but true and honourable, as Scottish men were in the
days of Bruce and Wallace. O, Boland, from what an enterprise
you are now withdrawing your heart and hand, through mere fickle-
ness and coldness of spirit !"

'' How can I withdraw," said Eoland, " from an enterprise which
has never been communicated to me? — Has the Queen, or have you,
or has any one communicated with me upon any thing for her service
which I have refused? Or have you not, all of you, held me at such
a distance from your counsels, as if I were the most faithless spy
since the days of Ganelon?"t

"And who," said Catherine Seyton, "would trust the sworn friend,
and pupil, and companion, of the heretic preacher, Henderson? ay —
a proper tutor you have chosen, instead of the excellent Ambrosius,
who is now turned out of house and home-stead, if indeed he is not
languishing in a dungeon, for withstanding the tyranny of Morton,
to whose brother the temporalities of that noble house of GUxl have
been gifted away by the Begent."

"Is it possible?" said the page; "and is the excellent Father
Ambrose in such distress?"

" He would account the news of your falling away from the faith
of your fathers," answered Catherine, " a worse mishap than aught
that tyranny can inflict on himself."

"But why," said Boland, very much moved, "why should you
suppose that — that — that it is with me as you say?"

" Do you yourself deny it?" replied Catherine; "do you not admit
that you have drunk the poison which you should have dashed from
your lips? — Do you deny that it now ferments in your veins, if it has
not altogether corrupted the springs of life? — Do you deny that you
have your doubts, as you proudly term them, respecting what popes
and councils have declared it unlawful to doubt of? — Is not your
faith wavering, if not overthrown? — Does not the heretic preacher
boast his conquest? — Does not the heretic woman of this prison-
house hold up thy example to others? — Do not the Queen and the

t Gan, Oano, or Ganelon of Mayenoe, is, in the Romanoes on the subject of Charle-
magne and hJB Paladins, always represented as the traitor by whom the Chiistian cham-
pioais are betrayed.

254 THE ABBOT.

Lady Fleming believe in thy falling away? — ^And is there any except
one — jea, I will speak it out^ and think as lightly aa yoa please of
my good will — ^is there one except myself that holds even a lingering
hope that you may yet prove what we once all believed of youl"

'* I know not/' said our poor page, much embarrassed by the view
which was thus presented to him of the conduct he was expected to
pursue, and by a person in whom he was not the less interested that
so long a residence in Lochleven Castle, with no object so likely to
attract his undivided attention, had taken place since they had first
met, — " I know not what you expect of me, or fear from me. I was
sent hither to attend Queen Mary, and to her I acknowledge the
duty of a servant through life and death. If any one had expected
service of another kind, I was not the party to render it. I neither
avow nor disclaim the doctrines of the reformed church. Will yoa
have the truth? — It seems to me that the profligacy of the Catholic
clergy has brought this judgment on their own heads, and, for aught
I know, it may be for their reformation. But, for betraying iMi
unhappy Queen, God knows I am guiltless of the thought. Did I
even believe worse of her than as her servant I wish — as her subject
I dare to do — I would not betray her — ^far from it— I would aid her
in aught which could tend to a fair trial of her cause."

'^ Enough! enough!'' answered Catherine, clasping her hands
together ; " then thou wilt not desert us if any means are presented,
by which, placing our Boyal Mistress at freedom, this case may be
honestly tried betwixt her and her rebellious subjects?"

" Nay — but, fair Catherine," replied the page, " hear but what the
Lord of Murray said when he sent me hither" —

'^ Hear but what the devil said," replied the maiden, " rather than
what a false subject, a false brother, a false counsellor, a false friend
said ! A man raised from a petty pensioner on the crown's bounty,
to be the counsellor of majesty, and the prime distributor of the
bounties of the state ;^-one with whom rank, fortune, title, consequence,
and power, all grew up like a mushroom, by the mere warm good-
will of the sister, whom, in requital, he hath mewed up in this place
of melancholy seclusion — whom, in farther requital, he has deposed,
and whom, if he dared, he would murder !"

"I think not so ill of the Earl of Murray," said Boland Grseme;
"and sooth to speak," he added, with a conile, "it would require
some bribe to make me embrace, with firm and desperate resolution,
either one side or the other."

" Nay, if that is all," replied Catherine Seyton, in a tone of enthu-
siasm, "you shall be guerdoned with prayers from oppressed subjects
— -from dispossessed clergy — from insulted nobles — ^with immortal

THE ABBOT. 255

praise by future ages — ^with eager gratitude by the present — ^with
fame 6n earth, and with felicity in Heaven. Your country will
thank you — ^your Queen will be debtor to you — ^you will achieve at
once the highest from the lowest degree in chivalry — all men will
honour, all women will love you — ^and I, sworn with you so early to
the accomplishment of Queen Mary's freedom, will — ^yes, I will love
you better than — ever sister loved brother !*'

" Say on — say on !" whispered Boland, kneeling on one knee, and
taking her hand, which, in the warmth of exhortation, Catherine
held towards him.

'' Nay,'' said she, pausing, " I have already said too much — far too
much, if I prevail not with you — far too little if I do. But I pre-
vail," she continued, seeing that the countenance of the youth she
addressed returned the enthusiasm of her own — '* I prevail; or rather
the good cause prevails through its own strength — ^thus I devote thee
to it." And afi she spoke she approached her finger to the brow of
the astonished youth, and, without touching it, signed the cross over
his forehead — stooped her face towards him, and seemed to kiss the
empty space in which she had traced the s3rmbol ; then starting up,
and extricating herself from his grasp, darted into the Queen's apart-
ment.

Eoland Graeme remained as the enthusiastic maiden had left him,
kneeling on one knee, with breath withheld, and with eyes fixed
upon the space which the fairy form of Catherine Seyton had so
lately occupied. If his thoughts were not of unmixed delight, they
at least partook of that thrilling and intoxicating, though mingled
sense of pain 'and pleasure, the most overpowering which life offers
in its blended cup. He rose and retired slowly; and although the
chaplain Mr. Henderson preached on that evening his best sermon
against the errors of popery, I would not engage that he was followed
accurately through the train of his reasoning by the young proselyte,
with a view to whose especial benefit he had handled the subject.

CHAPTER XXV.

And when Love's torch hath set the heart in fluue,
Comes Seignor Rewon, witii his saws and ckutiona,
Giiing; Buch aid aa tlie old grej-besid Sexton,
'Who from the church-vBult drags his crazy engine^
To ply its dribbling ineOectual streamlet
Against a oraiflagiation.

OldPlaif.

In a musing mood, Boland Gneme upoD the enBuing morning betook
LimBelf to the batHementa of the caatle, its a spot where he mi^t
indulge the course of his thick-coming fancies with least chance of
intermption. Bat hii
place of retirement wM
in the present case ill
chosen, for he was pro-
sently joined b; iSi.
Elias Hend^vou.
"I sought jon,7ouiig
. man," said the preacher,
."having to apeak of
something which con-
cerns you nearly,"

The page had no pre-
tence for avoiding the
conference which the
chaplain thna offered,
though he felt that it
might proTe an embar-
rassing one.

" In teaching thee, ai
far as my feeble know-
ledge hath permitted,
thy daty towards God,*
said the chaplain, "there
are particnlara of yoor
duty towards man, upon
which I was unwilling
long or much to insiit Yon are here in the service of a lady,
honourable as touching her birth, deserving of all compassion M
respects her misfortunes, and garnished with even bat too many tt
those outward qualities which win men's n^ard and affection. Have

THE ABBOT. 257

yon ever considered your regard to this Lady Maiy of Scotland, in
its true light and bearingi''

" I trusty reverend sir," replied Boland Graeme, " that I am well
aware of the duties a servant in my condition owes to his royal mis-
tress, especially in her lowly and distressed condition."

" True," answered the preacher; "but it is even that honest feeling
which may, in the Lady Mary's case, carry thee into great crime and
treachery,"

" How so, reverend sir?" replied the page ; " I profess I understand
you not"

" I speak to you not of the crimes of this ill-advised lady," said
the preacher: "they are not subjects for the ears of her sworn
servant. But it is enough to say, that this unhappy person hath re-
jected more offers of grace, more hopes of glory, than ever were held
out to earthly princes ; and that she is now, her day of favour being
passed, sequestered in this lonely castle, for the common weal of the
people of Scotland, and it may be for the benefit of her own souL"

"lEteverend sir," said Bolsuid, somewhat impatiently, ''I am but
too well aware that my unfortunate mistress is imprisoned, since I
have the misfortune to share in her restraint myself —of which, to
speak sooth, I am heartily weaiy."

" It is even of that which I am about to speak," said the chaplain
mildly; "but first, my good Boland, look forth on the pleasant pro-
spect of yonder cultivated plain. You see, where the smoke arises,
yonder village standing half hidden by the trees, and you know it
to be the dwelling-place of peace and industry. From space to space,
each by the side of its own stream, you see the grey towers of barons,
with cottages interspersed ; and you know that they also, with their
household, are now living in unity; the lance hung upon the wall,
and the sword resting in its sheath. You see, too, more than one
fair church, where the pure waters of life are offered to the thirsty,
and where the hungry are refreshed with spiritual food. — ^What
would he deserve, who should bring fire and slaughter into so fair
and happy a scene — who should bare the swords of the gentry, and
torn them against each other — ^who should give tower and cottage
to the flames, and slake the embers with the blood of the indwellers?
— ^What would he deserve who should lift up again that ancient
Dagon of Superstition, whom the worthies of the time have beaten
down, and who should once more make the churches of God the high
places of Baair

" You have limned a frightful picture, reverend sir," said Eoland
Graeme ; " yet I guess not whom you would charge with the purpose
of effecting a change so horrible."

968 THE ABBOT.

"God forbid,** replied the preacher, "that I should aay to thee,
Thou art the man. — Yet beware, Roland Graeme, that thou, in serv-
ing thy mistress, hold fast the still higher service which thou owest
to the peace of thy coimtry, and the prosperity of her inhabitants ;
else, Boland Graeme, thou mayest be the very man upon whose head
will fall the curses and assured punishment due to such work. If
thou art won by the song of these sirens to aid that unhappy lady's
escape from this place of penitence and security, it is over with the
peace of Scotland's cottages, and with the prosperity of her palaces —
and the babe unborn shall curse the name of the man who gave in-
let to the disorder which will follow the war betwixt the mother and
the son."

" I know of no such plan, reverend sir," answered the page, " and
therefore can aid none such. — My duty towards the Queen has been
simply that of an attendant ; it is a task of which, at times, I would
willingly have been freed ; nevertheless"

" It is to prepare thee for the enjoyment of something more of
liberty/' said the preacher, "that I have endeavoured to impress
upon you the deep responsibility under which your office must be
discharged* G^eorge Douglas hath told the Lady Lochleven that
you are weary of this service, and my intercession hath partly deter-
mined her good ladyship, that, as your disdiarge cannot be granted,
you shall, instead, be employed in certain commissions on the main-
land, which have hitherto been discharged by other persons of con-
fidence. Wherefore, come with me to the lady, for even to-day such
duty will be imposed on you."

" I trust you will hold me excused, reverend sir," said the page,
who felt that an increase of confidence on the part of the Lady of
the Castle and her family would render his situation in a moral view
doubly embarrassing, " one cannot serve two masters — and I much
fear that my mistress will not hold me excused for taking employ-
ment under another."

" Fear not that," said the preacher; " her consent shall be asked
and obtained. I fear she will yield it but too easily, as hoping to
avail herself of your agency to maintain correspondence with her
friends, as those falsely call themselves, who would make her name
the watchword for civU war."

"And thus," said the page, "I shall be exposed to suspicion on
all sides ; for my mistress will consider me as a spy placed on her
by her enemies, seeing me so far trusted by them; and the Lady
Lochleven will never cease to suspect the possibility of my betraying
her, because circumstances put it into my power to do ao—I would
rather remain as I am."

THE ABBOT. 269

There followed a pause of one or two minutes, during which
Henderson looked steadily in Boland's countenance, as if desirous to
ascertain whether there was not more in the answer than the precise
words seemed to imply. He failed in this point, however; for
Boland, bred a page from childhood, knew how to assume a sullen
pettish cast of countenance, well enough calculated to hide all internal
emotions.

" I understand thee not, Roland," said the preacher, " or rather
thou thinkest on this matter more deeply than I apprehended to
be in thy nature. Methought, the delight of going on shore with
thy bow, or thy gun, or thy angling-rod, would have borne away all
other feelings."

^ And so it would," replied Boland, who perceived the danger of
suffering Henderson's half -raised suspicions to become fully awake,
— ^ I would have thought of nothing but the gun and the oar, and
the wild water-fowl that tempt me by sailing among the sedges
yonder so far out of flight-shot, had you not spoken of my going on
shore as what was to occasion burning of town and tower, the
downfall of the evangele, and the up-setting of the mass."

" Follow me, then," said Henderson, '^ and we will seek the Lady
Lochleven."

They found her at breakfast with her grandson, George Douglas.
— " Peace be with your ladyship !" said the preacher, bowing to his
patroness ; " Boland Graeme awaits your order."

<< Young man," said the lady, " our chaplain hath warranted for
thy fidelity, and we are determined to give you certain errands to do
for us in our town of Kinross."

" Not by my advice," said Douglas, coldly.

" I said not that it was," answered the lady, something sharply.
'^ The mother of thy father may, I should think, be old enough to
judge ifor herself in a matter so simple. — ^Thou wilt take the skifi^
Eoland, and two of my people, whom Dryfesdale or Bandal will
order out, and fetch off certain stuff of plate and hangings, which
should last night be lodged at Eanross by the wains from Edin-
burgh."

'^ And give this packet," said George Douglas, '' to a servant of
ours, whom you will find in waiting there. — ^It is the report to my
father," he added, looking towards his grandmother, who acquiesced
by bending her head.

'^ I have already mentioned to Master Henderson," said Eoland
Grseme, '^ that as my duty requires my attendance on the Queen, her
Grace's permission for my journey ought to be obtained before I can
undertake your commission."

260 THE ABBOT.

''Look to it, my son," said the old lady, ''the scrapie of the yoath
is honourable."

" Craving yonr pardon, madam, I have no wish to force myself on
her presence thus early/' said Douglas, in an indifferent tone; "it
might displease her, and were no way agreeable to me.''

"And I," said the Lady Lochleven, "although her temper hath
been more gentle of late, have no will to undergo, without necessity,
the rancour of her wit."

"Under your permission, madam," said the chaplain, "I will my-
self render your request to the Queen. During my long residence
in this house she hath not deigned to see me in private, or to hear
my doctrine; yet so may Heaven prosper my labours, ss love for her
soul, and desire to bring her into the right path^ was my chief motive
for coming hither."

"Take care. Master Henderson," said Douglas, in a tone which
seemed almost sarcastic, "lest you rush hastily on an adventure to
which you have no vocation — ^you are learned, and know the adage,
Ne accesseris in consilium nisi vocatus, — ^Who hath required this at
your hand 1"

" The Master to whose service I am called," answered the preacher,
looking upward, — " He who hath commanded me to be earnest in
season and out of season."

" Your acquaintance hath not been much, I think, with courts or
princes," continued the young Esquire.

"No, sir," replied Henderson, "but, like my master Knox, I see
nothing frightful in the fair face of a pretty lady."

"My son," said the Lady of Lochleven, "quench not the good
man's zeal — ^let him do the errand to this unhappy Princess."

" With more wiUu^ess than I would do it myself," said G^rge
Douglas. Yet something in his manner appeared to contradict his
words.

The minister went accordingly, followed by Eoland Graeme, and,
demanding an audience of the imprisoned Princess, was admitted.
He found her with her ladies engaged in the daily task of embroi-
dery. The Queen received him with that courtesy, which, in ordinary
cases, she used towards all who approached her, and the clergyman,
in opening his commission, was obviously somewhat more embairassed
than he had expected to be. — " The good Lady of Lochleven — may
it please your Grace"

He made a short pause, during which Mary said, with a smile,
" My Grace would, in truth, be well pleased, were the Lady Loch-
leven our good lady — ^but go on — what is the will of the good Lady
of Lochleven?"

THE ABBOT. 261

''She desires, madam," said the chaplain, ''that your Grace will
permit this yoimg gentleman, your page, Boland Graeme, to pass to
Kinross, to look after some household stuff and hangings, sent hither
for the better furnishing your Grace's apartments."

"The Lady of Lochleven," said the Queen, "uses needless cere-
mony, in requesting our permission for that which stands within her
own pleasure. We well know that this young gentleman's attendance
on us had not been so long permitted, were he not thought to be
more at the command of that good lady than at ours. — But we cheer-
fully yield consent that he shall go on her errand — ^with our will we
would doom no living creature to the captivity which we ourselves
must suffer."

" Ay, madam," answered the preacher, " and it is doubtless natural
for humanity to quarrel with its prison-house. Yet there have been
those, who have found that time spent in the house of temporal
captivity may be so employed as to redeem us from spiritual slavery."

" I apprehend your meaning, sir," replied the Queen, " but I have
heard your apostle — I have heard Master John Knox; and were I to be
perverted, I would willingly resign to the ablest and most powerful
of heresiarchs, the poor honour he might acquire by overcoming my
faith and my hope."

" Madam," said the preacher, " it is not to the talents or skill of
the husbandman that God gives the increase — the words which were
offered in vain by him whom you justly call our apostle, during the
bustle and gaiety of a court, may yet find better acceptance during
the leisure for reflection which this place affords. God knows, lady,
that I speak in singleness of heart, as one who would as soon com-
pare himself to the immortal angels, as to the holy man whom you
have named. Yet would you but condescend to apply to their noblest
use, those talents and that learning which all allow you to be possessed
of — would you afford us but the slightest hope that you would hear
and regard what can be urged against the blinded superstition and
idolatry in which you were brought up, sure am I, that the most
powerfully gifted of my brethren, that even John Knox himself,
would hasten hither, and account the rescue of your single soul from
the nets of Bomish error"

" I am obliged to you and to them for their charity," said Mary;
" but as I have at present but one presence-chamber, I would re-
luctantly see it converted^ into a Huguenot synod."

" At least, madam, be not thus obstinately blinded in your errors !
Hear one who has hungered and thirsted, watched and prayed, to
undertake the good work of your conversion, and who would be
content to die the instant that a work ao 8hdN»ii\a^<^'^Q& Vst -^^xsciisf^

262 THE ABBOT.

and so beneficial to Scotland were accomplished — ^Yes^ Iftdy, oould I
but shake the remaining pillar of the heathen temple in this land —
and that permit me to term your faith in the delnsions of Borne — I
could be content to die overwhelmed in the ruins 1 "

" I will not insult your zeal, sir," replied Mary, " by saying you
are more likely to make sport for the Philistines than to overwhelm
them — ^your charity claims my thanks, for it is warmly expressed
and may be truly purposed — But believe as well of me as I am will-
ing to do of you, and think that I may be as anxious to recall you to
the ancient and only road, as you are to teach me your new by-ways
to paradise."

" Then, madam, if such be your generous purpose," said Hender-
son, eagerly, " what hinders that we should dedicate some part of
that time, unhappily now too much at your Grace's disposal, to dis-
cuss a question so weighty] You, by report of all men, are both
learned and witty; and I, iJiough without such advantages, am strong
in my cause as in a tower of defence. Why should we not spend
some space in endeavouring to discover which of us hath the wrong
side in this important matter? "

" Nay," said Queen Mary, " I never alleged my force was strong
enough to accept of a combat en champ clos, witii a scholar and a
polemic. Besides, the match is not equal. You, sir, might retire
when you felt the battle go against you, while I am tied to the stake,
and have no permission to say the debate wearies me. — I would be
alone."

She curtsied low to him aa she uttered these words : and Hender-
son, whose zeal was indeed ardent, but did not extend to the neglect
of delicacy, bowed in return, and prepared to withdraw.

''I would," he said, ''that my earnest wish, my most zealous
prayer, could procure to your Grace any blessing or comfort, but
especially that in which alone blessing or comfort is, as easily as the
slightest intimation of your wish will remove me from your pre-
sence."

He was in the act of departing, when Mary said to him with much
courtesy, "Do me no injury in your thoughts, good sir; it may be,
that if my time here be protracted longer — as surely I hope it will
not, trusting that either my rebel subjects will repent of their dis-
loyalty, or that my faithful lieges will obtain the upper hand — ^but
if my time be here protracted, it may be I shall have no displeasure
in hearing one who seems so reasonable and compassionate as your-
self, and I may hazard your contempt by endeavouring to recollect
and repeat' the reasons which schoolmen and councils give for the
faith that jb in me, — although I fear that, €k>d help me ! my Latin

THB ABBOT. 268

has deserted me with my other possessions. This mast, however, be
for another day. Meanwhile, sir, let the Lady of Lochleven employ
my page as she lists — ^I will not afford suspicion by speaking a word
to him before he goes. — ^Boland Grseme, my friend, lose not an
opportunity of amusing thyself— -dance, sing, run, and leap— all may
be done merrily on the mainland; but he must have more than quick-
silver in his veins who would frolic here."

'' Alas ! madam," said the preacher, '^ to what is it you exhort the
youth, while time passes, and eternity summons ! Can our salvation
be ensured by idle mirth, or our good work wrought out without
fear and trembling?"

"I cannot fear or tremble," replied the Queen; "to Mary Stewart
such emotions are unknown. But, if weepmg and sorrow on my
part wiU atone for the boy's enjoying an hour of boyish pleasure, be
assured the penance shall be duly paid."

" Nay, but, gracious lady," said the preacher, " in this you greatly
err;— our tears and our sorrows are all too little for our own faults
and follies, nor can we transfer them, as your church falsely teaches,
to the benefit of others."

" May I pray you, sir," answered the Queen, '* with as little offence
as such a prayer may import, to transfer yourself elsewhere? We
are sick at heart, and may not now be disturbed with farther con-
troversy — and thou, Eoland, take this little purse ; " (then turning
to the divine, she said, showing its contents,) *^ Look, reverend sir,
— it contains only these two or three gold testoons, a coin which,
though bearing my own poor features, I have ever found more
active against me than on my side, just as my subjects take arms
against me, with my own name for their summons and signal. —
Take this purse, that thou mayest want no means of amusement.
Fail not — ^fail not to bring me back news from Kinross; only let it
be such as, without suspicion or offence, may be told in the pre-
sence of this reverend gentleman, or of the good Lady Lochleven
herself."

The last hint was too irresistible to be withstood; and Henderson
withdrew, half mortified, half pleased, with his reception; for Mary,
from long habit, and the address which was natural to her, had
learned, in an extraordinary degree, the art of evading discourse
which was disagreeable to her feelings or prejudices, without affiront-
ing those by whom it was proffered.

Boland Graeme retired with the chaplain, at a signal from his
lady ; but it did not escape him, that as he left the room, stepping
backwards, and making the deep obeisance due to royalty, Catherine
Seyton held up her slender forefinger, with a gostut^ '<9ibis^^ Wk

264 THE ABBOT.

aUme oonld witness, and which seemed to say, '^ Bemember what
has passed betwixt us."

The young page had now his last charge from the Lady of Loch-
leven. "There are revek," she said, "this day at the village — ^my
son's authority is, as yet, unable to prevent these continued workings
of the ancient leaven of folly which the Eomish priests have kneaded
into the very souls of the Scottish peasantiy. I do not command
thee to abstain from them — ^that would be only to lay a snare for thy
folly, or to teach thee falsehood; but enjoy these vanities wiih
moderation, and mark them as something thou must soon learn to
renounce and contemn. Our chamberlain at Kinross, Luke Lundin,
— Doctor, as he foolishly calleth himself — ^will acquaint thee what is to
be done in the matter about which thou goest. Bemember thou art
trusted — show thyself, therefore, worthy of trust**

When we recollect that Eoland Graeme was not yet nineteen, and
that he had spent his whole life in the solitary Castle of Avenel,
excepting the few hours he had passed in Edinburgh, and his late
residence at Lochleven (the latter period having very little served
to enlarge his acquaintance with the gay world), we cannot wonder
that his heart beat high with hope and curiosity, at the prospect of
partaking the sport even of a country wake. He hastened to his
little cabin, and turned over the wardrobe with which (in every
respect becoming his station) he had been supplied from Edinburgh,
probably by order of the Earl of Murray. By the Queen's
command he had hitherto waited upon her in mourning, or at least
in sad-coloured raiment. Her condition, she said, admitted of
nothing more gay. But now he selected the gayest dress his ward-
robe afforded; composed of scarlet^ slashed with black satin, the
royal colours of Scotland— combed his long curled hair— disposed
his chain and medal round a beaver hat of the newest block; and
with the gay falchion, which had reached him in so mysterious a
manner, hung by his side in an embroidered belt, his apparel, added
to his natural frank mien and handsome figure, formed a most com-
mendable and pleasing specimen of the yoimg gallant of the period.
He sought to make his parting reverence to the Queen and her
ladies, but old Dryf esdale hurried him to the boat.

"We will have no private audiences,** he said, "my master;
since you are to be trusted with somewhat, we will try at least to
save thee from the temptation of opportunity. Gkxi help thee,
child,** he added, with a glance of contempt at his gay clothes, "an
the bear-ward be yonder from Saint Andrews, have a care thon go
not near him.'*

"And wherefore, I pray you?" said Boland*

THE ABBOT. 265

'' Lest he take thee for one of his runaway jackanapes,'' answered
the steward, smiling sourly.

" I wear not my clothes at thy cost" said Boland indignantly.

"Nor at thine own either, my son," replied the steward, "else
would thy garb more nearly resemble thy merit and thy station."

Boland Grseme suppressed with difficulty the repartee which
arose to his lips, and, wrapping his scarlet mantle around him,
threw himself into the boat, which two rowers, themselves urged by
curiosity to see the revels, pulled stoutly towards the west end of
the lake. As they put off, Boland thought he could discover the
face of Catherine Seyton, though carefully withdrawn from obser-
vation, peeping from a loophole to view his departure. He pulled
off his hat, and held it up as a token that he saw and wished her
adieu. A white kerchief waved for a second across the window^
and for the rest of the little voyage, the thoughts of Catherine
Seyton disputed ground in his breast with the expectations excited
by the approaching revel. As they drew nearer and nearer the
shore, the sounds of mirth and music, the laugh, the halloo, and
the shout, came thicker upon the ear, and in a trice the boat was
moored, and Eoland Graeme hastened in quest of the chamberlain,
that, being informed what time he had at his own disposal, he
might lay it out to the best advantage.

CHAPTER XXVI.

Boom for the master of the ring, ye swains,
Divide your crowded ranks — ^before him march
The rnral minstrelsy, the rattling drum,
The clamorous war-pipe, and far-echoing horn.

Rural Sports, — Somebville.

No long space intervened ere Boland Graeme was able to discover
among the crowd of revellers, who gambolled upon the open space
which extends betwixt the village and the lake, a person of so great
importance as Doctor Luke Lundin, upon whom devolved officially
the charge of representing the lord of the land, and who was attended
for support of his authority by a piper, a drummer, and four sturdy
clowns armed with rusty halberds, garnished with party-coloured
ribands ; myrmidons, who, early as the day was, had already broken
more than one head in the awful names of the Laird of Lochleven
and his chamberlain.^

As soon as this dignitary was informed that the castle skiff had
arrived^ with a gallant^ dressed like a loxd'a «ioii ^\> V!ti^ \^»s^^^Ri^^

Me

THZ ABBOT.

desired |M-«eeiitl7 to speak to him, he adjusted hia raff aod his
black coat, turned rotind his girdle till the g&nuBhed hilt of his long
rapier beoune visible, and walked with dae solenmit; towards the
beach. Solemn indeed he was entitled to be, even on less important
occasions, for he had been bred to the venerable studj of medicine,
as those acquainted wittk the science rery soon discovered from the
i^horisms which ornamented his discourse. His snccesB had not
been equal to his preteusians ; but as he was a native <^ the neigh-

boiinug Kingdom of Fife, and bore distant relation to, or dependence
upon, tba aodent family of Lnndin of tJiat Ilk, who were bound in
close friendBhip with die honse of Locbleven, he had, through their
interest, got planted comfortablj enough in his present station upon
the banks of that beantiful lake. The profits of his chamberlainship
being moderate, especiall; in those unsettled times, he had eked it
out a little with some practice in his original profeasion : and it waa
said that tlie inhalntaati of the village and barony at Kiuroaa were
Dot more effectually thiried (which may be traualated enthiaUed) to

THE ABBOT. 867

the baron's mill, than they were to the medical monopoly of the
chamberlain. Woe betide the family of the rich boor, who presumed
to depart this life without a passport from Dr. Luke Lundin ! for if
his representatives had aught to settle with the baron, as it seldom
happened otherwise, they were sure to find a cold friend in the
chamberlain. He was considerate enough, however, gratuitously to
help the poor out of their ailments, and sometimes out of all their
other distresses at the same time.

Formal, in a double proportion, both as a physician and as a
person in office, and proud of the scraps of learning which rendered
his language almost universally unintelligible, Dr. Luke Lundin
approached the beach, and hailed the page as he advanced towards
him. — "The freshness of the morning upon you, fair sir — ^You are sent,
I warrant me, to see if we observe here the regimen which her good
ladyship hath prescribed, for eschewing all superstitious ceremonies and
idle anilities in these our revels. I am aware that her good ladyship
would willingly have altogether abolished and abrogated them — ^But
as I had the honour to quote to her from the works of the learned
Hercules of Saxony, omnis curatio est vel cajwmca vel coacta^ — that
is, fair sir (for silk and velvet have seldom their Latin ad unguem)^
every cure must be wrought either by art and induction of rule, or
by constraint ; and the wise physician chooseth the former. Which
argument her ladyship being pleased to allow well of, I have made
it my business so to blend instruction and caution with delight (JkU
mixtio, as we say), that I can answer that the vulgar mind will be
defecated and purged of anile and popish fooleries by the medica-
ment adhibited, so that the primcB vicB being cleansed, Master
Henderson, or any other able pastor, may at will throw in tonics,
and effectuate a perfect moral cure, tuto, citojucunde"

" I have no charge. Doctor Lundin," replied the page

" Call me not doctor,'' said the chamberlain, " since I have laid
aside my furred gown and bonnet, and retired me into this tempo-
rality of chamberlainship."

"O, sir," said the page, who was no stranger by report to the
character of this original, "the cowl makes not the monk, neither
the cord the friar — ^we have all heard of the cures wrought by
Doctor Lundin.*'

" Toys, young sir — ^trifles," answered the leech, witii grave discla-
mation of superior skill ; " the hit-or-miss praxstice of a poor retired
gentleman, in a short doak and doublet — Many, Heaven sent its
blessing — ^and this I must say, better fashioned mediciners have
brought fewer patients through — Kinga, r6ba c6rta sciemia, saith the
Italian — ha, fair sir, you have the language?"

268 THE ABBOT.

Boland Graeme did not think it necessary to expound to this
learned Theban whether he understood him or no; but^ leaving
that matter uncertain, he told him he came in quest of certain
packages which should have arrived at Kinross, and been placed
under the chamberlain's charge the evening before.

" Body o' me ! " said Doctor Lundin, " I fear our common carrier,
John Auchtermuchty, hath met with some mischance, that he came
not up last night with his wains — ^bad land this to journey in, my
master; and the fool will travel by night too, although (besides all
maladies from your tusitis to your pestis, which walk abroad in the
night-air) he may well fall in with half a dozen swash-bucklers, who
wiU ease him at once of his baggage and his earthly complaints. I
must send forth to inquire after him, since he hath stuff of the
honourable household on hand — ^and, by our Lady, he hath stuff of
mine too — certain drugs sent me from the city for composition of my
alexipharmics — ^this gear must be looked to. — Hodge,'' said he,
addressing one of his redoubted body-guard, ''do thou and Toby
Telford take the mickle brown aver and the black cut-tailed mare,
and make out towards the Kerry-craigs, and see what tidings you
can have of Auchtermuchty and his wains — I trust it is only the
medicine of the pottle-pot (being the only medicamentum which the
beast useth) which hath caused him to tarry on the road. Take the
ribands from your halberds, ye knaves, and get on your jacks, plate-
sleeves, and knapskulls, that your presence may work some terror if
you meet with opposers." He then added, turning to Boland
Graeme, " I warrant me we shall have news of the wains in brief
season. Meantime it will please you to look upon the sports ; but
first to enter my poor lodging and take your morning's cup. For
what saith the school of Salerno?

'Foculum, mane haustum,
Eestaurat naturam exbaustam.* "

*' Your learning is too profound for me," replied the page ; " and
so would your draught be likewise, I fear."

"Not a whit, fair sir — a cordial cup of sack, impregnated with
wormwood, is the best anti-pestilential draught; and, to speak truth,
the pestilential miasmata are now very rife in the atmosphere. — We
live in a happy time, young man," continued he, in a tone of grave
irony, " and have many blessings unknown to our fathers — Here are
two sovereigns in the land, a regnant and a claimant — that is enough
of one good thing — but if any one wants more, he may find a king
in every peelhouse in the country; so if we lack government, it is
not for want of governors. Then have we a civil war to phlebot-

THE ABBOT. 269

omize ns eveary year, and to prevent our population from starving
for want of food — and for the same purpose, we have the Plagae
proposing ns a visits the best of all recipes for thinning a land, and
converting yoonger brothers into elder ones. Well, each man in his
vocation. Yon young fellows of the sword desire to wrestle, fence,
or so forth, with some expert adversary ; and for my part, I love to
match myself for life or death against that same Plagae.**

As they proceeded np the street of the little village towards the
I>octor's lodgings, his attention was successively occupied by the
various personages whom he met^ and pointed out to the notice of
his companion.

^ Do you see that fellow with the red bonnet^ the blue jerkin, and
the great rough baton in his hand I — ^I believe that down hath the
strength of a tower — he has lived fifty years in the world, and never
encouraged the liberal sciences by buying one pennyworth of medi-
caments. — ^But see you that man with the fades hippocrcOioaf^ said
he, pointing out a thin peasant, with swelled legs, and a most
cadaverous countenance; ''that I call one of the worthiest men in
the barony — ^he breakfasts, luncheons, dines, and sups by my advice,
andtuot without my medicine; and, for his own single part, will go
&rther to dear out a moderate stock of pharmaceutics, than half the
country besides. How do you, my honest friend 1'' said he to the
party in question, with a tone of condolence.

''Yeiy weakly, sir, since I took the electuary,'' answered the
patient ; '' it neighboured ill with the two spoonfuls of pease-porridge
and the kimmilk."

^ Pease-porridge and kimmilk ! Have you been under medicine
these ten years, and keep your diet so ill? — ^the next morning take
the electuary by itself, and touch nothing for six hours." — ^The poor
object bowed, and limped off.

The next whom the Doctor deigned to take notice of , was a lame
fellow, by whom the honour was altogether undeserved, for at sight
of the mediciner, he began to shuffle away in the crowd as fast as
his infimdties would permit.

" There is an ungrateful hound for you," said Doctor Lundin ; " I
cured him of the gout in his feet, and now he talks of the chargeable-
ness of medicine, and makes the first use of his restored legs to fly
from his physician. His podagra hath become a chiragra, as honest
Martial hath it — ^the gout has got into his fingers, and he cannot
draw his purse. Old saying, and true,

' Prsemia cum poscit medicus, Sathan est.*
We are angels when we come to cure — devils when we ask payment

270 THE ABBOT.

— but I will administer a purgation to his purse, I warrant him.
There is his brother too, a sordid chuff. — So ho, there ! Saunders
Darlet! you have been ill I hearl"

'' Just got the turn, as I was thinking to send to your honour, and
I am brawlj now again — it was nae great thing that ailed me."

" Hark you, sirrah,*' said the Doctor, " I trust you remember you
are owing to the laird four stones of barleymeal, and a bow of oats ;
and I would have you send no more such kain-f owls as you sent last
season, that looked as wretchedly as patients just dismissed from a
pla^e-hospital; and there is hard i^oney owing besides."

^' I was thinking, sir," said the man, more Scotico, that is, return-
ing no direct answer on the subject on which he was addressed, '^ my
best way would be to come down to your honour, and take your
advice yet, in case my trouble should come back."

''Do so then, knave," replied Lundin, ''and remember what
Eodesiasticus saith — ' Give place to the physician — ^let him not go
from thee, for tiiou hast need of himu' "

His exhortation was interrupted by an apparition, which seemed
to strike the Doctor wiHi as much horror a^dsurprise, as his own
visage inflicted upon sundry of those persons whom he had addressed.

The figure which produced this effect on the Esculapius of the
village, was that of a tall old woman, who wore a high-crowned hat
and muffler. The first of these habiliments added apparently to her
stature, and the^ other served to conceal the lower part of her face, and
as the hat itself was slouched, little could be seen besides two brown
cheek bones, and the eyes of swarthy fire, that gleamed from under
two shaggy grey eyebrows. She was dressed in a long dark-coloured
robe of unusual fashion, bordered at the skirts, and on the stomacher,
with a sort of white trimming resembling the Jewish phylacteries,
on which were wrought the characters of some unknown language.
She held in her hand a walking-staff of black ebony.

"By the soul of Celsus," said Doctor Luke Lundin, "it is old
Mother Nicneven herself — she hath come to beard me within mine
own bounds, and in the very execution of mine office 1 Have at thy
coat. Old Woman, as the song says — ^Hob Anster, let her presently
be seized and committed to the tolbooth ; and if there are any zealous
brethren here who would give the hag her deserts, and duck her, as
a witch, in the loch, I pray let them in no way be hindered."

But the myrmidons of Doctor Lundin showed in this case no
alacrity to do his bidding. Hob Anster even ventured to remon-
strate in the name of himself and his brethren. " To be sure he was
to do his honour's bidding; and for a' that folk said about the skill
and witoheries at Mother Nicneven, he would put his trust in God,

THE ABBOT. 271

and his hand on her collar without dreadonr. But she was no
common spaewife, this Mother Nicneven, like Jean Jopp that lived
in the Brierie-baulk. She had lords and lairds that would ruffle for
her. There was Moncrieff of Tippermalloch, that was popish, and
the laird of Carslogie, a kend Queen's man, were in the fair, with
wha kend how mony swords and bucklers at their back ; and they
would be sure to make a break out if the officers meddled with the
auld popish witch- wife, who was sae weel friended ; mair especially
as the laird's best men, such as were not in the castle, were in
Edinburgh with him, and he doubted his honour the Doctor would
find ower few to make a good backing, if blades were bare."

The Doctor listened unwillingly to this prudential counsel, and
was only comforted by the faithful promise of his satellite, that " the
old woman should," as he expressed it, ''be ta'en canny the next
time she trespassed on the bounda"

'' And in that event^" said the Doctor to his companion, " fire and
fagot shall be the best of her welcome."

This he spoke in hearing of the dame herself, who even then, and
in passing the Doctor, shot towards him from under her grey eye-
brows a look of the most insulting and contemptuous superiority.

" This way," continued the physician, " this way," marshalling his
guest into his lodging, — " take care you stumble not over a retort,
for it is hazardous for the ignorant to walk in the ways of art."

The page found all reason for the caution; for besides stuffed
birds, and lizards, and bottled snakes, and bundles of simples made
up, and other parcels spread out to dry, and all the confusion, not
to mention the mingled and sickening smells, incidental to a
druggist's stock in trade, he had also to avoid heaps of charcoal,
crucibles, bolt-heads, stoves, and the other furniture of a chemical
laboratory.

Amongst his other philosophical qualities, Doctor Lundin failed
not to be a confused sloven, and his old housekeeper, whose life, as
she said, was spent in '' redding him up," had trotted off to the mart
of gaiety with other and younger folks. Much clattering and jang-
ling therefore there was among jars, and bottles, and phiaJs, ere the
Doctor produced the salutif erous potion which he reoonmiended so
strongly, and a search equally long and noisy followed, among broken
cans and cracked pipkins, ere he could bring forth a cup out of which
to drink it. Both matters being at length achieved, the Doctor set
the example to his guest, by quaffing off a cup of the cordial, and
smacking his lips with approbation as it descended his gullet. —
JEtoland, in turn, submitted to swallow the potion which his host so
earnestly recommended, but which he found so insufferably bitter,

272 THE ABBOT.

that he became eager to escape from the laboratory, in search of a
draught of fair water to expel the taste. In spite of his efforts, he
was nevertheless detained by the garrulity of his host, till he gave
him some account of Mother Nicneven.

"I care not to speak of her," said the Doctor, "in the open air,
and among the throng of people ; not for fright, like yon cowardly
dog, Anster, but because I would give no occasion for a fray, having
no leisure to look to stabs, slashes, and broken bones. Men call the
old hag a prophetess — I do scarce believe she could foretell when a
brood of chickens wiQ chip the shell — ^Men say she reads the heavens
— ^my black bitch knows as much of them when she sits baying the
moon — ^Men pretend the ancient wretch is a sorceress, a witch, and
what not — Inter nos, I will never contradict a rumour which may
bring her to the stake which she so richly deserves ; but neither will
I believe that the tales of witches which they din into our ears are
aught but knavery, cozenage, and old women's fables."

" In the name of Heaven, what is she, then," said the page, "that
you make such a stir about herl"

" She is one of those cursed old women," replied the Doctor, "who
take currently and impudently upon themselves to act as advisers
and curers of the sick, on the strength of some trash of herbs, some
rhyme of spells, some julap or diet, drink or cordial."

" Nay, go no farther," said the page ; " if they brew cordials, evil
be their lot and all their partakers !"

"You say well, young man," said Doctor Lundin; "for mine own
part, I know no such pests to the commonwealth as these old incar-
nate devils, who haunt the chambers of the brain-sick patients, that
are mad enough to suffer them to interfere with, disturb, and let, the
regular progress of a learned and artificial cure, with their syrups,
and their julaps, and diascordium, and mithridate, and my Lady
What-shaU-call'um's powder, and worthy Dame Trashem's pill ; and
thus make widows and orphans, and cheat the regular and well-
studied physician, in order to get the name of wise women and skeely
neighbours, and so forth. But no more on't — Mother Nicnevenf
and I will meet one day; and she shall know there is danger in deal-
ing with the doctor."

" It is a true word, and many have found it," said the page ; " but,
under your favour, I would fain walk abroad for a littie, and see
these sports."

" It is well moved," said the doctor, " and I too should be showing

t This was the name given to the grand Mother Witch, the Tery Hecate of Scottish
popular enperstition. Her name wae beetowed, in one or two inaiMne<«m^ upon aoroei>
8, who wen lield to resemble her by their superior skill in " Hell's blaok grammar."

THE ABBOT. 273

myself abroad. Moreover, the play waits us, young man — to-day,
totus muTkdus agit histrwnem" — ^And they sallied forth accordingly
into the mirthful scene.

CHAPTER XXVII.

See on yon verdant lawn, the gathering crowd
Thickens amain ; the buxom nymphs advance,
Usher'd by jolly clowns; distinctions cease,
Lost in the common joy, and the bold slave
Leans on his wealthy master unreproved.

Mural Games, — Somebvillb.

The re-appearance of the dignified Chamberlain on the street of the
village was eagerly hailed by the revellers, as a pledge that the play,
or dramatic representation, which had been postponed owing to his
absence, was now full surely to commence. Any thing like an
approach to this most interesting of all amusements, was of recent
origin in Scotland, and engaged public attention in proportion. All
other sports were discontinued. The dance around the Maypole was
arrested — the ring broken up and dispersed, while the dancers, each
leading his partner by the hand, tripped off to the sylvan theatre.
A truce was in like manner achieved betwixt a huge brown bear and
certain masti£[s, who were tugging and pulling at his shaggy coat,
under the mediation of the bear- ward and half a dozen butchers and
yeomen, who, by dint of staving and tailing, as it was technically
termed, separated the unfortunate animals, whose fury had for an
hour past been their chief amusement. The itinerant minstrel found
himself deserted by the audience he had collected, even in the most
interesting passage of the romance which he recited, and just as he
was sending about his boy, with bonnet in hand, to collect their
oblations. He indignantly stopped short in the midst of EosewaU
and Lilian, and, replacing his three-stringed fiddle, or rebeck, in its
leathern case, followed the crowd, with no good-will, to the exhibition
which had superseded his own. The juggler had ceased his exertions
of emitting fiame and smoke, and was content to respire in the
manner of ordinary mortals, rather than to play gratuitously the
part of a fiery dragon. In short, all other sports were suspended, so
eagerly did the revellers throng towards the place of representation.
They would err greatly who should regulate their ideas of this
dramatic exhibition upon those derived from a modem theatre ; for
the rude shows of Thespis were far less different from those exhib-
ited by Euripides on the stage of Athena, 'vntici sJ^ \!ci& \fis^j^£&si^^

274 THE ABBOT.

decorations and pomp of dresses and of scenery. In the present case,
there were no scenes^ no stage, no machinery, no pit, box, and gallery,
no box-lobby; and, what might in poor Scotland be some consolation
for other negations, there was no taking of money at the door. As
in the devices of the magnanimous Bottom, the actors had a green-
sward plot for a stage, and a hawthorn bush for a greenroom and
tiring-house ; the spectators being accommodated with seats on the
artificial bank which had been raised around three-fourths of the
play-ground, the remainder being left open for the entrance and exit
of the performers. Here sate the uncritical audience, the Chamber-
lain in the centre, as the person highest in office, all alive to enjoy-
ment and admiration, and all therefore dead to criticism.

The characters which appeared and disappeared before the amused
and interested audience, were those which fill the earlier stage in all
nations — old men, cheated by their wives and daughters, pillaged by
their sons^ and imposed on by their domestics, a braggadocio captain,
a knavish pardoner or qusestionary, a country bumpkin, and a
wanton city dame. Amid all these, and more acceptable than almost
the whole put together, was the all-licensed fool, the Gracioso of the
Spanish drama, who, with his cap fashioned into the resemblance of
a coxcomb, and his bauble, a truncheon terminated by a carved figure
wearing a fool's cap in his hand, went^ came, and returned, mingling
in every scene of the piece, and interrupting the business, without
having any share himself in the action, and ever and anon trans-
ferring his gibes from the actors on the stage to the audience who
sate around, prompt to applaud the whole.

The wit of the piece, which was not of the most polished kind,
was chiefly directed against the superstitious practices of the Catholic
religion ; and the stage artillery had on this occasion been levelled
by no less a person than Doctor Lundin, who had not only com-
manded the manager of the entertainment to select one of the
numerous satires which had been written against the Papists (several
of which were cast in a dramatic form), but had even, like the Prince
of Denmark, caused them to insert, or, according to his own phrase,
to infuse, here and there, a few pleasantries of his own penning, on
the same inexhaustible subject, hoping thereby to mollify the rigour
of the Lady of Lochleven towards pastimes of this description. He
failed not to jog Boland's elbow, who was sitting in state behind him,
and recommend to his particular attention those favourite passages.
As for the page, to whom the very idea of such an exhibition, simple
as it was, was entirely new, he beheld it with the imdiminished and
ecstatic delight with which men of all ranks look for the first time
on dramatic representation, and laughed, shouted, and clapped his

THE ABBOT. 276

hands as the performance proceeded. An incident at length took
place which effectuallj broke off his interest in the business of the
scene.

One of the principal personages in the comic part of the drama was,
as we have already said, a quaestionary or pardoner, one of those
itinerants who hawked aboat from place to place relics, real or pre-
tended, with which he excited the devotion at once and the charity
of the populace, and generally deceived both the one and the other.
The hypocrisy, impudence, and profligacy of these clerical wanderers,
had made them the subject of satire from the time of Chaucer down
to that of Heywood. Their present representative failed not to
follow the same line of humour, exhibiting pig's bones for relics, and
boasting the virtues of small tin crosses, which had been shaken in
the holy porringer at Loretto, and of cockleshells, which had been
brought from the shrine of Saint James of Compostella, all which
he disposed of to the devout Catholics at nearly as high a price as
antiquaries are now willing to pay for baubles of similar intrinsic
value. At length the pardoner pulled from his scrip a small phial
of dear water, of which he vaunted the quality in the following
verses : —

Listneth, gode people, everiche one
For in the londe of Babylone,
Far eastward I wot it lyeth,
And is the first londe the sonne espieth,
Ther, as he cometh fro out the s^ ;
In this ilk londe, as thinketh me.
Bight as holie legendes tell^
Snottreth from a roke a well.
And falleth into one bath of ston.
Where chaste Susanne, in times long gon,
Was wont to wash her bodie and lim —
Midde vertue hath that streme.
As ye shall se er that ye pas,
Ensample by this little glas —
Through night^s cold and day^s bote,
Hiderward I have it brought ;
Hath a wife made slip or slid^
Or a maiden stepp'd aside ;
Futteth this water under her nese,
Wold she nold she, she shall snese.

The jest, as the reader skiKul in the antique language of the drama
must at once perceive, turned on the same pivot as in the old minstrel
tales of the Drinking Horn of King Arthur, and the Mai2o;tiL<^ \s^s6^<^

276 THE ABBOT.

Amiss. But the aadienoe were neither learned nor critical enough
to challenge its want of originality. The potent relic was, after such
grimace and buffoonery aa befitted the subject, presented successiyely
to each of the female personages of the drama, not one of whom
sustained the supposed test of discretiotL; but, to the infinite delight
of the audience, sneezed much louder and longer than perhaps they
themselves had counted on. The jest seemed at last worn threadbare,
and the pardoner was passing on to some new pleasantry, when the
jester or down of the drama, possessing himself secretly of the phial
which contained the wondrous liquor, applied it suddenly to the noee
of a young woman, who, with her black silk muffler, or screen, drawn
over her face, was -sitting in the foremost rank of the spectators,
intent apparently upon the business of the stage. The contents of
the phial, well calculated to sustain the credit of the pardonei's
legend, set the damsel a-sneezing violently, an admission of frailty
which was received with shouts of rapture by the audience. These
were soon, however, renewed at the expense of the jester himself,
when the insulted maiden extricated, ere the paroxysm was well
over, one hand from the folds of her mantle, and bestowed on the
wag a buffet, which made him reel fully his own length from the
pardoner, and then acknowledge the favour by instant prostration.

No one pities a jester overcome in his vocation, and the down
met with little sympathy, when, rising from the ground, and whim-
pering forth his complaints of harsh treatment, he invoked the ^
a^istance and sympathy of the audience. But the Chamberlain,
feeling his own dignity insulted, ordered two of his halberdiers to
bring the culprit before him. When these official persons first ap-
proached the virago, she threw herself into an attitude of firm defi-
ance, as if determined to resist their authority; and from the sample
of strength and spirit which she had already displayed, they showed
no alacrity at executing their commission. But on half a minute's
reflection, the damsel changed totally her attitude and manner,
folded her cloak around her arms in modest and maiden-like fashion,
and walked of her own accord to the presence of the great man,
followed and guarded by the two manful satellites. As she moved
across the vacant space, and more especially as she stood at the foot-
stool of the Doctor's judgment-seat, the maiden discovered that light-
ness and elasticity of step, and natural grace of manner, which
connoisseurs in female beauty know to be seldom divided from it.
Moreover, her neat russet-coloured jacket, and short petticoat of the
same colour, displayed a handsome form and a pretty leg. Her
features were concealed by the screen; but the Doctor, whose gravity
did not prevent his pretensions to be a connoisseur of the school we

L

THE ABBOT. 277

ksre binted at^ saw e&oa^ to judge ^Toorably oi the piece by the
BBinple.

He began, howeTer, with oonaiderable austerity of manner. —
*< And how now, saucy qnean ! " said the medical man of office; ^ what
bave 70a to say why I should not ord^ yon to be dacked in the lodi,
for Hfting your hand to the man in my presence?*'

*^ Mtary," refdied the culprit^ ** because I judge that your honour
will not tiiink the cold bath necessary for my complaints."

^ A pestilent jade," said the Doctor, whispering to Boland Graeme;
^and 111 warrant her a good one — ^her voice is as sweet as sirup. —
But my pretty maiden," said he, ^ you show us wonderful little of
that oountenance of yours — be pleased to throw aside your
muffler."

^ I trust your honour will excuse me till we are more private,"
answered the maiden; ^ for I have acquaintance, and I should like
ill to be known in the country as the poor girl whom that scurvy
knave put his jest upon."

^Fear nothing for thy good name, my sweet little modicum of
candied manna ! ** relied the Doctor; *' for I protest to you, as I am
Chamberlain of Lochleven, Kinross, and so forth, that the chaste
Susanna herself could not have snuffed that elixir without sternuta-
tion, being in truth a curious distillation of rectified <icetuniy or
vinegar of the sun, prepared by mine own hands — Wherefore, as
thou sayest thou wilt come to me in private, and express thy con-
trition for the offence whereof thou hast been guilty, I command
that all for the present go forward as if no such interruption of the
prescribed course had taken place."

The damsel curtsied and tripped back to her place. The play pro-
ceeded, but it no longer attracted the attention of Boland Graeme.

The voice, the figure, and what the veil permitted to be seen of
the neck and tresses of the village damsel, bore so strong a resem-
blance to those of Catherine Seyton, that he felt like one bewildered
in the mazes of a changeful and stupifying dream. The memorable
scene of the hostelry rushed on his recollection, with all its doubtful
and marvellous circumstances. Were the tales of enchantment
which he had read in romances realized in this extraordinary girll
Gould she transport herself from the walled and guarded Castle of
Lochleven, moated with its broad lake (towards which he cast back
a look as if to ascertain it was still in existence), and watched with
such scrupulous care as the safety of a nation demanded — Could she
surmount all these obstacles, and make such careless and dangerous
use of her liberty, as to engage herself publicly in a quarrel in a
village fair? Boland was unable to determine whether the exertions

278 THE ABBOT.

which it must have cost her to gain her f reedom, or the use to which
she had put it, rendered her the most unaccountable creature.

Lost in these meditations, he kept his gaze fixed on the subject of
them; and in every casual motion, discovered, or thought he dis-
covered, something which reminded him still more strongly of
Catherine Seyton. It occurred to him more than once, indeed, that
he might be deceiving himself by exaggerating some casual likeness
into absolute identity. But then the meeting at the hostelry of
Saint Michael's returned to his mind, and it seemed in the highest
degree improbable, that, under such various circumstances, mere
imagination should twice have found opportunity to play him the
self -same trick. This time, however, he determined to have his
doubts resolved, and for this purpose he sate during the rest of the
play like a greyhound in the slip, ready to spring upon the hare the
instant that she was started. The damsel, whom he watched
attentively lest she should escape in the crowd when the spectacle
was closed, sate as if perfectly unconscious that she was observed.
But the worthy Doctor marked the direction of his eyes, and mag-
nanimously suppressed his own inclination to become the Theseus to
this Hippolyta, in deference to the rights of hospitality, which en-
joined him to forbear interference with the pleasurable pursuits of
his young friend. He passed one or two formal gibes upon the fixed
attention which the page paid to the unknown, and upon his own
jealousy; adding, however, that if both were to be presented to the
patient at once, he had little doubt she would think the younger
man the soimder prescription. " I fear me,** he added, " we shall
have no news of the knave Auchtermuchty for some time, since the
vermin whom I sent after him seem to have proved corbie-mes-
sengers. So you have an hour or two on your hands. Master Page;
and as the minstrels are beginning to strike up, now that the play is
ended, why, an you incline for a dance, yonder is the green, and
there sits your partner — ^I trust you will hold me perfect in my
diagnostics, since I see with half an eye what disease you are sick of,
and have administered a pleasing remedy.

' Discemit sapiens res' (as Chambers hath it) *quas confundit asellus.^ "

The page hardly heard the end of the learned adage, or the charge
which the Chamberlain gave him to be within readi, in case of the
wains arriving suddenly, and sooner than expected — so eager was he
at once to shake himself free of his learned associate, and to satisfy
his curiosity regarding the unknown damseL Yet in the haste with
which he made towards her, he found time to reflect, that, in order
to secure an opportunity of conveTsmg mth her in private, he must

THE ABBOT. 279

not alarm her at first accosting her. He therefore composed his
manner and gait, and advancing with becoming self-confidence before
three or four country-fellows who were intent on the same design,
but knew not so well how to put their request into shape, he
acquainted her that he, as the deputy of the venerable Chamberlain,
requested the honour of her hand as a partner.

*' The venerable Chamberlain,'' said the damsel frankly, reaching
the page her hand, ''does very well to exercise this part of his
privilege by deputy; and I suppose the laws of the revels leave me
no choice but to accept of his faithful delegate."

'' Provided, fair dainsel,'' said the page, '' his choice of a delegate
is not altogether distasteful to you."

*' Of that^ fair sir," replied the maiden, " I will tell you more when
we have danced the first measure."

Catherine Seyton had admirable skill in gestic lore, and was some-
times called on to dance for the amusement of her royal mistress.
Boland Graeme had often been a spectator of her skill, and some-
times, at the Queen's command, Catherine's partner on such occasions.
He was, therefore, perfectly acquainted with Catherine's mode of
dancing ; and observed that his present partner, in grace, in agility,
in quickness of ear, and precision of execution, exactly resembled
her, save that the Scottish jig, which he now danced with her,
required a more violent and rapid motion, and more rustic agility, than
the stately pavens, lavoltas, and courantoes, which he had seen her
execute in the chamber of Queen Mary. The active duties of the
dance left him little time for reflection, and none for conversation;
but when their pas de deux was finished, amidst the acclamations of
the villagers, who had seldom witnessed such an exhibition, he took
an opportunity, when they yielded up the green to another couple,
to use the privilege of a partner, and enter into conversation with
the mysterious maiden whom he still held by the hand.

'' Fair partner, may I not crave the name of her who has graced
me thus far?"

" You may," said the maiden; " but it is a question whether I shall
answer you."

" And why? " asked Eoland.

" Because nobody gives anything for nothing — ^and you can tell me
nothing in return which I care to hear."

"Could I not tell you my name and lineage, in exchange for
yours?" returned Boland.

"No ! " answered the maiden, "for you know little of either."

"How? " said the page, somewhat angrily.

" Wrath you not for the matter," said ^e damsel ; " I will show

280 THE ABBOT.

you in an instant that I know more of yon than jou do of your*
self."

"Indeed!* answered Graeme; ''for whom then do you take
mel"

" For the wild falcon," answered she, " whom a dog brought in
his mouth to a certain castle, when he was but an unfledged eyas —
for the hawk whom man dare not let fly, lest he should check at
game, and pounce on carrion — ^whom folk must keep hooded till
he has the proper light of his eyes, and can discover good from
evil."

"Well — ^be it so," replied Boland Graeme; "I guess at a part of
your paxaUe, fair mistress mine-^iid perhaps I know as much of
you as you do of me, and can well dispense with the information
which you are so niggard in giving."

" Prove that," said the maiden, " and I wiU give you credit for
more penetration than I judged you to be gifted withal."

" It shall be proved instantly," said Eoland Graeme. " The first
letter of your name is S, and the last N."

"Admirable !" said his partner; "guess on."

"It pleases you to-day," continued Eoland, "to wear the snood
and kirtle, and perhaps you may be seen to-morrow in hat and
feather, hose and doublet."

" In the clout ! in the clout ! you have hit the very white," said
the damsel, suppressing a great inclination to laugh.

" You can switch men's eyes out of their heads, as well as the
hearts out of their bosoms."

These last words were uttered in a low and tender tone, which,
to Boland's great mortification, and somewhat to his displeasure,
was so far from alla3dng, that it greatly increased, his partner's
disposition to laughter. She could scarce compose herself while
she replied, " If you had thought my hand so formidable," extri-
cating it from his hold, " you would not have grasped it so hard ;
but I perceive you know me so fully, that there is no occasion to
show you my face."

" Fair Catherine," said the page, " he were unworthy ever to have
seen you, far less to have dwelt so long in the same service, and
under the same roof with you, who could mistake your air, your
gesture, your step in walking or in dancing, the turn of your neck,
the symmetry of your form — none could be so dull^as not to recognize
you by so many proofs ; but for me, I could swear even to that tress
of hair that escapes from under your muffler."

" And to the face, of course, which that muffler covers," said the
maiden, removing her veil, and in an instant endeavouring to replace

THE ABBOT. 281

it She showed the features of Catherine ; but an unusual degree of
petulant impatience infamed them, when from some awkwardness in
her management of the muffler, she was unable again to adjust it
with that dexterity which was a principal accomplishment of the
coquettes of the time.

"The fiend rive the rag to tatters !" said the damsel, as the veil
fluttered about her shoulders, with an accent so earnest and decided,
that it made the page start. He looked again at the damsel's face,
but the information which his eyes received, was to the same pur-
port as before. Heiissisted her to adjust her muffler, and both were
for an instant silent. The damsel spoke first, for Boland Grseme
was ovei-whelmed with surprise at the contrarieties which Catherine
Seyton seemed to include in her person and character.

" You are surprised," said the damsel to him, " at what you see
and hear — But the times which made females men, are least of all
fitted for men to become women ; yet you yourself are in danger of
such a change.''

'^ I in danger of becoming effeminate !" said the page.

" Yes, you, for all j, the boldness of your reply," said the damsel.
'* When you should hold fast your religion, because it is assailed on
all sides by rebels, traitors, and heretics, you let it glide out of your
breast like water grasped in the hand. If you are driven from the
fsdih. of your fathers from fear of a traitor, is not that womanish ?
— If you are cajoled by the cunning arguments of a trumpeter of
heresy, or the praises of a puritanic old woman, is not that womanish?
— If you are bribed by the hope of spoil and preferment, is not that
womanish? — ^And when you wonder at my venting a threat or an
execration, should you not wonder at yourself, who, pretending to a
gentle name, and aspiring to knighthood, can be at the same time
cowardly, silly, and self-interested?"

" I would tiiat a man would bring such a charge !" said the page;
" he should see, ere his life was a minute older, whether he had cause
to term me coward or no."

" Beware of such big words," answered the maiden ; " you said but
anon that I sometimes wear hose and doublet."

" But remain still Catherine Seyton, wear what you list," said the
page, endeavouring again to possess himself of her hand.

" You indeed are pleased to call me so," replied the maiden, evad-
ing his intention, " but I have many other names besides."

" And will you not reply to that," said the page, " by which you
are distinguished beyond every other maiden in Scotland?"

The damsel, unallured by his praises, still kept aloof, and sung
with gaiety a verse from an old ballad,

282 THE ABBOT.

** some do call me Jack, sweet love,
And some do ca^ me Gill ;
But when I ride to Holyrood,
My name is Wilful Will"

"Wilful Will!" exclaimed the page, impatiently; "say rather
Will oVthe Wisp— Jack -with the Lantern, for never was such a
deceitful or wandering meteor !"

" If I be such," replied the maiden, " I ask no fools to follow me
— li they do so, it is at their own pleasure, and must be on their own
proper peril."

"Nay, but, dearest Catherine," said Eoland Grseme, "be for one
instant serious."

" If you will call me your dearest Catherine, when I have given
you so many names to choose upon," replied the damsel, " I would
ask you how, supposing me for two or three hours of my life escaped
from yonder tower, you have the cruelty to ask me to be serious
during the only merry moments I have seen perhaps for months?"

"Ay, but, fair Catherine, there are moments of deep and true feel-
ing, which are worth ten thousand years of the liveliest mirth; and
such was that of yesterday, when you so nearly"

" So nearly what?" demanded the damsel, hastily.

"When you approached your lips so near to the sign you bad
traced on my forehead."

"Mother of Heaven!" exclaimed she, in a yet fiercer tone, and
with a more masculine manner than she had yet exhibited, — " Cath-
erine Seyton approach her lips to a man's brow, and thou that man !
— ^vassal, thou liest !"

The page stood astonished ; but, conceiving he had alarmed the
damsel's delicacy by alluding to the enthusiasm of a moment, and
the manner in which she had expressed it, he endeavoured to falter
forth an apology. His excuses, though he was imable to give them
any regular shape, were accepted by his companion, who had indeed
suppressed her indignation after its first explosion — " Speak no more
on't," she said. " And now let us part ; our conversation may attract
more notice than is convenient for either of us."

"Nay, but allow me at least to follow you to some sequestered
place."

" You dare not," replied the maiden.

" How," said the youth, " dare not? where is it you dare go where
I dare not follow?"

"You fear a WiU o' the Wisp," said the damsel; "how would
joii face a &ery dragon, with an enchantress mounted on its back?"

THE ABBOT. 283

**-Like Sir Eger, Sir Grime, or Sir Greysteil/' said the page ; " but
be there such toys to be seen here?''

''I go to Mother NicneyenV' answered the maid; ''and she is
witch enough to rein the homed devil, with a red silk thread for a
bridle, and a rowan-tree switch for a whip.''

" I will follow you," said the page.

'' Let it be at some distance," said the maiden.

And wrapping her mantle round her with more success than on
her former attempt, she mingled with the throng, and walked to-
wards the village, heedfully followed by Boland Grseme at some
distance, and imder every precaution which he could use to prevent
his purpose from being observed.

CHAPTEE XXVIII.

Yes, it is he whoee eyes looked on thy childhood,
And watch'd with trembling hope thy dawn of youth.
That now, with these same eyeballs dimm*d with age,
And dimmer yet with tears, sees thy dishonour.

Old Play,

At the entrance of the principal, or, indeed, so to speak, the only
street in Kinross, the damsel, whose steps were pursued by Boland
Grseme, cast a glance behind her, as if to be certain he had not lost
trace of her, and then plimged down a very narrow lane which ran
betwixt two rows of poor and ruinous cottages. She paused for a
second at the door of one of those miserable tenements, again cast
her eye up the lane towards Boland, then lifted the latch, opened
the door, and disappeared from his view.

With whatever haste the page followed her example, the difficulty
which he foimd in discovering the trick of the latch, which did not
work quite in the usual manner, and in pushing open the door,
which did not yield to his first efiPort, delayed for a minute or two
his entrance into the cottage. A dark and smoky passage led, as
usual, betwixt the exterior wall of the house, and the hcUlan, or
day-wall, which served as a partition betwixt it and the interior.
At the end of this passage, and through the partition, was a door
leading into the hen, or inner chamber of the cottage, and when
Boland Graeme's hand was upon the latch of this door, a female voice
pronounced, '' Benedictus qui veniat in nomine Domini, damnandus
qui in nomine inimici" On entering the apartment he perceived the
figure which the chamberlain had pointed out to him as Mother
Nicneven, seated beside the lowly health. "Bm^* V)aBt^^«&\ia <:}^^

284 THE ABBOT.

person in the room. Boland Graeme gazed around in surprise at
the disappearance of Catherine Seyton, without paying much regard
to the supposed sorceress, until she attracted and rivetted his regard
by the tone in which she asked him — " What seekest thou here?"

" I seek/' said the page, wilii much embarrassment, " I seek '*

But his answer was cut short when the old woman, drawing her
huge grey eyebrows sternly together, with a frown which knitted
her brow into a thousand wrinkles, arose, and erecting heiself up to
her full natural size, tore the kerchief from her head, and seizing
Boland by the arm, made two strides across the floor of the apart-
ment to a small window through which the light fell full on her face,
and showed the astonished youth the countenance of Magdalen
Graeme. — "Yes, Roland,'' she said, "thine eyes deceive thee not;
they show thee truly the features of her whom thou hast thyself
deceived, whose wine thou hast turned into gall, her bread of joyful-
ness into bitter poison, her hope into the blackest despair — it is she
who now demands of thee, what seekest thou here? — She whose
heaviest sin towards Heaven hath been, that she loved thee even
better than the weal of the whole church, and could not without
reluctance surrender thee even in the cause of Gk>d — she now asks
you, what seekest thou here?"

While she spoke, she kept her broad black eye rivetted on the
youth's face, with the expression with which the eagle regards his
prey ere he tears it to pieces. Boland felt himself at the moment
incapable of either reply or evasion. This extraordinary enthusiast
had preserved over him in some measure the ascendancy which
she had acquired during his childhood ; and, besides, he knew the
violence of her passions and her impatience of contradiction, and
was sensible that almost any reply which he could make, was likely
to throw her into an ecstasy of rage. He was therefore silent;
and Magdalen Graeme proceeded with increasing enthusiasm in her
apostrophe — " Once more, what seek'st thou, false boy? — seek'st thou
the honour thou hast renounced, the faith thou hast abandoned, the
hopes thou hast destroyed? — Or didst thou seek me, the sole
protectress of thy youth, the only parent whom thou hast known,
that thou mayst trample on my grey hairs, even as thou hast already
trampled on the best wishes of my heart? "

"Pardon me, mother," said Boland Graeme; "but in truth and
reason, I deserve not your blame. I have been treated amongst
you— even by yourself, my revered parent, as well as by others —
as one who lacked the common attributes of free-will and human
reason, or was at least deemed unfit to exercise them. A land of
eDcbBiitment have I been Idd into, and speUs have been cast

THE ABBOT. 286

around me— every one has met me in disgaiBe— every one has
spoken to me in parables — I have been like one who walks in a
weary and bewildering dream ; and now you blame me that I have
not the sense, and judgment, and steadiness, of a waking, and a
disenchanted, and a reasonable man, who knows what he is doing,
and wherefore he does it! If one must walk with masks and
spectres, who waft themselves from place to place as it were in
vision rather than reality, it might shake the soundest faith and
turn the wisest head. I sought, since I must needs avow my folly,
the same Catherine Seyton with whom you made me first acquainted,
and whom I most strangely find in this village of Kinross, gayest
among the revellers, when I had but just left her in the well-guarded
castle of Lochleven, the sad attendant of an imprisoned Queen — I
sought her, and in her place I find you, my mother, more strangely
disguised than even she is.''

''And what hadst thou to do with Catherine Seyton?" said the
matron sternly; ''is this a time or a world to follow maidens, or
to dance around a Maypole 1 When the trumpet summons every
true-hearted Scotsman around the standard of the true sovereign,
shalt thou be found loitering in a lady's bower?"

" No, by Heaven, nor imprisoned in the rugged walls of an island
castle ! " answered Eoland Graeme : " I would the blast were to sound
even now, for I fear that nothing less loud will dispel the chimerical
visions by which I am surrounded."

" Doubt not that it will be winded," said the matron, " and that
so fearfully loud, that Scotland will never hear the like until the
last and loudest blast of all shall announce to mountain and to
valley that time is no more. Meanwhile, be thou but brave and
constant — Serve Grod and honour thy sovereign — ^Abide by thy
religion — I cannot — I will not — I dare not ask thee the truth of the
terrible surmises I have heard touching thy falling away — perfect
not that accursed sacrifice — and yet, even at this late hour, thou
mayst be what I have hoped for the son of my dearest hope— -what
say I? the son of my hope — ^thou shalt be the hope of Scotland^ her
boast and her honour ! — Even thy wildest and most foolish wishes
may perchance be fulfilled — I might blush to mingle meaner motives
witJi the noble guerdon I hold out to thee — It shames me, being such
as I am, to mention the idle passions of youth, save with contempt
and the purpose of censure. But we must bribe children to whole-
some medicine by the offer of cates, and youth to honourable achieve-
ment with the promise of pleasure. Mark me, therefore, Boland.
The love of Catherine Seyton will follow him only who shall achieve
the freedom of her mistress ; and believe, it may be one day in thioA

286 THE ABBOT.

own power to be that happy lover. Cast, therefore, away doubt and
fear, and prepare to do what religion calls for, what thy country
demands of thee, what thy duty as a subject and as a servant alike
require at your hand; and be assured, even the idlest or wildest
wishes of thy heart will be most readily attained by following the
call of thy duty.**

As she ceased speaking, a double knock was heard against the
inner door. The matron, hastily adjusting her muffler, and resum-
ing her chair by the hearth, demanded who was there.

^* Salve in nomine sancto" was answered from without.

"JSalveie et vo8y* answered Magdalen Graeme.

''And a man entered in the ordinary dress of a nobleman's
retainer, wearing at his side a sword and buckler — " I sought you,**
said he, ''my mother, and him whom I see with you." Then
addressing himself to Boland Graeme, he said to him, " Hast thou not
a packet from George Douglas? "

"I have,'' said the page, suddenly recollecting that which had
been committed to his charge in the morning, "but I may not
deliver it to any one without some token that they have a right to
ask it."

" You say well," replied the serving-man, and whispered into his
ear, "The packet which I ask is the report to his father — ^will this
token suffice?"

" It will," replied the page, and taking the packet from his bosom,
gave it to the man.

"I will return presently," said the serving-man, and left the
cottage.

Eoland had now sufficiently recovered his surprise to aocost his
relative in turn, and request to know the reason why he found her
in so precarious a disguise, and a place so dangerous — " You cannot
be ignorant," he said, "of the hatred that the Lady of Lochleven
bears to those of your — that is of our religion — ^your present disguise
lays you open to suspicions of a different kind, but inferring no less
hazard ; and whether as a CatholiC; or as a sorceress, or as a friend
to the unfortunate Queen, you are in equal danger, if apprehended
within the bounds of the Douglas; and in the chamberlain who
administers their authority, you have, for his own reasons, an enemy,
and a bitter one."

" I know it," said the matron, her eyes kindling with triumph ;
"I know that, vain of his school-craft and carnal wisdom, Luke
Lundin views with jealousy and hatred the blessings which the saints
have conferred on my prayers, and on the holy relics, before the
touch, usLj, before the bare presence of which^ disease and death have

THE ABBOT. 287

SO often been known to retreat. — I know he would rend and tear me;
but there is a chain and a muzzle on the ban-dog that shall restrain
his fury, and the Master's servant shall not be offended by him until
the Master's work is wrought. When that hour comes, let the
shadows of the evening descend on me in thunder and in tempest ;
the time shall be welcome that relieves my eyes from seeing guilt,
and my ears from listening to blasphemy. Do thou but be constant
— play thy part as I have played and will play mine, and my release
shall be like that of a blessed martyr whose ascent to heaven
angels hail with psalm and song, while earth pursues him with hiss
and with execration."

As she concluded, the serving-man again entered the cottage, and
said, "All is well ! the time holds for to-morrow night."

"What time? what holds?" exclaimed Eoland Graeme; "I trust
I have given the Douglas's packet to no wrong "

"Content yourself, young man," answered the serving-man;
" thou hast my word and token."

"I know not if the token be right," said the page; "and I care
not much for the word of a stranger."

"What," said the matron, "although thou mayst have given a
packet delivered to thy charge by one of the Queen's rebels into the
hand of a loyal subject — there were no great mistake in that, thou
hotbrained boy ! "

" By Saint Andrew, there were foul mistake, thoijgh," answered
the page; "it is the very spirit of my duty, in this first stage of
chivalry, to be faithful to my trust ; and had the devil given me a
message to discharge, I would not (so I had plighted my faith to the
contrary) betray his counsel to an angel of light."

" Now, by the love I once bore thee," said the matron, " I could
slay thee with mine own hand, when I hear thee talk of a dearer
faith being due to rebels and heretics, than thou owest to thy church
and thy prince ! "

" Be patient, my good sister," said the serving-man ; " I wiQ give
him sudi reasons as shall counterbalance the scruples which beset
him — ^the spirit is honourable, though now it may be mistimed and
misplaced. — Follow me, yoimg man."

" Ere I go to call this stranger to a reckoning," said the page to
the matron, "is there notiiing I can do for your comfort and
safety?"

" Nothing," she replied, " nothing, save what will lead more to thine
own honour; — ^the saints who have protected me thus far, will lend
me succour as I need it. Tread the path of glory that is before thee,
and only think of me as the creature on earth who will \^ \s^s:i!^

delisted b) hwr of tby fame. — Follow the Etranger — he ha& tidily
for jou that yon little eipect"

The Btranger remained on the threshold as if waiting for Boland,
and as soon aa he saw him put himself in motion, he moved on before
at a quick pace. Diring stiU deeper down the lane, Eoland per-
ceived that it was now bordered by buildings upon the one side
<mly, and that the other was fenced bj a high old wall, over which

some trees extended their brancbes. Descending a good way farther,
they came to a small door in the wall Boland's guide paused, looked
around for an instant to see if any one were within sight, then
taking a key from his pocket, opened the door and entered, making
a sign to Koland Grteme to follow him. He did ao, and tie stranger
locked the door carefully on the inside. During tbis operation the
page bad amoment to look aronnd, and perceived that he was in a small
orchard very trimly kept.
The Btnnger led bim through an alley or two, shaded by tree*

THE ABBOT. 280

loaded with smnmer-fmit, into a pleached arbour, where, taking the
turf -seat which was on the one side, he motioned to Eoland to occupy
that which was opposite to him, and, after a momentary silence,
opened the conversation as follows: ''You have asked a better
warrant than the word of a mere stranger, to satisfy you that I have
the authority of G^rge of Douglas for possessing myself of the
packet intrusted to your charge P

" It is precisely tiie point on which I demand reckoning of you,*'
said Eoland. " I fear I have acted hastily; if so, I must redeem my
error as I best may."

''You hold me then as a perfect stranger? '^ said the man.
" Look at my face more attentively, and see if the features do not
resemble those of a man much known to you f ormeriy.''

Eoland gazed attentively; but the ideas recalled to his mind
were so inconsistent with tiie mean and servile dress of the person
before him, that he did not venture to express the opinion which he
was irresistibly induced to form.

" Yes, my son," said the stranger, observing his embarrassment,
"you do indeed see before you the unfortunate Father Ambrosius,
who once accounted his ministry crowned in your preservation from
the snares of heresy, but who is now condemned to lament thee as
a castaway !"

Eoland Grseme's kindness of heart was at least equal to his vivacity
of temper — he could not bear to see his ancient and honoured master
and spiritual guide in a situation which inferred a change of fortune
so melancholy, but throwing himself at his feet, grasped his knees
and wept aloud.

" What mean these tears, my son? " said the Abbot ; " if they are
shed for your own sins and follies, surely they are gracious showers,
and may avail thee much — but weep not, if they faU on my account.
You indeed see the Superior of the Community of Saint Mary's in
the. dress of a poor sworder, who gives his master the use of his
blade and buckler, and, if needful, of his life, for -a coarse livery
coat, and four marks by the year. But such a garb suits the time,
and, in the period of the church militant, as well becomes her
prelates, as staff, mitre, and crosier, in the days of the church's
triumph."

"By what fate," said the page, — "and yet why," added he, check-
ing hLnself, " need I ask? Catherine Seyton in some sort prepared
me for this. But that the change should be so absolute — ^the
destruction so complete !"

"Yes, my son," said the Abbot Ambrosius, "thine own eyes
beheld, in my unworthy elevation to the Abbotfa «fcaXL, ^<^ \sbs^

290 THE ABBOT.

especial act of holy solemnity which shall be seen in the church of
Saint Maiys, nntil it shall please Heaven to torn back the captivity
of the church. For the present, the shepherd is smitten — ay, well-
nigh to the earth — ^the flocks are scattered, and the shrines of saints
and martyrs, and pious benefactors to the church, are given to the
owls of night, and the satyrs of the desert."

"And your brother, the Knight of Avenel — could he do nothing
for your protection?"

'' He himself hath fallen under the suspicion of the ruling powers,"
said the Abbot, " who are as imjust to their friends as they are cruel
to their enemies. I could not grieve at it, did I hope it might
estrange him from his cause : but I know the soul of Halbert, and
I rather fear it will drive him to prove his fidelity to their unhappy
cause, by some deed which may be yet more destructive to the
church, and more offensive to Heaven. Enough of this ; and now
to the business of our meeting. — I trust you will hold it sufficient
if I pass my word to you that the packet of which you were lately
the bearer, was designed for my hands by George of Douglas? "

" Then," said the page, " is George of Douglas "

'' A true friend to his Queen, Boland ; and will soon, I trust, have
his eyes opened to the errors of his (miscalled) church."

" But what is he to his father, and what to the Lady of Lochleven,
who has been as a mother to him 1 " said the page impatiently.

" The best friend to both, in time and through eternity," said the
Abbot, " if he shall prove the happy instrument for redeeming the
evil they have wrought, and are still working."

" Still," said the page, " I like not that good service which begins
in breach of trust."

**'! blame not thy scruples, my son," said the Abbot ; " but the
time which has wrenched asunder the allegiance of Christians to
the church, and of subjects to their king, has dissolved all the
lesser bonds of society ; and, in such days, mere human ties must no
more restrain our progress, than the brambles and briers, which
catch hold of his garments, should delay the path of a pilgrim who
travels to pay his vows."

''But, my father," — said the youth, and then stopt short in a
hesitating manner.

" Speak on, my son," said the Abbot ; " speak without fear."

'' Let me not offend you then," said Boland, '' when I say that it

is even this which our adversaries charge against us, when they

say, that shaping the means according to the end, we are willing to

commit great moral evil in order that we may work out eventual

good"

THE ABBOT. 291

''The hereticB have played their usual arts on you, my son/' said
the Abbot ; " they would willingly deprive us of the power of acting
wisely and secretly, though their possession of superior force forbids
our contending with them on the terms of equality. They have
reduced us to a state of exhausted weakness, and now would fain
proscribe the means by which weakness, through all the range of
nature, supplies the lack of strength, and defends itself against its
potent enemiea As well might the hound say tothe hare, use not
these wily turns to escape me, but contend with me in pitched battle,
as the armed and powerful heretic demand of the down-trodden and
oppressed Catholic to lay aside the wisdom of the serpent, by which
alone they may again hope to raise up the Jerusalem over which
they weep, and which it is their duty to rebuild — But more of this
hereafter. And now, my son, I command thee on thy faith to tell
me truly and particularly what has chanced to thee since we parted,
and what is the present state of thy conscience. Thy relation, our
sister Magdalen, is a woman of excellent gifts, blessed with a zeal
which neither doubt nor danger can quench; but yet it is not a zeal
altogether according to knowledge; wherefore, my son, I would
willingly be myself thy interrogator and thy counsellor, in these
days of darkness and stratagem.''

With the respect which he owed to his first instructor, Boland
Graeme went rapidly through the events which the reader is ac-
quainted with; and while he disguised not from the prelate the
impression which had been made on his mind by the arguments of
the preacher Henderson, he accidentally, and almost involuntarily,
gave his Father Confessor to understand the influence which Catherine
Seyton had acquired over his mind.

" It is with joy I discover, my dearest son," replied the Abbot,
" that I have waived in time to arrest thee on the verge of the pre-
cipice to which thou wert approaching. These doubts of which you
complain are the weeds which naturally grow up in a strong soil,
and require the careful hand of the husbandman to eradicate them.
Thou must study a little volume, which I will impart to thee in
fitting time, in whid^ by Our Lady's grace, I have placed in some-
what a clearer light than heretofore, the points debated betwixt us
and these heretics, who sow among the wheat the same tares which
were formerly privily mingled with the good seed by the Albigenses
and the Lollards. But it is not by reason alone that you must hope
to conquer these insinuations of the enemy: It is sometimes by
timely resistance, but oftener by timely flight. You must shut your
ears against the arguments of the heresiarch, when circumstances
permit you not to withdraw the foot from his compaxLy* Ajx<^Qit

292 THE ABBOT.

your thoughts upon the service of Our Lady, while he is expending
in Tain his heretical sophistry. Are you unable to maintain your
attention on heavenly objects, think rather on thine own earthly
pleasures, than tempt Providence and the Saints by giving an
attentive ear to the erring doctrine — ^think of thy hawk, thy hound,
thine angling rod, thy sword and buckler — ^think even of Catherine
Seyton, rather than give thy soul to the lessons of the tempter.
Alas I my son, believe not that, worn out with woes, and bent more
by auction than by years, I have forgotten the effect of beauty over
the heart of youth. Even in the watches of the night, broken by
thoughts of an imprisoned Queen, a distracted kingdom, a church
laid waste and ruinous, come other thoughts than these suggest, and
feelings which belonged to an earlier and happier course of life. Be
it so — ^we must bear our load as we may : and not in vain are these
passions implanted in our breast, since, as now in thy case, they may
come in aid of resolutions founded upon higher grounds. Tet
beware, my son — ^this Catherine Seyton is the daughter of one of
Scotland's proudest, as well as most worthy barons ; and thy state
may not suffer thee, as yet, to aspire so high. But thus it is —
Heaven works its purposes through human folly; and Douglas's
ambitious affectioni as weU as thine, shall contribute alike to the
desired end.''

*^ How, my father," said the page, '* my suspicions are then true I
— Douglas loves "

*^ He does ; and with a love as much misplaced as thine own ; but
beware of liim — cross him not — ^thwart him not."

'' Let him not cross or thwart me," said the page; '^ for I will not
yield him an inch of way, had he in his body the soul of every
Douglas that has lived since the time of the Dark Grey Man." *

" Nay, have patience, idle boy, and reflect that your suit can never
interfere with his. — But a truce with these vanities, and let us better
employ the little space which still remains to us to spend together.
To thy knees, my son, and resume the long-interrupted duty of con-
fession, that, happen what may, the hour may find in thee a faithful
Catholic, relieved from the guilt of his sins by authority of the Holy
Church. Could I but tell thee, Boland, the joy with which I see
thee once more put thy knee to its best and fittest use ! Quid dioit,
mifUif

" Cvlpas meas^' answered the youth; and according to the ritual;
of the Catholic Church, he confessed and received absolution, to
which was annexed the condition of performing certain enjoined
penances.

When this religious ceremony was ended, an old man, in the dress

THE ABBOT. 293

of a peasant of the better order, approached the arbour, and greeted
the Abbot. — *' I have waited the conclusion of your devotions,'' he
said, " to tell you the youth is sought after by the chamberlain, and
it were well he should appear without delay. Holy Saint Francis,
if the halberdiers were to seek him here, they might sorely wrong
my garden-plot — they are in office, and reck not where they tread,
were each step on jessamine and clove-gilly-flowers."

"We will speed T^im forth, my brother," said the Abbot; "but
alas ! is it possible that such trifles should live in your mind at a
crisis so awful as that which is now impending?"

"Eeverend father," answered the proprietor of the garden, for
such he was, "how oft shall I pray you to keep your high counsel
for high minds like your own? What have you required of me, that
I have not granted unresistingly, though with an aching heart? "

"I would require of you to be yourself, my brother," said the
Abbot Ambrosius ; " to remember what you were, and to what your
early vows have bound you."

"I teU thee, Father Ambrosius," replied the gardener, "the
patience of the best saint that ever said pater-noster, would be ex-
hausted by the trials to which you have put mine — ^What I have
been, it skills not to speak at present — no one knows better than
yourself, father, what I renounced, in hopes to And ease and quiet
during the remainder of my days — and no one better knows how
my retreat has been invaded, my fruit-trees broken, my flower-beds
trodden down, my quiet frightened away, and my very sleep driven
from my bed, since ever this poor Queen, (jod bless her, hath been
sent to Lochleven. — I blame her not ; being a prisoner, it is natural
she should wish to get out from so vile a hole, where there is scarcely
any place even for a tolerable garden, and where the water-mists, as
I am told, blight all the early blossoms — I say, I cannot blame her
for endeavouring for her freedom ; but why I should be drawn into
the scheme — ^why my harmless arbours, that I planted with my own
hands, should become places of privy conspiracy — why my little
quay, which I built for my own fishing boat, should have become a
haven for secret embarkations — in shorty why I should be dragged
into matters where both heading and hanging are like to be the
issue, I profess to you, reverend father, I am totally ignorant."

" My brother," answered the Abbot, " you are wise, and ought to
know"

" I am not — I am not — I am not wise," replied the horticulturist,
pettishly,^ and stopping his ears with his fingers — "I was never
called wise, but when men wanted to engage me in some action of'
notorious foUy."

894 THE ABBOT.

''But, my good brother," said the Abbot

« I am not good, neither," said the peevish gardener ; '' I am neither
good nor wise — ^HJad I been wise, you would not have been admitted
here ; and were I good, methinks I should send you elsewhere, to
hatch plots for destroying the quiet of the country. What signifies
disputing about queen or king, when men may sit at peace — sub
umbra vitia suif and so would I do, after the precept of holy writ,
were I, as you term me, wise or good. But such as I am, my neck
is in the yoke, and you make me draw what weight you list. —
Follow me, youngster. This reverend father, who makes in his
jackman's dress nearly as reverend a figure as I myself, will agree
with me in one thing at least, and that is, that you have been long
enough here."

"Follow the good father, Eoland," said the Abbot, "and remem-
ber my words — a day is approaching that will try the temper of all
true Scotsmen — ^may thy heart prove faithful as the steel of thy
blade ! "

The page bowed in silence, and they parted ; the gardener, not-
withstanding his advanced age, walking on before him very briskly,
and muttering as he went, partly to himself, partly to his companion,
after the manner of old men of weakened intellects — " When I was
great," thus ran his maundering, " and had my mule and my ambling
palfrey at command, I warrant you I could have as well flown
through the air as have walked at this pace. I had my gout and my
rheumatics, and an hundred things besides, that himg fetters on my
heels ; and now, thanks to Our Lady, and honest labour, I can walk
with any good man of my age in the kingdom of Fife — Fy upon it,
that experience should be so long in coming ! "

Aa he was thus muttering, his eye feU upon the branch of a i)ear-
tree which drooped down for want of support, and at once forgetting
his haste, the old man stopped and set seriously about binding it up.
Boland Grseme had both readiness, neatness of hand, and good
nature in abundance; he immediately lent his aid, and in a minute
or two the bough was supported, and tied up in a way perfectly
satisfactory to the old man, who looked at it with great complais-
ance. " They are bergamots," he said, " and if you will come ashore
in autumn, you shall taste of them — ^the like are not in Lochleven
Castle — the garden there is a poor pinfold, and the gardener, Hugh
Houkham, hath little sldll of his craft — ^so come ashore, Master Page,
in autumn, when you would eat pears. But what am I thinking of
— ere that time come, they may have given thee sour pears for plums.
Take an old man's advice, youth, one who hath seen many days, and
aat in higher places than thou canst hope for — bend thy sword into

THE ABBOT. 296

a praning-hook, and make a dibble of thy dagger — thy days shall be
the longer, and thy health the better for it — ^and come to aid me in
my garden, and I will teach thee the real French fashion of imping,
which the Southron call graffing. Do this, and do it without loss of
time, for there is'a whirlwind coming over the land, and only thoee
shall escape who lie too much beneath the storm to have their boughs
broken by it.**

So saying, he dismissed Eoland Graeme, through a different door
from that by which he had entered, signed a cross, and pronounced
a benedlcite as they parted, and then, still muttering to himself,
retired into the garden, and locked the door on the inside.

CHAPTEE XXIX

Pray God she prove not masculine ere long I

King Henry YL

Dismissed from the old man's garden, Eoland Grseme found that a
grassy paddock, in which saimtered two cows, the property of the
gardener, still separated him from the village. He paced through it,
lost in meditation upon the words of the Abbot. Father Ambrosius
had, with success enough, exerted over him that powerful influence
which the guardians and instructors of our childhood possess over
our more mature youth. And yet, when Eoland looked back upon
what the father had said, he could not but suspect that he had rather
sought to evade entering into the controversy betwixt the churches,
than to repel the objections and satisfy the doubts which the lectures
of Henderson had excited. "For this he had no time," said the
page to himself, " neither have I now calmness and learning sufficient
to judge upon points of such magnitude. Besides, it were base to
quit my faith while the wind of fortune sets against it, unless I were
so placed that my conversion, should it take place, were free as light
from the imputation of self-interest I was bred a Catholic — bred
in the faith of Bruce and Wallace — I will hold that faith till time
and reason shall convince me that it errs. I will serve this poor
Queen as a subject should serve an imprisoned and wronged sover-
eign — ^they who placed me in her service have to blame themselves —
they sent me hither, a gentleman trained in the paths of loyalty and
honour, when they should have sought out some truckling, cogging,
double-dealing knave, who would have been at once the observant
page of the Queen, and the obsequious spy of her enemies. Since
I must choose betwixt aiding and betraying her, I will decide as be-
comes her servant and her subject ; but Catherine BQ;^iVr-C»^^sra^^

296 THE ABBOT.

Seyton, beloved by Dongks, and holding me on or off as the intervals
of her leisure or caprice will permit — ^how shall I deal with the
coquette? — Bj Heaven, when I next have an opportunity, she shall
render me some reason for her conduct, or I will break with her for
ever!"

As he formed this doughty resolution, he crossed the stile which
led out of the little inclosure, and was almost immediately greeted
by Dr. Luke Lundin.

"Ha! my most excellent young friend," said the Doctor, "from
whence come you? — but I note the place. — ^Yes, neighbour Blink-
hoolie's garden is a pleasant rendezvous, and you are of the age when
lads look after a bonny lass with one eye, and a dainty plum with
another. But hey ! you look subtriste and melancholic — I fear the
maiden has proved cruel, or the plums imripe ; and surely, I think
neighbour Blinkhoolie's damsons can scarcely have been well pre-
served throughout the winter — ^he spares the saccharine juice on his
conf ects. But courage, man, there are more Kates in Kinross ; and
for the immature fruit, a glass of my double distilled aqua mirabilis
-—probatitm est!*

The page darted an ireful glance at the &cetious physician; but
presently recollecting that the name Kate, which had provoked his
displeasure, was probably but introduced for the sake of alliteration,
he suppressed his wrath, and only asked if the wains had been heard
of]

" Why, I have been seeking for you this hour, to tell you that
the stuff is in your boat, and that the boat waits your pleasure.
Auchtermuchty had only fallen into company with an idle knave
like himself, and a stoup of aquavitsB between them. Your boat-
men lie on their oars, and there have already been made two wefts
from the warder's turret, to intimate that those in the castle are
impatient for your return. Yet there is time for you to take a slight
repast ; and, as your friend and physician, I hold it unfit you should
face the water-breeze with an empty stomach.''

Boland Grseme had nothing for it but to return, with such cheer
as he might, to the place where his boat was moored on the beach,
and resisted all offer of refreshment, although the Doctor promised
that he should prelude the collation with a gentle appetizer — a
decoction of herbs, gathered and distilled by himself. Indeed, as
Boland had not forgotten the contents of his morning cup, it is
possible that the recollection induced him to stand firm in his refusal
of all food, to which such an impalatable preface was the preliminary.
As they passed towards the boat (for the ceremonious politeness of
^e worthy Chamberlain would not permit the page to go thither

THE ABBOT. 297

without attendance), Eoland Graeme, amidst a group who seemed to
be assembled around a party of wandering musicians, distinguished^
as he thought, the dress of CSatherine Seyton. He shook himself
dear from his attendant, and at one spring was in the midst of the
crowd, and at the side of the damseL " CSatherine," he whispered,
"is it well for you to be still here ?^— will you not return to the
castle?''

"To the devil with your Catherines and your castles!" answered
the maiden, snappishly; "have you not had time enough abready to
get rid of your follies? Begone ! I desire not your farther company,
and there will be danger in thrusting it upon me."

" Nay — but if there be danger, fairest Catherine," replied Eoland,
"why will you not allow me to stay and share it with you?"

"!bitruding fool," said the maiden, "the danger is all on thine
own side — ^the risk is, in plain terms, l^at I strike thee on the mouth
with the hilt of my dagger." So saying, she turned haughtily from
him, and moved through the crowd, who gave way in some astonish-
ment at the masculine activity with which she forced her way among
them.

As Boland, though much irritated^ prepared to follow, he was
grappled on the other side by Doctor Luke Lundin, who reminded
him of the loaded boat, of the two wefts, or signals with the flag,
which had been made from the tower, of the danger of the cold
breeze to an empty stomach, and of the vanity of spending more
time upon coy wenches and sour plums. Boland was thus, in a
manner, dragged back to his boat, and obliged to launch her forth
upon his return to Lochleven Castle.

That little voyage was speedily accomplished, and the page was
greeted at the landing-place by the severe and caustic welcome of
old Dryf esdale. " So, young gallant, you are come at last, after a
delay of six hours, and after two signals from the castle? But I^
warrant, some idle junketing had occupied you too deeply to think
of your service or your duty. Where is the note of the plate and
household stuff? — ^Pray Heaven it hath not been diminished under
the sleeveless care of so young a gad-about !"

"Diminished under my care, Sir Steward?" retorted the page
angrily; "say so in earnest, and by Heaven your grey hair shall
hardly protect your saucy tongue \"

"A truce with your swaggering, young esquire," returned the
steward; "we have bolts and dungeons for brawlers. Go to my
lady, and swagger before her, if thou darest — she will give thee
proper cause of offence, for she has waited for thee long and im-
patiently."

296 THE ABBOT.

« And where then is the Lady of Lochleyen?" said the page; ''for
I conceive it is of her thou speakest."

"Ay — of whom elsel" replied Dryfesdale; "or who besides the
Lady of Lochleven hath a right to command in this castle?"

"The Lady of Lochleven is thy mistress," said Boland Graeme;
" but mine is the Queen of Scotland."

The steward looked at him fixedly for a moment, with an air in
which suspicion and dislike were ill-concealed by an affectation of
contempt. " The bragging cock-chicken," he said, " will betray him-
self by his rash crowing. I have marked thy altered manner in the
chapel of late — ay, and your changing of glances at meal-time with a
certain idle damsel, who, like thyself, laughs at all gravity and good-
ness. There is something about you, my master, which should be
looked to. But, if you would know whether the Lady of Lochleven
or that other lady hath right to command thy service, thou wilt find
them together in the Lady Mary's anteroom."

Boland hastened thither, not unwilling to escape from the ill-
natured penetration of the old man, and marvelling at the same time
what peculiarity could have occasioned the Lady of Lochleven's
being in the Queen's apartment at this time of the afternoon, so much
contrary to her usual wont. His acuteness instantly penetrated the
meaning. " She wishes," he concluded, " to see the meeting betwixt
the Queen and me on my return, that she may form a guess whether
there is any private intelligence or understanding betwixt us — ^I
must be guarded."

With this resolution he entered the parlour, where the Queen,
seated in her chair, with the Lady Fleming leaniug upon the back of
it, had already kept the Lady of Lochleven standing in her presence
for the space of nearly an hour, to the manifest increase of her veiy
visible bad humour. Boland Grseme, on entering the apartment,
made a deep obeisance to the Queen, and another to the Lady, and
then stood still as if to await their further question. Speaking almost
together, the Lady Lochleven said, " So young man, you are returned
at length]"

And then stopped indignantly short, while the Queen went on
without regarding her — " Boland, you are welcome home to us — ^you
have proved the true dove and not the raven — Yet I am sm^e I could
have forgiven you) if, once dismissed from this water-circled ark of
ours, you had never again returned to us. I trust you have brought
back an olive branch, for our kind and worthy hostess has chafed
herself much on account of your long absence, and we never needed
more some symbol of peace and reconciliation."

'^I grieve I should have been detained, madam," answei^d the

TH£ ABBOT. SdO

pa^; *^ but from the delay of the person intrusted with the matters
for which I was sent, I did not receive them till late in the day.''

''See you there now,'' said the Queen to the Lady Lochleven; ''we
could not persuade you, our dearest hostess, that your household goods
were in all safe keeping and surety. True it is, that we can excuse
your anxiety, considering that these august apartments are so scantily
furnished, that we have not been able to o£fer you even the relief
of a stool during the long time you have afforded us the pleasure of
your society.'*

"The will, madam," said the Lady, "the will to offer such accom-
modation was more wanting than the means."

"What!" said the Queen, looking round, and affecting surprise,
"there are then stodb in this apartment — one, two — ^no less than four,
including the broken one — a royal garniture ! — We observed them
not — ^will it please your ladyship to sit?"

" No, madam, I will soon relieve you of my presence," replied the
Lady Lochleven; "and, while with you, my aged limbs can still
better brook fatigue, than my mind stoop to accept of constrained
courtesy."

" Nay, Lady of Lochleven, if you take it so deeply," said the Queen,
rising and motioning to her own vacant chair, " I would rather you
assumed my seat — ^you are not the first of your family who has done
so."

The Lady of Lochleven curtsied a negative, but seemed with much
difQculty to suppress the angry answer which rose to her lips.

During this sharp conversation, the page's attention had been
almost entirely occupied by the entrance of Catherine Seyton, who
came from the inner apartment, in the usual dress in which she
attended upon the Queen, and with nothing in her manner which
marked either the hurry or confusion incident to a hasty change of
disguise, or the conscious fear of detection in a perilous enterprise.
Bdand Graeme ventured to make her an obeisance as she entered, but
she returned it with an air of the utmost indifference, which, in his
opinion, was extremely inconsistent with the circumstances in which
they stood towards each other. — " Surely," he thought, " she cannot
in reason expect to bully me out of the belief due to mine own eyes,
as she tried to do concerning the apparition in the hostelry of Saint
Michael's — I will try if I cannot make her feel that this will be but
a vain task, and that confidence in me is the wiser and safer coui'se
to pursue."

These thoughts had passed rapidly through his mind, when the
Queen, having finished her altercation with the Lady of the castle,
again addressed him — "What of the revels at KinrQe&^ EjQk\3&ss.^

i

300 THE ABBOT.

Graeme ? Methonght they were gay, if I may judge from some faint
sounds of mirth and distant music, which found their way so far as
these grated windows, and died when they entered them, as all that
is mirthful must — ^But thou lookest as sad as if thou hadst come from
a conventiole of the Huguenots \**

*' And so perchance he hath, madam,'' replied the Lady of Loch-
leven, at whom this side shaft was launched. '' I trust, amid yonder
idle fooleries, there wanted not some pouring forth of doctrine to a
better purpose than that vain mirth, which, blazing and vanishing
like the crackling of dry thorns, leaves to the fools who love it
nothing but dust and ashes."

" Mary Fleming,'' said the Queen, turning round and drawing her
mantle about her, " I would that we had the chimney-grate supplied
with a faggot or two of these same thorns which the Lady of Loch-
leven describes so well. Methinks the damp air from the lake, which
stagnates in these vaulted rooms, renders them deadly cold."

" Your Grace's pleasure shall be obeyed," said the Lady of Loch-
leven; ^'yet may I presume to remind you that we are now in
summer?"

^* I thank you for the information, my good lady," said the Queen ;
'' for prisoners better learn their calendar from the mouth of their
jailor, than from any change they themselves feel in the seasons. —
Once more, Boland Graeme, what of the revels?"

*^ They were gay, madam," said the page, '' but of the usual sort,
and little worth your Highness's ear."

" O, you know not," said the Queen, " how very indulgent my ear
has become to all that speaks of freedom and the pleasures of the
free. Methinks I would rather have seen the gay villagers dance
their ring round the Ma3rpole, than have witnessed the most stately
masques within the precincts of a palace. The absence of stone-walls
— the sense that the green turf is under the foot which may tread it
free and um'estrained, is worth all that art or splendour can add to
more courtly revels."

" I trust," said the Lady Lochleven, addressing the page in her
turn, 'Hhere were amongst these follies none of the riota or disturb-
ances to which they so naturally lead?"

Boland gave a slight glance to Catherine Seyton, as if to bespeak
her attention, as he replied, — ''I witnessed no ofifence, madam, worthy
of marking — ^none indeed of any kind, save that a bold damsel made
her hand somewhat too familiar with the cheek of a player-man, and
ran some hazard of being ducked in the lake."

As he uttered these words he cast a hasty glance at Catherine ; but
eihe auatained, with the utmost serenity of manner and countenance,

THE ABBOT. 301

the hint which he had deemed could not have been thrown out be-
fore her without exciting some fear and confusion.

" I will cumber your Grace no longer with my presence/' said the
Lady Lochleven, " unless you have aught to command me."

" Nought, our good hostess/' answered the Queen, '' unless it be to
pray you, that on another occasion you deem it not needful to post-
pone your better employment to wait so long upon us,"

** May it please you," added the Lady Lochleven, *' to command
this your gentleman to attend us, that I may receive some account
of these matters which have been sent hither for your Grace's use?"

" We may not refuse what you are pleased to require, madam,"
answered the Queen. *' Qo with the lad/, Boland, if our commands
be indeed necessary to thy doing so. We will hear to-morrow the
history of thy Elinross pleasures. For this night we dismiss thy
attendance."

Boland Graeme went with the Lady of Lochleven, who failed not
to ask him many questions concerning what had passed at the sports,
to which he rendered such answers as were most likely to lull asleep
any suspicions which she might entertain of his disposition to favour
Queen Mary, taking especial care to avoid all allusion to the appari-
tion of Magdalen Grseme, and of the Abbot Ambrosius. At length,
after undergoing a long and somewhat dose examination, he was
dismissed with such expressions, as, coming from the reserved and
stem Lady of Lochleven, might seem to express a degree of favour
and coimtenance.

His first care was to obtain some refreshment, which was more
cheerfully afforded hiTn by a good-natured pantler than by Dryf es-
dale, who was, on this occasion, much disposed to abide by the fashion
of Fudding-bum House, where

They who came not the first call,
Gat no more meat till the next meal.

When Boland Graeme had finished his repast, having his dismissal
from the Queen for the evening, and being little inclined for such
society as the castle afforded, he stole into the garden, in which he
had permission to spend his leisure time, when it pleased him. Li
this place, the ingenuity of the contriver and disposer of the walks
had exerted itself to make the most of little space, and by screens,
both of stone ornamented with rude sculpture, and hedges of living
green, had endeavoured to give as much intricacy and variety as the
confined limits of the garden would admit.

Here the yoimg man walked sadly, considering the events of the
day, and comparing what had dropped from the Abbot mtk^\^s^

SOS THE ABBOT.

he biid himself noticed of Hie demeanonr of George Doa^aa. " It
mturt be so," was the painful but inevitable conclasion at 'which be
arrired. " It must be by his ud that she ia tims eu&bl«d, like a
phantom, to transport herself from place to place, and to appear at
pleasure on the mainland or on the islet — It must be so," he re-
peated once more; "'with him she holds a close, secret, and intimate
correepoudencs, altogether inconsiBtout with the eye of favour which
she tuts sometimes cast upon me, and destractire to the hopes which

she must have known these glnuces have necessarily inspired." And
yet (for love will hope where reason despairs) the bought rushed on
his mind, that it was possible she only encouraged Douglas's paaiiion
BO far SB might serve her mistress's interest, and that she was of too
frank, noble, and candid a nature, to hold out to himself hopes which
she meant not to ful£L Lost in these varions conjectures, he seated
himself upon a bank of turf, which commanded a view ot the lake
on the one side, and on the other of that front of the castle along
which the Queen's apartment were situated.

THE ABBOT. 808

The sun had now for some time set, and the twilight of May was
rapidly fading into a serene night. Chi the lake, the expanded water
rose and fell, with the slight^t and softest influence of a southern
breeze, which scarcely dimpled the surface over which it passed. In
the distance was still seen the dim outline of the island of Saint Serf,
once visited by many a sandalled pilgrim, as the blessed spot trodden
by a man of God — now neglected or violated, as the refuge of lazy
priests, who had with justice been compelled to give place to the
sheep and the heifers of a Protestant baron.

As Boland gazed on the dark speck, amid the lighter blue of the
waters which surrounded it, the mazes of polemical discussion again
stretched themselves before the eye of his mind. Had these men
justly suffered their exile as licentious drones, the robbers, at once,
and disgrace of the busy hive; or, had the hand of avarice and
rapine expelled from the temple, not the ribalds who polluted, but
the faithful priests who served the shrine in honour and fidelity?
The arguments of Henderson, in this contemplative hour, rose with
double force before him, and could scarcely be parried by the appeal
which the Abbot Ambrosius had made from his understanding to
his feelings, — an appeal which he had felt more forcibly amid the
bustle of stirring life, than now when his reflections were more undis-
turbed. It required an effort to divert his mind from this embar-
rassing topic; and he found that he best succeeded by turning his
eyes to the front of the tower, watching where a twinkling light
still streamed from the casement of Catherine Seyton's apartment,
obscured by times for a moment, as the shadow of the fair inhabi-
tant passed betwixt the taper and the window. At length the light
was removed or extinguished, and that object of speculation was also
withdrawn from the eyes of the meditative lover. Dare I confess
the fact, without injuring his character for ever as a hero of romance?
These eyes gradually became heavy, speculative doubts on the subject
of religious controversy, and anxious conjectures concerning the
state of his mistress's affections, became confusedly blended together
in his musings; the fatigues of a busy day prevailed over the harass-
ing subjects of contemplation which occupied his mind, and he fell
fast asleep.

Sound were his slumbers, until they were suddenly dispelled by
the iron tongue of the castle bell, which sent its deep and sullen
sounds wide over the bosom of the lake, and awakened the echoes
of Bennarty, the hill which descends steeply on its southern bank.
Boland started up, for this bell was always tolled at ten o'clock, as
the signal for locking the castle gates, and placing the keys under
the charge of the seneschal. He therefore hastened to the wick&t

304 THE ABBOT.

by which the garden communicated with the building, and had the
mortification, just as he reached it, to hear the bolt leave its sheath
with a discordant crash, and enter the stone groove of the door-
linteL

"Hold, hold," cried the page, "and let me in ere you lock the
wicket."

The voice of Diyfesdale replied from within, in his usual tone of
imbittered sullenness, " The hour is past, fair master — ^you like not
the inside of these walls — even make it a complete holiday, and spend
the night as well as the day out of bounds."

"Open the door," exclaimed the indignant page, "or by Saint
Giles I will make thy gold chain smoke for it !"

"Make no alarm here," retorted the impenetrable Dryfesdale,
" but keep thy sinful oaths and silly threats for those that regard
them — ^I do mine office, and carry the keys to the seneschal —
Adieu, my young master ! the cool night air will advantage your hot
blood."

The steward was right in what he said; for the cooling breeze
was very necessary to appease the feverish fit of anger which Boland
experienced, nor did the remedy succeed for some time. At length,
after some hasty turns made through the garden, exhausting his
passion in vain vows of vengeance, Boland Grseme began to be
sensible that his situation ought rather to be held as matter of laughter
than of serious resentment. To one bred a sportsman, a night spent
in the open air had in it little of hardship, and the poor malice of the
steward seemed more worthy of his contempt than his anger. " I
would to God," he said, " that the grim old man may always have
contented himself with such sportive revenge. He often looks as
he were capable of doing us a darker turn." Betuming, therefore,
to the turf-seat which he had formerly occupied, and which was
partially sheltered by a trim fence of green holly, he drew his mantle
around him, stretched himself at length on the verdant settle, and
endeavoured to resume that sleep which the castle bell had inter-
rupted to so little purpose.

Sleep, like other earthly blessings, is niggard of its favours when
most courted. The more Boland invoked her aid, the further she
fled from his eyelids. He had been completely awakened, first, by
the sounds of the bell, and then by his own aroused vivacity of
temper, and he found it difficult again to compose himself to slumber.
At length, when his mind was wearied out with a maze of unpleas-
ing meditation, he succeeded in coaxing himself into a broken repose.
This was again dispelled by the voices of two persons who were
walking in the garden, the sound of whose conversation, afteir mingl-

THE ABBOT. 306

ing for some time in the page's dreams, at length saooeeded in awak-
ing him thoroughly. He raised himself from his reclining postore
in the utmost astonishment, which the circumstance of hearing two
persons at that late hour conversing on the outside of the watchfully
guarded Castle of Lochleven, was so well calculated to excite. His
first thought was of supernatural beings; his next, upon some
attempt on the part of Queen Mary's friends and followers; his last
was, that George of Douglas, possessed of the keys, and having the
means of ingress and egress at pleasure, was availing himself of his
office to hold a rendezvous with Catherine Seyton in the castle
garden. He was confirmed in this opinion by the tone of the voice,
which asked in a low whisper, '^ Whether all was ready?"

CHAPTEK XXX.

In some breasts passion lies concealed and silent,
Like war's swart powder in a casUe vault.
Until occasion, like the linstock, lights it ;
Then comes at once the lightning and the thunder,
And distant echoes tell that all is rent asunder.

Old Play.

BoLAND GitSME, availing himself of a breach in the holly screen,
and of the assistance of the full moon, which was now arisen, had a
perfect opportunity, himself unobserved, to reconnoitre the persons
and the motions of those by whom his rest had been thus imex-
pectedly disturbed ; and his observations confirmed his jealous appre-
hensions. They stood together in close and earnest conversation
within four yards of the place of his retreat, and he could easily
recognize the tall form and deep voice of Douglas, and the no less
remarkable, dress and tone of the page at the hostelry of Saint
Michael's.

'^ I have been at the door of the page's apartment," said Douglas,
'' but he is not there, or he will not answer. It is fast bolted on the
inside, as is the custom, and we cannot pass through it — and what
his silence may bode I know not."

" You have trusted him too far," said the other ; " a feather-headed
coxcomb, upon whose changeable mind and hot brain there is no
making an abiding impression."

^' It waa not I who was willing to trust him," said Douglas; '' but

I was assured he would prove friendly when called upon — for"

Here he spoke so low that Boland lost the tenor olYa&^ox^^^'NnXsk!^

306 THE ABBOT.

was the more provoking, as he was fully aware that he was himself
the subject of their conversation.

" Nay/' replied the stranger, more loud, "I have on my side put
him off with fair words, which make fools fain — but now, if you dis-
trust him at the push, deal with him with your dagger, and so make
open passage."

" That were too rash,'' said Douglas ; '^ and, besides, as I told you,
the door of his apartment is shut and bolted. I will essay again to
waken him.''

Grseme instantly comprehended that the ladies, having been some-
how made aware of his being in the garden, h^ secured the door of
the outer room in which he usually slept, as a sort of sentinel upon
that only access to the Queen's apartments. But then, how came
Catherine Seyton to be abroad, if the Queen and the other lady
were still within their chambers, and the access to them locked and
bolted? — "I will be instantly at the bottom of these mysteries," he
said, ^' and then thank Mistress Catherine, if this be really she, for the
kind use which she exhorted Douglas to make of his dagger — ^they
seek me, as I comprehend, and they shall not seek me in vain."

Douglas had by this time re-entered the castle by the wicket^
which was now open. The stranger stood alone in the garden walk,
his arms folded on his breast, and his eyes cast impatiently up to the
moon, as if accusing her of betraying him by the magnificence of her
lustre. In a moment Eoland Grseme stood before him — ^' A goodly
night," he said, '' Mistress Catherine, for a young lady to stray fordi
in disguise, and to meet with men in an orchard 1 "

" Hush ! " said the stranger page, '^ hush, thou foolish patch, and
tell us in a word if thou art friend or foe."

*' How should I be friend to one who deceives me by fair words,
and who would have Douglas deal with me with his poniard?" re-
plied Boland.

''The fiend receive Greorge of Douglas and thee too, thou bom
madcap and sworn marplot ! " said the other ; " we shall be discovered,
and then death is the word."

'' Catherine," said the page, '' you have dealt falsely and cruelly with
me, and the moment of explanation is now come — neither it nor you
shall escape me."

'' Madman ! " said the stranger, '' I am neither Kate nor Catherine
— ^the moon shines bright enough surely to know the hart from the
hind."

" That shift shall not serve you, fair mistress," said the page, laying
hold on the lap of the stranger's doak; ''this time, at least, I will
know with whom I deaU"

THE ABBOT. 307

'' XJnhand me," said she, endeavouring to extricate herself from
his grasp; and in a tone where anger seemed to contend with a
desire to laugh, <<use you so Uttle discretion towards a daughter of
Seyton?"

But as Boland, encouraged perhaps by her risibility to suppose his
violence was not unpardonably o£fensive, kept hold on her mantle,
she said, in a sterner tone of unmixed resentment, — '^ Madman, let
me go ! — ^there is life and death in this moment — I would not will-
ingly hurt thee, and yet beware ! "

As she spoke she made a sudden effort to escape, and in doing so,
a pistol, which she carried in her hand or about her person, went
off.

This warlike soimd instantly awakened the weU-warded castle.
The warder blew his horn, and began to toll the castle bell, crying
out at the same time, " Fie, treason ! treason I cry all ! cry all ! "

The apparition of Catherine Seyton, which the page had let loose
in the first moment of astonishment, vanished in darkness, but the
plash of oars was heard, and in a second or two, five or six harque-
busses and a falconet were fired from the battlements of the castle
successively, as if levelled at some object on the water. Confounded
with these incidents, no way for Catherine's protection (supposing
her to be in the boat which he had heard put from the shore) occurred
to Eoland, save to have recourse to George of Douglas. He hastened
for this purpose towards the apartment of the Queen, whence he
heard loud voices and much trampling of feet. When he entered,
he found himself added to a confused and astonished group, which,
assembled in that apartment, stood gazing upon each. At the upper
end of the room stood the Queen, equipped as for a journey, and
attended not only by the Lady Fleming, but by the omnipresent
Catherine Seyton, dressed in the habit of her own sex, and bearing
in her hand the casket in which Mary kept such jewels as she had
been permitted to retain. At the other end of the hall was the Lady
of Lochleven, hastily dressed, as one startled from slumber by the
sudden alarm, and surrounded by domesties, some bearing torches,
others holding naked swords, partisans, pistols, or such other weapons
as they had caught up in the hurry of a night alarm. Betwixt these
two parties stood George of Douglas, his arms folded on his breast,
his eyes bent on the ground, like a criminal who knows not how to
deny, yet continues unwilling to avow, the guilt in which he has
been detected.

" Speak, George of Douglas,'' said the Lady of Lochleven; *' speak,
and dear the horrid suspicion which rests on thy name. Say, * A
Douglas was never faithless to his trust, and 1 asxx «tiT>Qivxi^a&^ ^v^S

308 THE ABBOT.

this^ my dearest son^ and it is all I ask thee to say to dear thy name,
even under such a foul charge. Say it was but the wile of these
unhappy women^ and this false boy, which plotted an escape so fatal
to Scotland — ^so destructive to thy father's house."

^' Maddm," said old Dryf esdale the steward, " this much do I say
for this silly page, that he could not be accessary to imlocking the
doors, since I myself this night bolted him out of the castle. Who-
ever limned this nightpiece, the lad's share in it seems to have been
small."

"Thou liest, Dryf esdale," said the Lady, "and wouldst throw
the blame on thy master's house, to save the worthless life of a gipsy
boy."

" His death were more desirable to me than his life," answered
the steward sullenly; "but the truth is the truth."

At these words Douglas raised his head, drew up his figure to its
full height, and spoke boldly and sedately, as one whose resolution
was taken. " Let no life be endangered for me. I alone "

"Douglas," said the Queen, interrupting him, "art thou mad?
Speak not, I charge you."

" Madam," he replied, bowing with the deepest respect, " gladly
would I obey your commands, but they must have a victim, and let
it be the true one. — Yes, madam," he continued, addressing the Lady
of Lochleven, " I alone am guilty in this matter. If the word of a
Douglas has yet any weight with you, believe me that this boy is
innocent; and on your conscience I charge you, do him no wrong:
nor let the Queen suffer hardship for embracing the opportunity of
freedom which sincere loyalty — which a sentiment yet deeper —
offered to her acceptance. Yes! I had planned the escape of the
most beautiful, the most persecuted of women; and far from regret-
ting that I, for a while, deceived the malice of her enemies, I glory in
it, and am most williiig to yield up life itself in her cause."

" Now, may God have compassion on my age," said the Lady of
Lochleven, " and enable me to bear this load of affliction ! O Prin-
cess, bom in a luckless hour, when will you cease to be the instru-
ment of seduction and of ruin to all who approach you ! O ancient
house of Lochleven, famed so long for birth and honour, evil was the
hour which brought the deceiver under thy roof ! "

" Say not so, madam," replied her grandson ; " the old honours of
the Douglas line will be out-shone, when one of its descendants dies
for the most injured of queens — for the most lovely of women."

" Douglas," said the Queen, " must I at this moment — ay, even at
this moment, when I may lose a faithful subject for ever, chide thee
for forgetting what is due to me aa thy Queen? "

THE ABBOT. 309

"Wretched boy," said the distracted Lady of Lochleven, "hast
thou fallen even thus far into the snaxe of this Moabitish woman?
— ^hast thou bartered thy name, thy allegiance, thy knightly oath,
thy duty to thy parent^ thy country, and thy God, for a feigned
tear, or a sickly smile, from lips which flattered the infirm Francis —
lured to death the idiot Damley — ^read luscious poetry ynih. the
minion Chastelai- — mingled in the lays of love which were sung by
the beggar Bizzio — and which were joined in rapture to those of the
foul and licentious Bothwell?"

" Blaspheme not, madam ! *' said Douglas ; — " nor you, fair Queen,
and virtuous as fair, chide at this moment the presumption of thy
vassal ! Think not that the mere devotion of a subject could have
moved me to the part I have been performing. Well you deserve
tJiat each of your lieges should die for you; but I have done more —
have done that to which love alone could compel a Douglas — ^I have
dissembled. Farewell, then, Queen of all hearts, and Empress of
th&t of Douglas ! — When you are freed from this vile bondage — as
freed you shall be, if justice remains in Heaven — and when you load
with honours and titles the happy man who shall deliver you, cast
one thought on him whose heart would have despised every reward
for a kiss of your hand — cast one thought on his fidelity, and drop
one tear on his grave." And throwing himself at her feet, he seized
her hand, and pressed it to his lips.

" This before my face ! " exclaimed the Lady of Lochleven — " wilt
thou court thy adulterous paramour before the eyes of a parent? —
Tear them asunder, and put him under strict ward ! Seize him, upon
your lives ! " she added, seeing that her attendants looked on each
other with hesitation.

" They are doubtful," said Mary. " Save thyself, Douglas, I com-
mand thee ! "

" He started up from the floor, and only exclaiming, " My life or
death are yours, and at your disposal 1 " — drew his sword, and broke
through those who stood betwixt him and the door. The enthusiasm
of his onset was too sudden and too Hvely to have been resisted by
anything short of the most decided opposition ; and as he was both
loved and feared by his father^s vassals, none of them would offer
him actual injury.

The Lady of Lochleven stood astonished at his sudden escape —
"Am I surrounded," she said, "by traitors? Upon him, villains ! —
pursue, stab, cut him down ! "

"He cannot leave the island, madam," said Dryfesdale, interfering;
" I have the key of the boat-chain."

But two or three voices of those who pxiCBtWed itoifiL evma«^ > <3t

310 THE ABBOT.

command of their mistress, exclaimed from below, that he had cast
himself into the lake.

" Brave Douglas stiU ! ^ exclaimed the Queen — ^ O, true and noble
heart, that prefers death to imprisonment ! "

" Fire upon him ! " said the Lady of Lochleven ; ** if there be here
a true servant of his father, let him shoot the runagate dead, and let
the lake cover our shame ! "

The report of a gun or two was heard, but they were probably
shot rather to obey the Lady, than with any purpose of hitting the
mark ; and Bandal immediately entering, said, that Master C^ige
had been taken up by a boat from the castle, which lay at a little
distance.

*' Man a barge, and pursue them ! ** said the Lady.

^* It were quite vain," said Bandal; '^by this time they are half
way to shore, and a doud has come over the moon.^

"And has the traitor then escaped?'' said the Lady, pressing her
hands against her forehead with a gesture of despair; '' the honour
of our house is for ever gone, and all will be deemed aooomplices in
this base treachery ! "

"Lady of Lochleven,* said Mary, advancing towards her, "you
have this night cut off my fairest hopes — ^Tou have turned my
expected freedom into bondage, and dashed away the cup of joy in
the very instant I was advancing it to my lips — ^and yet I feel for
your sorrow the pity that you deny to mine — Gladly would I com-
fort you if I might ; but as I may not, I would at least part from you
in charity."

" Away, proud woman ! " said the Lady; " who ever knew so well
as thou to deal the deepest wounds imder the pretence of kindness
and courtesy? — ^Who, since the great traitor, could ever so betray
with a kiss?"

" Lady Douglas of Lochleven," said the Queen, " in this moment
thou canst not offend me — no, not even by thy coarse and unwomanly
language, held to me in the presence of menials and armed retainers.
I have this night owed so much to one member of the house of
Lochleven, as to cancel whatever its mistress can do or say in the
wildness of her jmssion."

" We are boimden to you, Princess," said Lady Lochleven, putting
a strong constraint on herself, and passing from her tone of violence
to that of bitter irony; "our poor house hath been but seldom
graced with royal smiles, and will hardly, with my choice, exchange
their rough honesty for such court-honour as Mary of Scotland has
now to bestow."

" They/* replied Mary, " wlio Vnew w> ^^"Ww \ft tcufee^ may think

1 1

t

ll

THE ABBOT. 311

themselyes excused from the obligation implied in receiving. And
that I have now little to offer, is the fault of the Douglasses and
their allies.''

''Fear nothing, madam," replied the Ladj of Lochleven, in the
same bitter tone, " you retain an exchequer which neither your own
prodigality can drain, nor your offended country deprive you of.
While you have fair words and delusive smiles at command, you
need no other bribes to lure youth to folly."

The Queen cast a not nngratified glance on a large mirror, which,
hanging on one side of the apartment, and illuminated by the torch-
light, reflected her beautiful face and person. '' Our hostess grows
complaisant," she said, ''my Fleming; we had not thought that grief
and captivity had left us so well stored with that sort of wealth
which ladies prize most dearly."

" Your Grace will drive this severe woman frantic," said Fleming,
in a low tone. " On my knees I implore you to remember she is
already dreadfully offended, and that we are in her power."

" I will not spare her, Fleming," answered the Queen ; " it is against
my nature. She returned my honest sympathy with insult and
abuse, and I will gall her in return — If her words are too blunt for
answer, let her use her poniard if she dare !"

"The Lady Lochleven," said the Lady Fleming aloud, "would
surely do well now to withdraw, and to leave her Grace to repose."

" Ay," replied the Lady, " or to leave her Grace, and her Grace's
minions, to think what silly fly they may next wrap their meshes
about. My eldest son is a widower — ^were he not more worthy the
flattering hopes with which you have seduced his brother? — ^True,
the yoke of marriage has been already thrice fitted on — but the church
of Bome calls it a sacrament, and its votaries may deem it one in
which they cannot too often participate."

" And the votaries of the church of Geneva," replied Mary, colour-
ing with indignation, « as they deem marriage m msrament, are said
at times to dispense with the holy ceremony." — ^Then, as if afraid of
the consequences of this home allusion to the errors of Lady Loch-
leven's early life, the Queen added, " Come, my Fleming, we grace
her too much by this altercation ; we will to our sleeping apartment.
If she would disturb us again to-night, she must cause the door to
be forced." So saying, she retired to her bedroom, followed by her
two women. Lady Lochleven, stunned as it were by this last sar-
casm, and not the less deeply incensed that she had drawn it upon
herself, remained like a statue on the spot which she had occupied
when she received an affront so flagrant. Dryfesdale and Baudal
endeavoured to rouse her to recollection by questions*

312 THE ABBOT.

''What is your honourable Ladyship's pleasure in the premises 1"

'^ Shall we not double the sentinels, and place one upon the boats
and another in the garden?" said Bandal.

"Would you that despatches were sent to Sir William at Edinburgh,
to acquaint him with what has happened 1" demanded Dryfesdale;
** and ought not the place of Kinross to be alarmed, lest there be force
upon the shores of the lake?''

'' Do all as thou wilt," said the Lady, collecting herself, and about
to depart. '^Thou hast the name of a good soldier, Dryfesdale,
take all precautions. — Sacred Heaven ! that I should be thus openly
msulted!"

** Would it be your pleasure," said Dryfesdale, hesitating, " that
this person — this lady — ^be more severely restrained?"

" No, vassal !" answered the Lady, indignantly, " my revenge stoops
not to so low a gratification. But I will have more worthy ven-
geance, or the tomb of my ancestors shall cover my shame !"

"And you shall have it, madam," replied Dryfesdale — "Ere two
suns go down, you shall term yourself amply revenged."

The Lady made no answer — ^perhaps did not hear his words, as
she presently left the apartment. By the command of Dryfesdale,
the rest of the attendants were dismissed, some to do the duty of
guard, others to their repose. The steward himself remained after
they had all departed ; and Boland Graeme, who was alone in the
apartment, was surprised to see the old soldier advance towards him
with an air of greater cordiality than he had ever before assumed to
him, but which sat ill on his scowling features.

" Youth," he said, " I have done thee some wrought is thine own
fault, for thy behaviour hath seemed as light to me as the feather
thou wearest in thy hat ; and surely thy fantastic apparel, and idle
humour of mirth and folly, have made me construe thee something
harshly. But I saw this night from my casemetit (as I looked out
to see how thou hadst disposed of thyself in the garden), I saw, I
say, the true efforts which thou didst make to detain the companion
of the perfidy of him who is no longer worthy to be called by his
father's name, but must be cut off from his house like a rotten branch.
I was just about to come to thy assistance when the pistol went off;
and the warder (a false knave, whom I suspect to be bribed for the
nonce) saw himself forced to give the alarm, which, perchance, till
then he had wilfully withheld. To atone, therefore, for my injustice
towards you, I would willingly render you a courtesy, if you would
accept of it from my hands."

" May I first crave to know what it is?" replied the page.

"Simply to carry the newi of this discovery to Holyrood, where

THE ABBOT. 313

thou mayat do thyself much grace, as well with the Earl of Morton
and the Begent himself, as with Sir William Douglas, seeing thou
hast seen the matter from end to end, and borne faithful part there-
in. The making thine own fortune will be thus lodged in thine
own hand, when I trust thou wilt estrange thyself from foolish
vanities, and learn to walk in this world as one who thinks upon the
next"

"Sir Steward," said Eoland Graeme, "I thank you for your
courtesy, but I may not do your errand. I pass that I am the
Queen's sworn servant, and may not be of counsel against her. But,
setting this apart, methinks it were a bad road to Sir William
of Lochleven's favour, to be the first to tell him of his son's defec-
tion — ^neither would the Begent be over well pleased to hear the
infidelity of his vassal, nor Morton to learn the falsehood of his
kinsman."

"Um!" said the steward, making that inarticulate sound which
expresses surprise mingled with displeasure. " Nay, then, even fly
where ye list; for giddy-pated as ye may be, you know how to bear
you in the world."

" I will show you my esteem is less selfish than ye think for," said
the page ; " for I hold truth and mirth to be better than gravity and
cunning — ^ay, and in the end to be a match for them. — You never
loved me less. Sir Steward, than you do at this moment. I know
you will give me no real confidence, and I am resolved to accept no
false protestations as current coin. Besume your old course — suspect
me as much and watch me as closely as you will, I bid you defiance
— ^you have met with your match."

" By Heaven, young man," said the steward, with a look of bitter
malignity, "if titiou darest to attempt any treachery towards the
House of Lochleven, thy head shall blacken in the sun from the
warder's turret!"

" He cannot commit treachery who refuses trust," said the page ;
"and for my head, it stands as securely on my shoulders, as
(m any turret that ever mason built."

^ Farewell, thou prating and speckled pie," said Dryfesdale, " that
art 80 vain of thine idle tongue and variegated coat ! Beware trap
and lime-twig."

" And fare thee well, thou hoarse old raven," answered the page;
" thy solemn flight, sable hue, and deep croak, are no charms against
bird-bolt or hail-shot, and that thou mayest find — ^It is open war
betwixt us, each for the cause of our mistress, and Ood show the
right 1"

" Amen, and defend His own people !" said the steward. " I will

314 THE ABBOT.

let mj mistress know what addition thou hast made to this mess of
traitors. Good night, Monsieur Featherpate."

"Good night, Seignior Sowersby," replied the page; and, when
the old man departed, he betook himself to rest

CHAPTEE XXXI.

Poison'd — ^ill fare 1— dead, forsook, cast off 1

King John.

HowBVBE weary Eoland Graeme might be of the Castle of Lochleven
— however much he might wish that the plan for Mary's escape had
been perfected, I question if he ever awoke with more pleasing
feelings than on the morning after George Douglas's plan for accom-
plishing her deliverance had been frustrated. In the first place, he
had the clearest conviction that he had misunderstood the innuendo
of the Abbot, and that the affections of Douglas were fixed, not on
Catherine Seyton, but on the Queen ; and in the second place, from
the sort of explanation which had taken place betwixt the steward
and him, he felt himself at liberty, without any breach of honour
towards the family of Lochleven, to contribute his best aid to any
scheme which should in future be formed for the Queen's escape ;
and, independently of the good-will which he himself had to the
enterprise, he knew he could find no surer road to the favour of
Catherine Seyton. He now sought but an opportunity to inform her
that he had dedicated himself to this task, and fortune was propitious
in affording him one which was unusually favourable.

At the ordinary hour of breakfast, it was introduced by the
steward with his usual forms, wha, as soon it was placed on the
board in the inner apartment, said to Boland Graeme, with a glance
of sarcastic import, " I leave you, my young sir, to do the office of
sewer — ^it has been too Icmg rendered to the Lady Mary by one
belonging to the house of Douglas."

" Were it the prime and principal who ever bore the name," said
Eoland, " the office were an honour to him."

The steward departed without replying to this bravade, otherwise
than by a dark look of scorn. Graeme, thus left alone, busied him-
self as one engaged in a labour of love, to imitate, as well as he could,
the grace and courtesy with which George of Douglas was wont to
render his ceremonial service at meals to the Queen of Scotland.
There was more than youthful vanity — ^there was a generous devotion
in the feeling with which he took up the task, as a brave soldier
asBumeB the place of a comrade who has fallen in the front of battle.

THE ABBOT. 315

"I am now," he said, "their only champion; and, come weal, come
woe, I will be, to the best of my skill and power, as faithful, as
tmstworthy, as brave, as any Douglas of them all could have been."

At this moment Catherine Seyton entered alone, contrary to her
custom ; and, not less contrary to her custom, she entered with her
kerchief at her eyes. Eoland Graeme approached her with beating
heart and with downcast eyes, and asked her in a low and hesitating
voice, whether the Queen were welll

**Can you suppose it?" said Catherine; "think you her heart
and body are framed of steel and iron, to endure the cruel dis-
appointment of yester even, and the infamous taunts of yonder
puritanic hagl — ^Would to Gk)d that I were a man, to aid her more
effectually!"

" If those who carry pistols, and batons, and poniards," said the
page, " are not men, they are at least Amazons ; and that is as for-
midable."

" You are welcome to the flash of your wit, sir," replied the damsel ;
" I am neither in spirits to enjoy, nor to reply to it." *

" Well, then," said the page, " list to me in all serious truth. And,
first, let me say, that the gear last night had been smoother, had you
taken me into your counsels."

"And BO we meant; but who could have guessed that Master
Page should choose to pass all night in the garden, like some moon-
stricken knight in a Spanish romance — instead of being in his bed-
room, when Douglas came to hold communication with him on our
project?"

"And why," said the page, " defer to so late a moment so import-
ant a confidence?"

" Because your communications with Henderson, and — ^with pardon
— the natural impetuosity and fickleness of your disposition, made
us dread to intrust you with a secret of such consequence, till the
last moment?"

"And why at the last moment?" said the page, offended at this
frank avowal ; " why at that, or any other moment, since I had the
misfortune to incur so much suspicion?"

"Nay — now you are angry again," said Catherine; "and to serve
you aright I should break off this talk ; but I will be magnanimous,
and answer your question. Know, then, our reason for trusting
you was twofold. In the first place, we could scarce avoid it, since
you slept in the room through which we had to pass. In the second
place" — —

"Nay," said the page, "you may dispense with a second reason,
when the first makes your confidence in me a. Q»fii^ q1 '^^^ift^^s^:^ "

316 THE ABBOT.

"Good now, hold thy peace," said Catherine. "In the second
place, as I said before, there is one foolish person among us, who
believes that Eoland Graeme's heart is warm^ though his head is
giddy — ^that his blood is pure, though it boils too hastily — and that
his faith and honour are true as the load-star, though his tongue
sometimes is far less than discreet."

This avowal Catherine repeated in a low tone, with her eyes fixed
on the floor, as if she shunned the glance of Eoland while she suffered
it to escape her lips — " And this single friend," exclaimed the youth
in rapture ; " this only one who would do justice to the poor Boland
Grseme, and whose own generous heart taught her to distinguish
between follies of the brain and faults of the heart — ^Will you not tell
me, dearest Catherine, to whom I owe my most grateful, my most
heartfelt thanks?"

" Nay," said Catherine, with her eyes still fixed on the ground, "if
your own heart tell you not"

"Dearest Catherine!" said the page, seizing upon her hand, and
kneeling on one knee.

" If your own heart, I say, tell you not," said Catherine, gently
disengaging her hand, "it is very ungrateful; for since the maternal
kindness of the Lady Fleming"

The page started on his feet. " By Heaven, Catherine, your tongue
wears as many disguises as your person ! But you only mock me,
cruel girl. Tou know the Lady Fleming has no more regard for any
one, than hath the forlorn princess who is wrought into yonder piece
of old figured court-tapestry."

" It may be so," said Catherine Seyton, " but you should not speak
so loud."

" Pshaw !" answered the page, but at the same time lowering his
voice, " she cares for no one but herself and the Queen. And you
know, besides, there is no one of you whose opinion I value, if I have
not your own. No — not that of Queen Mary herself."

" The more shame for you, if it be so," said Catherine, with great
composure.

" Nay, but, fair Catherine," said the page, " why will you thus
damp my ardour, when I am devoting myself, body and soul, to the
cause of your mistress?"

" It is because in doing so," said Catherine, " you debase a cause
so noble, by naming along with it any lower or more selfish motive.
Believe me," she said, with kindling eyes, and while the blood
mantled on her cheek, " they think vilely and falsely of women — I mean
of those who deserve the name — ^who deem that they love the grati-
£c&tion of their vanity, or the mean purpose of engrossing a lover's

THS ABBOT. 317

admi»ti(m and affection, better than they lore the virtae and hononr
of the man thej maj be bronght to prefer. He that aerrea his
religion, his prince, and liiB couutrj, with ardour and devotion, need
not plead hia canee witii the commonplace rant of romantic panion
— the woman whom he honours with his love, beoomee his debtor,
and her corresponding affection ia engaged to repay hia gloriona
toiL"

" Yon hold a gloriona prize for each toil," said the yonth, bending
hia ejee on her with enthaeiasm.

"Only a heart which knowe how to valne it," aaid Catherine.
" He that should free tbis injured Frincees from these dnugeons, and
set her at liberty among her loyal and warlike nobles, whoee hearts
are bnming to welcome her — where is the maiden in Scotland whom
the love of such a hero would not honour, were she sprung from the
blood royal of Qia land, and he the ofispring of the poorest cottager
that ever held a plough ! "

"I am determined," said Boland, "to take the adventure. Tell
me first, however, ftir Catfanine, and speak it aa if you. w«t««aQr

318 THE ABBOT.

f essing to the priest — ^this poor Queen, I know she is unhappy — ^but,
Catherine, do you hold her innocent 1 She is accused of murder."

"Do I hold the lamb guilty, because it is assailed by the wolf?"
answered Catherine; "do I hold yonder sun polluted, because an
earth-damp sullies his beams? "

The page sighed and looked down. " Would my conviction were
as deep as thine ! But one thing is dear, that in this captivity she
hath wrong — She rendered herself up on a capitulation, and the
terms have been refused her — I will embrace her quarrel to the
death!"

"Will you — ^will you indeed?" said Catherine, taking his hand in
her turn. " O be but firm in mind, as thou art bold in deed and
quick in resolution ; keep but thy plighted faith, and after ages shall
honour thee as the saviour of Scotland ! "

"But when I have toiled successfully to win that Leah, Honour,
thou wilt not, my Catherine," said the page, " condemn me to a new
term of service for that Bachel, Love?"

"Of that," said Catherine, again extricating her hand from his
grasp, " we shall have full time to speak ; but Honour is the elder
sister, and must be won the first."

" I may not win her," answered the page ; " but I will venture
fairly for her, and man can do no more. And know, &ir Catherine,
— ^for you shall see the veiy secret thought of my heart, — ^that not
Honour only — ^not only that other and fairer sister, whom you frown
on me for so much as mentioning — ^but the stem commands of duty
also, compel me to aid the Queen's deliverance."

"Lideed!" said Catherine; "you were wont to have doubts on
that matter."

" Ay, but her life was not then threatened," replied Eoland.

"And is it now more endangered than heretofore? " asked Cather-
ine Seyton, in anxious terror.

" Be not alarmed," said the page ; " but you heard the terms on
which your royal mistress parted with the Lady of Lochleven? "

" Too well — ^but too well," said Catherine ; " alas ! that she cannot
rule her princely resentment, and refrain from encounters like these!"

" That hath passed betwixt them," said Eoland, " for which woman
never forgives woman. I saw the lady's brow turn paJe, and then
black, when, before all the menzie, and in her moment of power, the
Queen humbled her to the dust by taxing her with her shame. And
I heard the oath of deadly resentment and revenge which she muttered
in the ear of one, who by his answer will, I judge, be but too ready
an executioner of her wilL"

" ypu terrify me," said Catherine,

THE ABBOT. 319

" Do not so take it — call up the masculine part of your spirit — we
will counteract and defeat her plans, be they dangerous as they may.
Why do you look upon me thus, and weep? "

''Alas!" said Catherine, ''because you stand there before me a
Hving and breathing man, in aU the adventurous glow and enterprise
of youth, yet still possessing the frolic spirits of childhood — there
you stand, full alike of generous enterprise and childish recklessness;
and if to-day, or to-morrow, or some such brief space, you lie a
mangled and lifeless corpse upon the floor of these hateful dungeons,
who but Catherine Seyton wiQ be the cause of your brave and gay
career being broken short as you start from the goal? Alas ! she
whom you have chosen to twine your wreath, may too probably
have to work your shroud ! "

"And be it so, Catherine," said the page, in the full glow of
youthful enthusiasm ; " and do thou work my shroud ! and if thou
grace it with such tears as fall now at the thought, it will honour my
remains more than an earl's mantle would my living body. But
shame on this faintness of heart ! the time craves a firmer mood —
Be a woman, Catherine, or rather be a man — thou canst be a man
if thou wilt"

Catherine dried her tears, and endeavoured to smile.

"You must not ask me," she said, "about that which so much
disturbs your mind; you shall know all in time — ^nay, you should
know all now, but that ^Hush ! here comes the Queen."

Mary entered from her apartment, paler than usual, and appar-
ently exhausted by a sleepless night, and by the painful thoughts
which had ill supplied the place of repose ; yet the languor of her
looks was so far from impairing her beauty, that it only substituted
the frail delicacy of the lovely woman for the majestic grace of the
Queen. Contrary to her wont, her toilette had been very hastily
despatched, and her hair, which was usually dressed by Lady
Fleming with great care, escaping from beneath the head-tire, which
had been hastily adjusted, fell, in long and luxuriant tresses of
Nature's own curling, over a neck and bosom which were somewhat
less carefully veiled than usual.

As she stepped over the threshold of her apartment, Catherine,
hastily drying her tears, ran to meet her royal mistress, and having
first kneeled at her feet, and kissed her hand, instantly rose, and
placing herself on the other side of the Queen, seemed anxious to
divide with the Lady Fleming the honour of supportiag and assist-
ing her. The page, on his part, advanced and put in order the chair
of state, which she usually occupied, and having placed the cushion
and footstool for her accommodation, stepped back, axLd.«^y^(Ax<^s^&:^

320 THE ABBOT.

for service in the place osuallj occupied hj his predecessor, the young
Seneschal Mary's eye rested an instant on him, and coxdd not but
remark the change of persons. Hers was not the female heart which
could refuse compassion, at least to a gallant youth who had suffered
in her cause, although he had been guided in his enterprise by a too
presumptuous passion; and the words "Poor Douglas!" escaped
from her lips, perhaps unconsciously, as she leant hersdif back in her
chair, and put the kerchief to her eyes.

"Yes, gracious madam," said Catherine, assuming a cheerful
manner, in order to cheer her sovereign, "our gallant knight is
indeed banished — ^the adventure was not reserved for him; but he
has left behind him a youthful Esquire, as much devoted to yom*
Grace's service, and who, by me, makes you tender of his hand and
sword."

" If they may in aught avail your Grace," said Eoland Graeme,
bowing profoundly.

"Alas!" said the Queen, "what needs this, Catherine? — ^why
prepare new victims to be involved in, and overwhelmed by, my
cruel fortime? — were we not better cease to struggle, and ourselves
sink in the tide without further resistance, than thus drag into
destruction with us every generous heart which makes an effort in
our favour] — ^I have had but too much of plot and intrigue around
me, since I was stretched an orphan child in my veiy cradle, while
contending nobles strove which should rule in the name of the
unconscious innocent. Surely time it were that all this busy and
most dangerous coil should end. Let me call my prison a convent,
and my seclusicm a voluntary sequestration of myself from the world
and its ways ! "

"Speak not thus, madam, before your faithful servants," said
Catherine, "to discourage their zeal at once, and to break their hearts.
Daughter of kings, be not in this hpur so unkingly — Come, Boland,
and let us, the youngest of her followers, show ourselves worthy of
her cause — let us kneel before her footstool, and implore her to be
her own magnanimous self." And leading Boland Graeme to the
Queen's seat, they both kneeled down before her. Mary raised her-
self in her chair, and sat erect, while, extending one hand to be
kissed by the page, she arranged with the other the clustering locks
which shaded the bold yet lovely brow of the high-spirited Catherine.

"Alas ! ma mignHne" she said, for so in fondness she often called
her young attendant, " that you should thus desperately mix with
my unhappy fate the fortune of your young lives ! — ^Are they not
a lovely couple, my Fleming 1 and is it not heart-rending to think
that I muBt be their mini "

""Sot aa," aaid Soland Oneme, "it U vn, gmaona Sorereigii, wlto
wiU be your deliverers."

"£x oribut parwlontm/" said the Queen, lookiog upward; "if it
is by the month of these duldren that Heaven calls me to resume
the atatelj thoughts which become mj birth and mj rights. Thou
wilt grant them Thy protection, and to me the power of rewarding
their zeal ! " — Then turning to Fleming, she instantly added,—" Thou
knoweet, my friend, whether to make thoee who have eerred me
happy, was not ever Mary's favourite pastime. When I have been
rebnked by the stem preachers of the Calviuistic heresy — when I
have seen the fierce countenances of my nobles averted from me, haa
it not been because I mixed in the harmless pleasures of the young
and gay, and rather for the sake of their happiness than my own,
have mingled in the masque, the song, or the dance, with the youth
of my household! Well, I repent not of it — though Knox termed

322 THE ABBOT.

it sin, and Morton degradation — ^I was happy, because I saw happiness
around me ; and woe betide the wretched jealousy that can extract
guilt out of the overflowings of an unguarded gaiety ! — Fleming, if
we are restored to our throne, shall we not have one blithesome day
at a blithesome bridal, of which we must now name neither the bride
nor the bridegroom? but that bridegroom shall have the barony of
Blairgowrie, a fair gift even for a Queen to give, and that bride's
chaplet shall be twhied with the fairest pearls that ever were found
in the depths of Lochlomond ; and thou thyself, Mary Fleming, the
best dresser of tires that ever busked the tresses of a Queen, and
who would scorn to touch those of any woman of lower rank, — ^thou
thyself shalt, for my love, twine them into the bride's tresses. — ^Look,
my Fleming, supp<^ them such clustered locks as those of our
Catherine, they would not put shame upon thy skilL"

So saying, she passed her hand fondly over the heed of her youth-
ful favourite, while her more aged attendant replied despondently,
*' Alas ! madam, your thoughts stray far from home."

"They do, my Fleming," said the Queen; ''but is it well or kind
in you to call them back? — Qod knows, they have kept the perch
this night but too closely — Come, I will recall the gay vision, were
it but to punish them. Yes, at that blithesome bridal, Mary herself
shall forget the weight of sorrows, and the toil of state, and herself
once more lead a measure. — ^At whose wedding was it that we last
danced, my Fleming? I think care has troubled my memory — ^yet
something of it I should remember— canst thou not aid me? — I know
thou canst."

" Alas ! madam," replied the lady

"What!" said Mary, "wilt thou not help us so far? this is a
peevish adherence to thine own graver opinion, which holds our talk
as folly. But thou art court-bred, and wilt well understand me
when I say, the Queen commands Lady Fleming to tell her where
she led the last hrarde/*

With a face deadly paJe, and a mien as if she were about to
sink into the earth, the court-bred dame, no longer daring to
refuse obedience, faltered out — "Gracious Lady — if my memory
err not — it was at a masque in Holyrood — at the marriage of
Sebastian."

The unhappy Queen, who had hitherto listened witii a melancholy
smile, provoked by the reluctance with which the Lady Fleming
brought out her story, at this ill-fated word interrupted her with a
shriek so wild and loud that the vaulted apartment rang, and both
Boland and Catherine sprung to their feet in the utmost terror and
alarm. Meantime, Mary seemed, by the train of hoirible ideas thus

THE ABBOT. 328

saddenly excited, surprised not only beyond self-command, but for
the moment beyond the vei^e of reason.

''Traitress!" she said to the Lady Fleming, ''thou wonldst slay
thy sovereign — Call my French goards — d moif d moil mes Fran-
fats/ — I am beset with traitors in mine own palace— they have
murdered my hnsband — ^Rescue ! rescue ! for the Queen of Scotland P*
She started up from her chair — ^her features, late so exquisitely lovely
in their paleness, now inflamed with the fuiy of frenzy, and resemb-
ling those of a Bellona. '' We will take the field ourself," she said ;
'' warn the city — ^wam Lothian and Fife — saddle our Spanish barb
— and bid French Paris see our petronel be charged ! — Better to die
at the head of our brave Scotchmen, like our grandfather at Flodden,
than of a broken heart, like our ill-starred father !"

''Be patient — ^be composed, dearest Sovereign!" said Catherine;
and then addressing Lady Fleming angrily, she added, " How could
you say aught that reminded her of her husband?"

The word reached the ear of the unhappy Princess, who caught it
up, speaking with great rapidiiy. "Husband! — ^what husband? —
Not his most Christian Majesty — ^he is ill at ease — ^he cannot mount
on horseback — ^Not him of the Lennox — ^but it was the Duke of
Orkney thou wouldst say."

"For God's love, madam, be patient?" said the Lady Fleming.

But the Queen's excited imagination could by no entrealy be
diverted from its course. " Bid him come hither to our aid," she
said, "and bring with him his lambs, as he calls them — ^Bowton,
Hay of Talla, Black Qrmiston, and his kiTiRma,n Hob — ^Fie! how
swart they are, and how they smell of sulphur! What! closeted
with Morton? Nay, if the Douglas and the Hepburn hatch the
complot together, the bird, when it breaks the shell, will scare Scot-
land. Will it not, my Fleming?"

" She grows wilder and wilder," said Fleming; " we have too many
hearers for these strange words."

" Roland," said Catherine, " in the name of God, begone ! You
cannot aid us here — Leave us to deal with her alone — ^Away — away !"

She thrust him to the door of the anteroom; yet even when he
had entered that apartment, and shut the door, he could stiU hear
the Queen talk in a loud and determined tone, as if giving forth
orders, until at length the voice died away in a feeble and continued
lamentation.

At this crisis Catherine entered the anteroom. "Be not too
anxious," she said, " the crisis is now over; but keep the door fast —
let no one enter until she is more composed."

" In the name of Qod, what does this mean?" said the ^^a^; " or

324 THE ABBOT.

what was there in the Lady Fleming's words to ezdte so wild a
transport ?''

''O, the Lady Fleming, the Lady Fleming,'' said Gatherine, re-
peating the words impatiently; 'Hhe Lady Fleming is a fool — she
loves her mistress, yet knows so little how to express her love, that
were the Queen to ask her for very poison, she would deem it a point
of duty not to resist her commands. I could have torn her starched
head-tire from her formal head — ^The Queen should have as soon had
the heart out of my body, as the word Sebastian out of my lips —
That that piece of weaved tapestry should be a woman, and yet not
have wit enough to tell a lie !"

''And what was this story of Sebastian 1" said the page. ''By
Heaven, Catherine, you are all riddles alike !"

"Tou are as great a fool as Fleming," returned the impatient
maiden; "know ye not^ that on the night of Henry Damle/s
murder, and at the blowing up of the Elirk of Field, the Queen's
absence was owing to her attending on a masque at Holyrood, given
by her to grace the marriage of this same Sebastian, who, himself a
favoured servant, married one of her female attendants, who was
near to her person?"

"By Saint Giles," said the page, "I wonder not at her passion, but
only marvel by what f orgetfulness it was that she could urge the
Lady Fleming with such a question."

"I cannot account for it," said Catherine; "but it seems as if
great and violent grief and horror sometimes obscure the memory, and
spread a cloud, like that of an exploding cannon, over the circum-
stances with which they are accompanied. But I may not stay here,
where I came not to moralize with your wisdom, but simply to cool
my resentment against that unwise Lady Fleming, which I think
hath now somewhat abated, so that I shall endure her presence with-
out any desire to damage either her curch or vasquine. Meanwhile,
keep fast that door — ^I would not for my life that any of these heretics
saw her in the unhappy state, which, brought on her as it has been
by the success of their own diabolical plottings, they would not stick
to call, in their snuffling cant, the judgment of Providence."

She left the apartment just as the latch of the outward door was
raised from without. But the bolt, which Eoland had drawn on the
inside, resisted the efforts of the person desirous to enter. " Who
is there?" said Graeme aloud.

"It is I," replied the harsh and yet slow voice of the steward
Dryfesdale.

" You cannot enter now," returned the youth.

"And wherefore?" demanded Dryfesdale, "seeing I come but to

THE ABBOT. 325

do my dnty, and inquire what mean the shrieks from the apartment
of the Moabitish woman. Wherefore, I say, since such is mine
errand, can I not enter 1'^

'* Simply,'' replied the youth, '^ because the bolt is drawn, and I
have no fancy to undo it. I have the right side of the door to-<iay,
as you had last night."

''Thou art ill-advised, thou malapert boy,** replied the steward,
''to speak to me in such fashion ; but I shall inform my Lady of thine
insolence.''

" The insolence," said the page, " is meant for thee only, in fair
guerdon of thy discourtesy to me. For thy Lady's information, I
have answer more courteous — ^you may say that the Queen is ill at
ease, and d^ires to be disturbed neither by visits nor messages."

" I conjure you in the name of Qod," said the old man, with more
solemnity in his tone than he had hiUierto used, "to let me know if
her malady reaUy gains power on her !"

" She will have no aid at your hand, or at your Lady's — wheref o^,
begone, and trouble us no more — ^we neither want) nor wUl accept
of, aid at your hands."

With this positive reply, the steward, grumbling and dissatisfied,
returned down stairs.

CHAPTEE XXXIL

It IB the curse of kings to be attended

By slaves, who take their humours for a warrant

To break into the bloody house of Uf e

And on the winking of authority

To understand a law.

King John,

The Lady of Lochleven sat alone in her chamber, endeavouring with
sincere but imperfect zeal, to fix her eyes and her attention on the
black-letter Bible which lay before her, bound in velvet and em-
broidery, and adorned with massive silver clasps and knosps. But
she found her utmost efforts unable to withdraw her mind from the •
resentful recollection of what had last night passed betwixt her and
the Queen, in which the latter had with such bitter taunt reminded
her of her early and long-repented transgression.

"Why," she said, "should I resent so deeply, that another re-
proaches me with that which I have never ceased to make matter of
blushing to myself? and yet, why should this woman, who reaps — at
least, has reaped — the fruits of my folly, and ba^ V^^^ \s^ ^sks^

326 THE ABBOT.

aside from the throne, why should she, in the face of all my domestics,
and of her own, dare to upbraid me with my shame? Is she not in
my power? Does she not fear me? Ha ! wily tempter, I will wrestle
with thee strongly, and with better suggestions than my own evil
heart can supply !"

She again took up the sacred volume, and was endeavouring to
fix her attention on its contents, when she was disturbed by a tap
at the door of the room. It c^ned at her command, and the steward
Dryf esdale entered, and stood before her with a gloomy and per-
turbed expression on his brow.

*' What has chanced, Dryfesdale, that thou lookest thus?" said his
mistress — ^"Have there been evil tidings of my son, or of my grand-
children?''

"No, Lady," replied Dryfesdale, **but you were deeply insulted
last night, and I fear me thou art as deeply avenged this morning —
Where is the chaplain?"

"What mean you by hints so dark, and a question so sudden?
The chaplain, as you wdl know, is absent at Perth upon an assembly
of the brethren."

"I care not," answered the steward; "he is but a priest of BaaL"

"Dryfesdale," said the Lady sternly, "what meanest thou? I
have ever heard that in the Low Countries thou didst herd with the
Anabaptist preachers, those boars which tear up the vintage — ^But
the ministry which suits me and my house must content my
retainers." •

" I would I had good ghostly counsel, though," replied the steward,
not attending to his mistress's rebuke, and seeming to speak to him-
self. " This woman of Moab"

"Speak of her with reverence," said the Lady; "she is a king's
daughter."

"Be it so," replied Dryfesdale; "she goes where there is little diflfer-
ence betwixt her and a beggar's child — Mary of Scotland is dying."

" Dying, and in my castle 1" said the Lady, starting up in alarm;
"of what disease, or by what accident?"

" Bear patience. Lady. The ministry was mine."

" Thine, villain and traitor ! — ^how didst thou dare"

" I heard you insulted, Lady — I heard you demand vengeance —
I promised you should have it, and I now bring tidings of it."

"Dryfesdale, I trust thou ravest?" said the Lady.

" I rave not," replied the steward. " That which was written of
me a million of years ere I saw the light, must be executed by me.
She hath that in her veins that, I fear me, will soon stop the springs
ofUfe."

THE ABBOT. 327

''Crael villain,*' exclaimed the Lady, 'Hhon hast not poisoned
her?"

'^ And if I had," said Dryfesdale, '* what does it so greatly merit?
Men bane vermin — why not rid them of their enemies so? in Italy
they will do it for a cmizuedor."

'* Cowardly ruffian, b^one from my sight !"

** Think better of my zeal, Lady," said the steward, ''and judge
not without looking around you. Lindesay, Buthven, and your kins-
man Morton, poniarded Eizzio, and yet you now see no blood on
their embroidery — the Lord Semple stabbed the Lord of Sanquhar
— does his bonnet sit a jot more awry on his brow? What noble
lives in Scotland who has not had a share, for policy or revenge, in
some such dealing? — and who imputes it to them? Be not cheated
with names — ^a dagger or a draught work to the same end, and are
little unlike — a glass phial imprisons the one, and a leathern sheath
the other — one deals with the brain, the other sluices the blood —
Tet, I say not I gave aught to this lady."

** What dost thou mean by thus dallying with me?" said the Lady ;
''as thou wouldst save thy neck from the rope it merits, tell me
the whole truth of this story — ^thou hast long been known a danger-
ous man."

" Ay, in my master's service I can be cold and sharp as my sword.
Be it known to you, that> when last on shore, I consulted with a
woman of skill and power, called Nicneven, of whom the country
has rung for some brief time past Fools asked her for charms to
make them beloved, misers for means to increase their store; some
demanded to know the future — an idle wish, since it cannot be
altered ; others would have an explanation of the past — tidier still,
since it cannot be recalled. I heard their queries with scorn, and
demanded the means of avenging myself of a deadly enemy, for I
grow old, and may trust no longer to Bilboa blade. She gave me a
packet — Mix that^ said she, with any liquid, and thy vengeance is
complete."

" Villain 1 and you mixed it with the food of this imprisoned lady,
to the dishonour of thy master's house?"

" To redeem the insulted honour of my master's house, I mixed the
contents of the packet with the jar of succory- water : They seldom
fail to drain it, and the woman loves it over all."

" It was a work of hell," said the Lady Lochleven, " both the ask-
ing and the granting. — ^Away, wretched man, let us see if aid be yet
too late l**

" They will not admit us, madam, save we enter by force — I have
been twice at the door, but can obtain no entrance."

328 THB ABBOT.

" We will beat it level with the ground, if needful — ^And, hold —
summon Bandal hith€«: instantly. — Bandal, here is a foul and evil
chance befallen — send off a boat instantly to Elinross, the Chamber-
lain Luke Lundin is said to have skill — ^Fetch of^ too, that foul witch
Nicneven; she shall first counteract her own spell, and then be
burnt to ashes in the island of Saint Serf. Away, away — ^Tell them
to hoist sail and ply oar, aa ever they would have good of the
Douglas's hand !"

'^ Mother Nicneven will not be lightly found, or fetched hither on
these conditions,'' answered Dryfesdale.

" Then grant her full assurance of safety — Look to it, for thine
own life must answer for this lad/s recovery."

'' I might have guessed that," said Dryfesdale, sullenly ; " but it
i^ my comfort I have avenged mine own cause, as well as yours. She
hath scoffed and scripped at me, and encouraged her saucy minion
of a page to ridicule my stiff gait and slow speech. I felt it borne
in upon me that I was to be avenged on them."

'' €k> to the western turret," said the Lady, '* and remain there in
ward until we see how this gear will terminate. I know thy resolved
disposition — ^thou wilt not attempt escape."

''Not were the walls of the turret of egg-shells, and the lake
sheeted with ice," said Dryfesdale. '* I am well taught, and strong
in belief, that man does nought of himself ; he is but the foam on
the billow, which rises, bubbles, and btirsts, not by its own effort,
but by the mightier impulse of fate which urges him. Yet, Lady, if
I may advise, amid this zeal for the life of the Jezebel of Scotland,
forget not what is due to thine own honour, and keep the matter
secret as you may."

So saying, the gloomy fatalist turned from her, and stalked off
with sullen composure to the place of confinement allotted to him.

His lady caught at his last hint, and only expressed her fear that
the prisoner had partaken of some unwholesome food, and was
dangerously ill. Tlie castle was soon alarmed and in confusion.
Bandal was despatched to the shore to fetch off Lundin, with such
remedies as could counteract poison; and with farther instructions to
bring Mother Nicneven, if she could be found, with full power to
pledge the Lady of Lochleven's word for her safety.

Meanwhile the Lady of Lochleven herself held parley at the door
of the Queen's apartment, and in vain urged the page to undo it.

''Foolish boy!" she said, "thine own life and thy Lady's are at
stake — Open, I say, or we will cause the door to be broken down."

" I may not open the door without my royal mistress's orders,"
answered Boland; "she has been very ill, and now she slumbers — if

THE ABBOT. 329

yon wake her by using violence, let the consequence be on you and
yonr f oUowers."

^' Was ever woman in a strait so fearful !" exclaimed the Lady of
Loch? even — "At least, thou rash boy, beware that no one tastes the
food, but especially the jar of succory- water."

She then hastened to the turret, where Dryf esdale had composedly
resigned himself to imprisonment. Sh^ found him reading, and
demanded of him, "Was thy fell potion of speedy operation 1"

"Slow," answ^*ed the steward. "The hag asked me which I
chose — ^I told her I loved a slow and sure revenge. ' Bevenge,' said
I, ' is the highest-flavoured draught which man tastes upon earth,
and he should sip it by little and little — not drain it up greedily at
once.'**

"Against whom, unhappy man, couldst thou nourish so fell a
revenge 1"

" I had many objects, but the chief was that insolent page."

" The boy ! — thou inhnmaTi man," exclaimed the lady ; " what could
he do to deserve thy malice 1"

" He rose in your favour, and you graced him with your commis-
sions — ^that was one thing. He rose in that of G^rge Douglas also
— ^that was another. He was the favourite of the Calvinistic Hender-
son, who hated me because my spirit disowns a separated priesthood.
The Moabitish Queen held him dear — ^winds from each opposing
point blew in his favour — ^the old servitor of your house was held
lightly among ye — above all, from the first time I saw his face, I
longed to destroy him."

"What fiend have I nurtured in my house!" replied the Lady.
" May Crod forgive me the sin of having given thee food and rai-
ment !"

"You might not choose. Lady," answered the steward. "Long
ere this castle was builded — ay, long ere the islet which sustains it
reared its head above the blue water, I was destined to be your faith-
ful slave, and you to be my ungrateful mistress. Bemember you
not when I plunged amid the victorious French, in the time of this
lad/s mother, and brought off your husband, when those who had
hung at the same breasts with him dare not attempt the rescue? —
Bemember how I plunged into the lake when your grandson's skiff
was overtaken by the tempest, boarded, and steered her safe to the
land. Lady — the servant of a Scottish baron is he who regards not his
own life, or that of any other, save his master. And, for the death of
the woman, I had tried the potion on her sooner, had not Master
George been her taster. Her death — ^would it not be the happiest
news that Scotland ever heard? Is she not of the bloody GuiaiaiL

330 THE ABBOT.

stock, whose sword was so often red with the blood of God's saints?
Is she not the daughter of the wretched tyrant James, whom Heaven
cast down from his kingdom, and his pride, even as the king of
Babylon was smitten?"

''Peace, villain!" said the Lady — a thousand varied recollections
thronging on her mind at the mention of her royal lover's name ;
'' Peace, and disturb not the ashes of the dead — of the royal, of the
unhappy dead. Bead thy Bible ; and may Qod grant thee to avail
thyself better of its contents than thou hast yet done ! " She departed
hastily, and as she reached the next apartment, the tears rose to her
eyes so hastily, that she was compelled to stop and use her kerchief
to dry them. ''I expected not this," she said, ''no more than to
have drawn water from the dry flint, or sap from a withered tree.
I saw with a dry eye the apostasy and shame of George Douglas,
the hope of my son's house — ^the child of my love; and yet I now
weep for him who has so long lain in his grave — ^f or him to whom I
owe it, that his daughter can make a scoffing and a jest of my name !
But she is his daughter — ^my heart, hardened against her for so many
causes, relents when a glance of her eye places her father unexpectedly
before me — and, as often, her likeness to that true daughter of the
house of Guise, her detested mother, has again confirmed my resol-
ution. But she must not — ^must not die in my house, and by so foul
a practice. Thank God, the operation of the potion is slow, and
may be counteracted. I will to her apartment once more. But O !
that hardened villain, whose fidelity we held in such esteem, and had
such high proof of ! What miracle can unite so much wickedness,
and so much truth, in one bosom !"

The Lady of Lochleven was not aware how far minds of a certain
gloomy and determined cast by nature, may be warped by a keen
sense of petty injuries and insults, combining with the love of gain,
and sense of self-interest, and amalgamated with the crude, wild,
and indigested fanatical opinions which this man had gathered among
the crazy sectaries of Germany; or how far the doctrines of fotalism,
which he had embraced so decidedly, sear the human conscience, by
representing our actions as the result of inevitable necessity.

During her visit to the prisoner, Boland had communicated to
Catherine the tenor of the conversation he had had with her at the
door of the apartment. The quick intelligence of that lively maiden
instantly comprehended the outline of what was believed to have
happened, but her prejudices hurried her beyond the truth.

" They meant to have poisoned us," she exclaimed in horror, " and
there stands the fatal liquor which Ediould have done the deed ! — ^Ay,
aa soon as Douglas ceased to be our taster, our food was likely to be

THE ABBOT. 331

f&taHj seasoned. Thoo, Boland, who shouldst have made the essay,
wert readily doomed to die with us. O^ dearest Lady Meming,
pardon, pardon, for the injuries I said to you in my anger — ^your
words were prompted by Heaven to save our lives, and especially
that of the injured Queen. But what have we now to do? that old
crocodile of the lake will be presently back to shed her hypocritical
tears over our dying agonies. — ^Lady Fleming, what shall we do?''
. ^' Our Lady help us in our need ! '' she replied ; " how should I tell ?
— ^unless we were to make our plaint to the Begent."

** Make our plaint to the devil/' said Catherine, impatiently, " and
accuse his dam at the foot of his burning throne ! — ^The Queen still
sleeps — ^we must gain time. The poisoning hag must not know her
scheme has miscarried ; the old envenomed spider has but too many
ways of mending her broken web. — The jar of succory- water," said
she — '' Boland, if thon be'st a man, help me — empty the jar on the
diimney or from the window — make such waste among the viands
as if we had made our usual meal, and leave the fragments on cup
and porringer, but taste nothing as thon lovest thy life. I will sit
by the Queen, and tell her, at her waking, in what a fearful pass we
stand. Her sharp wit and ready spirit will teach us what is best to
be done. Meanwhile, till farther notice, observe, Boland, that the
Queen is in a state of torpor — ^that Lady Fleming is indisposed —
that character" (speaking in a lower tone) ''will suit her best, and
save her wits some labour in vain. I am not so much indisposed,
thou understandest."

" And I? " said the page

"You?" replied Catherine, "you are quite well — ^who thinks it
worth while to poison puppy-dogs or pages? "

" Does this levity become the time? " asked the page.

"It does, it does," answered Catherine Seyton; "if the Queen
approves,' I see plainly how this disconcerted attempt may do us good
service."

She went to work while she spoke, eagerly assisted by Boland.
The breakfast table soon displayed the appearance as if the meal
had been eaten as usual ; and the ladies retired as softly as possible
into the Queen's sleeping apartment. At a new sunmions of the
Lady Lochleven, the page undid the door, and admitted her into the
anteroom, asking her pardon for having withstood her, alleging in
excuse, that the Queen had fallen into a heavy slumber since she
had broken her fast

" She has eaten and drunken, then? " said the Lady of Lochleven.

''Surely," replied the page, "according to her Grace's ordinary
custom, unless upon the fasts of the church."

83S THE ABBOT.

^ The jar,^ she said, hastily examining it^ " it is empty — drank the
Lady Mary the whole of this waterl''

'^ A large part, madam; and I heard the Lady Catherine Seyton
jestingly upbraid the Lady Mary Fleming with having taken more
than a just share of what remained, so that but little fell to her own
lot.''

** And are they well in health 1 " said the Lady of Lochleven.

" Lady Meming," said the page, " complains of lethargy, and looks
duller than usual ; and the Lady Catherine of Seyton feels her head
somewhat more giddy than is her wont."

He raised his voice a little as he said these words, to apprise the
ladies of the part assigned to each of them, and not^ perhaps, without
the wish of conveying to the ears of Catherine the page-like jest
which lurked in the allotment.

''I will enter the Queen's bed-chamber," said the Lady Loch-
leven ; '^ my business is express."

As she advanced to the door, the voice of Catherine Seyton was
heard from within — " No one can enter here — ^the Queen sleeps."

'^ I will not be controlled, young lady," replied the Lady of Loch-
leven; 'Hhere is, I wot^ no inner bar, and I will enter in your
despite."

''There is, indeed, no inner bar," answered Catherine, firmly,
'^ but there are the staples where that bar should be ; and into those
staples have I thrust mine arm, like an ancestress of your own, when,
better employed than the Douglasses of our days, she thus defended
the bedchamber of her sovereign against murderers. Try your force,
then, and see whether a Seyton cannot rival in courage a maiden of
the house of Douglas."

*' I dare not attempt the pass at such risk," said the Lady of Loch-
leven: '^ Strange, that this Princess, with all that justly attaches to
her as blame-worthy, should preserve such empire over the minds of
her attendants ! — Damsel, I give thee my honour that I come for the
Queen's safety and advantage. Awaken her, if thou lovest her, and
pray her leave that I may enter — I will retire from the door the
whilst."

'^ Thou wilt not awaken the Queen? " said the Lady Fleming.

''What choice have we?" said the ready-witted maiden, "unless
you deem it better to wait till the Lady Lochleven herself plays lady
of the bedchamber. Her fit of patience will not last long, and the
Queen must be prepared to meet her.'^

" But thou wilt bring back her Grace's fit by thus disturbing her."

" Heaven forbid 1 " replied Catherine; '' but if so, it must pass for
SB effect of the poison. I hope better things and that the Queen

THE ABBOT. 333

will be able when she wakes to form her own judgment in this
terrible crisia MeanwhOe, do thou, dear Lady Fleming, practise to
look as dull and heavy as the alertness of thy spirit will permif

Catherine kneeled by the side of the Queen's bed, and, kissing her
hand repeatedly, succeeded at last in awakening without alarming
her. She seemed surprised to find that she was ready dressed, but
sate up in her bed, and appeared so perfectly composed, that Cather-
ine Seyton, without farther preamble, judged it safe to inform her
of the predicament in which they were placed. Mary turned pale,
and crossed herself again and again, when she heard the imminent
danger in which she had stood. But, like the Ulysses of Homer,

" Hardly waking yet.

Sprang in her mind the momentaiy wit/'

and she at once understood her situation, with the dangers and
advantages that attended it.

<< We cannot do better,'' she^said, after her hasty conference with
Catherine, pressing her at the same time to her bosom, and kissing
her forehead; ''we cannot do better than to follow the scheme so
happily devised by thy quick wit and bold affection. Undo the
door to the Lady Lochleven — She shall meet her match in art,
though not in perfidy. Fleming, draw dose the curtain, and get
thee behind it — ^thou art a better tire-woman than an actress; do
but breathe heavily, and, if thou wilt, groan slightly, and it will top
thy part Hark ! they come. Now, Catherine of Medids, may thy
spirit inspire me, for a cold northern brain is too blunt for this
scene ! "

Ushered by Catherine Se3rton, and stepping as light as she could,
the Lady Lochleven was shown into the twilight apartment, and
conducted to the side of the couch, where Mary, pallid and exhausted
from a sleepless night, and the subsequent agitation of the morning,
lay extended so listlessly as might well confirm the worst fears of
her hostess.

'' Now, €k)d forgive us our sins ! " said the Lady of Lochleven, for-
getting her pride, and throwing herself on her knees by the side of
the bed ; " it is too true — she is murdered 1 "

'' Who is in the chamber? " said Mary, as if awaking from a heavy
sleep. '' Seyton, Fleming, where are you ? I heard a strange voice.
Who waits?— Call Courcelles."

'' Alas ! her memory is at Holyrood, though her body is at Loch-
leven. — ^Forgive, madam," continued the Lady, "if I call your atten-
tion to me — I am Margaret Erskine, of the house of Mar, by marriage
Lady Ppuglas of XiQcbleven."

334 THB ABBOT.

'^O, our gentle hoBtess," answered the Queen, '^who hath such
care of oar lodgings and of our diet — ^We cumber you too much and
too long, good Lady of Lochleven ; but we now trust your task of
hospitality is wellnigh ended."

** Her words go like a knife throi:^h my heart," said the Lady
of Lochleven — " With a breaking heart, I pray your Grace to teU
me what is your ailment^ that aid may be had, if there be yet
time?"

" Nay, my ailment," replied the Queen, '* is nothing worth telling,
or worth a leechV notice — my limbs feel heavy — my heart feels coLd
—a prisoner's Umbs.and heart are rarely otherwise->fresh air, me-
thinks, and freedom, would soon revive me ; but as the Estates have
ordered it, death alone can break my prison-doors."

''Were it possible, madam," said the Lady, ''that your liberty
could restore your perfect health, I would myself encounter the
resentment of the Eegent— of my son. Sir William — of my whole
friends, rather than you should meet your fate in this castle !"

" Alas ! madam," said the Lady Fleming, who conceived the time
propitious to show that her own address had been held too lightly
of; "it is but trying what good freedom may work upon us; for
myself, I think a free walk on the greensward would do me much
good at heart"

The Lady of Lochleven rose from the bedside, and darted a pene-
trating look at the elder valetudinary. " Are you so evil disposed.
Lady Fleming?"

"Evil disposed indeed, madam," replied the court dame, "and
more especially since breakfast."

"Help! help!" exclaimed Catherine, anxious to break off a con-
versation which boded her schemes no good; "help! I say, help!
the Queen is about to pass away. Aid her, Lady Lochleven, if you
be a woman !"

The Lady hastened to support the Queen's head, who, turning her
eyes towards her with an air of great languor, exclaimed, " Thanks,
my dearest Lady of Lochleven — notwithstanding some passages of
late, I have never misconstrued or misdoubted your affection to our
house. It was proved, as I have heard, before I was bom."

The Lady Lochleven sprung from the floor, on which she had again
knelt, and having paced the apartment in great disorder, flung open
the lattice, as if to get air.

" Now, Our Lady forgive me !" said Catherine to herself. " How
deep must the love of sarcasm be implanted in the breasts of us
women, since the Queen, with all her sense, will risk ruin rather
than rein in her witl" Bhe then adventured, stooping over the

THE ABBOT. 336

Queen's person, to press her arm with her hand, saying, at the same
time, ^ For God's sake, madam, restrain yonrself !"

''Thou art too forward, maiden," said the Queen; but immediately
added, in a low whisper, '' Forgive me, Catherine ; but when I felt
the hag's murderous hands bu£fy about my head and neck, I felt such
disgust and hatred, that I must have said something, or died. But
I will be schooled to better behaviour — only see that thou let her
not touch me."

" Now, God be praised !" said the Lady Lochleven, withdrawing
her head from the window, ''the boat comes aa fast as sail and oar
can send wood through water — It brings the leech and a female —
certainly, from the appearance, the very person I was in quest of.
Were she but well out of this castle, with our honour safe, I would
that she were on the top of the wildest mountain in Norway ; or I
would I had been there myself, ere I had undertaken this trust !"

While she thus expressed herself, standing apart at one window^
Boland Graeme, from the other, watched the boat bursting through
the waters of the lake, which glided from its side in ripple and in
foam. He, too, became sensible, that at the stem was seated the
medical Chamberlain, dad in his black velvet doak ; and that his
own relative, Magdalen Graeme, in her assumed character of Mother
Nicneven, stood in the bow, her hands clasped together, and pointed
towards the castle, and her attitude, even at that distance, expressing
enthusiastic eagerness to arrive at the landing-place. Hiey arrived
there accordingly; and while the supposed witch was detained in a
room beneath, Uie physician was ushered to the Queen's apartment,
which he entered with all due professional solemnity. Catherine
had, in the meanwhile, fallen back from the Queen's bed, and taken
an opportunity to whisper to Boland, "Methinks, from the infor-
mation of the threadbare velvet doak and the solemn beard, there
would be little trouble in haltering yonder ass. But thy grand-
mother, Boland — thy grandmother's zeal will ruin us, if she get not
a hint to dissemble."

Boland, without reply, glided towards the door of the apartment,
crossed the parlour, and safely entered the antechamber; but when
he attempted to pass farther, the word " Back 1 Back !" echoed from
one to the other, by two men armed with carabines, convinced him
that the Lady of Lochleven's suspidons had not, even in the midst
of her alarms, been so far lulled to sleep as to omit the precaution of
stationing sentinels on her prisoners. He was compelled, therefore,
to return to the parlour, or audience-chamber, in which he found the
Lady of the castle in conference with her learned leech.

"A truce with your cant phrase and youx solemn io^^x^ ^\iQXL^fiiS!L!^

336 THE ABBOT.

in such terms she accosted the man of art, ''and let me know instantly,
if thou canst tell, whether this lady hath swallowed aught that is
less than wholesome."

^ Nay, but^ good lady — ^honoured patroness — ^to whom I am alike
bondsman in my medical and official capacity, deal reasonably with
me. If this, mine illustrious patient, will not answer a question,
saving with sighs and moans — ^if that other honourable lady will do
nought but yawn in my face when I inquire after the diagnostics
— and if that other young damsel, who I profess is a comely
maiden''

^' Talk not to me of comeliness or of damsels," said the Lady of
Lochleven, ''I say, are they evil-disposed? — ^In one word, man, have
they taken poison; ay or no?"

'* Poisons, madam," said the learned leech, " are of various sorts.
There is your animal poison, as the lepu8 manniu, as mentioned by
Dioscorides and Galen — there are mineral and semi-mineral poisons,
as those compounded of sublimate regulus of antimony, vitriol and
the arsenical salts — ^there are your poisons from herbs and vegetables,
as the aqua cymbalarisB, opium, aconitum, cantharides, and the like
— there are also"

''Now, out upon thee for a learned fooll and I myself am no
better for expecting an oracle from such a log," said the Lady.

" Nay, but if your ladyship will have patience — ^if I knew what
food they have partaken of, or could see but the remnants of what
they have last eaten — for as to the external and internal symptoms,
I can discover nought like ; for, as Galen saith in his second book
de Antidotis"

"Away, fool!" said the Lady; "send me that hag hither; she
shall avouch what it was that she hath given to the wretch Dryfes-
dale, or the pilniewinks and thumbikins shall wrench it out of her
finger joints !"

"Art hath no enemy unless the ignorant," said the mortified
Doctor; veiling, however, his remark under the Latin version, and
stepping apart into a comer to watch the result.

In a minute or two Magdalen Graeme entered the apartment,
dressed as we have described her at the revel, but with her muffler
thrown back, and all affectation of disguise. She was attended by
two guards, of whose presence she did not seem even to be conscious,
and who followed her with an air of embarrassment and timidity,
which was probably owing to their belief in her supernatural power,
coupled with the effect produced by her bold and undaunted
demeanour. She confronted the Lady of Lochleven, who seemed to
endure wiih high disdain the confidence of her air and manner.

TBB ABBOT. 3S7

"Wretdted woman t' nid tbe I^y, after MUTing for a moment
to bear tier down, before ahe addressed her, bj the stately seTerity
oi hoc look, "what was that powder which thtra didat give to a
serrant of this house, hy name Jasper Drjfeedale, that he might
wtffk out with it some alow and secret vengeance} — Confess its nature
and jHr>pertie8, or, by the honour of Douglas, I give thee to fire and
stake before the sun is lower I"

"Alasl" mid Mi^d&leu Gneme in reply, "and when became a
Don^aa or a Donglas's man eo unfurnished of his means of revenge,
tiiat he should seek t^em at the hands of a poor and solitary woman)
^nie towers in which your captives pine away into onpitied graves,
yet stand fast on their foundations — the crimes wrought in them
have not yet biust their vaults asunder — your men have still their
orosabowB, pistolets, and daggers — why need you seek to herbs or
charms tar the exeoation of your revengwl"

338 THE ABBOT.

"Hear me, foul hag,** said the Lady of Lochleven, — ^'^but what
avails speaking to thee? — ^Bring Dryfesdale hither, and let them be
confronted together."

"You may spare your retainers the labour/* replied Magdalen
Grseme. " I came not here to be confronted with a base groom, nor
to answer the interrogatories of James's heretical leman — ^I came to
speak with the Queen of Scotland — Give place there !''

And while the Lady of Lochleven stood confounded at her bold-
ness, and at the reproach she had cast upon her, Magdalen Grseme
strode past her into the bed-chamber of the Queen, and, kneeling on
the floor, made a salutation as if , in the Oriental fashion, she meant
to touch the earth with her forehead.

"Hail, Princess!'' she said, "hail, daughter of many a king, but
graced above them all in that thou art caUed to suffer for the true
faith ! — ^hail to thee, the piure gold of whose crown has been tried in
the seven times heated furnace of affliction — ^hear the comfort which
God and Our Lady send thee by the mouth of thy unworthy servant. —
But first" — and stooping her head she crossed herself repeatedly,
and, still upon her knees, appeared to be rapidly reciting some
formula of devotion.

"Seize her, and drag her to the massy-more! — ^To the deepest
dungeon with the sorceress, whose master, the Devil, could alone
have inspired her with boldness enough to insult the mother of
Douglas in his own castle !"

Thus spoke the incensed Lady of Lochleven, but the physician
presumed to interpose.

" I pray of you, honoured madam, she be permitted to take her
course without interruption. Peradventure we shall learn something
concerning the nostrum she hath ventured, contrary to law and the
rules of art, to adhibit to these ladies, through the medium of the
steward Dryfesdale."

"Por a fool," replied the Lady of Lochleven, "thou hast coun-
selled wisely — I will bridle my resentment till their conference be
over."

"God forbid, honoured lady," said Doctor Lundin, "that you
should suppress it longer — nothing may more endanger the frame
of your honoured body; and truly, if there be witchcraft in this
matter, it is held by the vulgar, and even by solid authors on Demon-
ology, that three scruples of the ashes of the witch, when she hath
been well and carefully burned at a stake, is a grand Gatholicon in
such matter, even as they prescribe crinU oanis rabidly a hair of the
dog that bit the patient, in cases of hydrophobia. I warrant neither
treatment, being out of the xegoiax i^taAtlce of the schools; but^ in

THE ABBOT. 339

the present case, there can be little harm in trying the oondnsion
upon this old necromancer and quack-43alyei^-;/£a^ experimentum (as
we say) in corpore viliJ*

" Peace, fool 1 " said the Lady, " she is about to speak."
At that moment Magdalen Graeme arose from her knees, and
turned her countenance on the Queen, at the same time advancing
her foot, extending her arm, and assuming the mien and attitude
of a Sibyl in frenzy. As her grey hair floated back from beneath
her coif, and her eye gleamed fire from under its shaggy eyebrow,
the effect of her expressive though emaciated features, was
heightened by an enthusiasm approaching to insanity, and her
appearance struck with awe all who were present. Her eyes for a
time glanced wildly around, as if seeking for something to aid her
in collecting her powers of expression, and her lips had a nervous
and quivering motion, as those of one who would fain speak, yet
rejects as inadequate the words which present themselves. Mary
herself caught the infection as if by a sort of magnetic influence, and
raising herself from her bed, without being able to withdraw her eyes
from those of Magdalen, waited as if for the oracle of a Pythoness.
She waited not long ; for no sooner had the enthusiast collected her-
self, than her gaze became intensely steady, her features assumed a
determined energy, and when she began to speak, the words flowed
from her with a profuse fluency, which might have passed for inspir-
ation, and which, perhaps, she herself mistook for such.

''Arise," she said, ''Queen of France and of England! Arise,
lioness of Scotland, and be not dismayed, though the nets of the
hunters have encircled thee 1 Stoop not to feign with the false ones,
whom thou shalt soon meet in the field. The issue of battle is with
the God of armies, but by battle thy cause shall be tried. Lay aside,
then, the arts of lower mortals, and assume those which become a
Queen ! True defender of the only true faith, the armoury of heaven
is open to thee ! Faithful daughter of the Church, take the keys of
St. Peter, to bind and to loose ! — Boyal Princess of the land, take
the sword of St. Paul, to smite and to shear 1 There is darkness in
thy destiny; — ^but not in these towers, not under the rule of their
haughty mistress, shaJl that destiny be closed — ^Li other lands the
lioness may crouch to the power of the tigress, but not in her own —
not in Scotland shall the Queen of Scotland long remain captive —
nor is the fate of the royal Stewart in the hands of the traitor
Douglas. Let the Lady of Lochleven double her bolts and deepen
her dungeons, they shall not retain thee— each element shall give
thee its assistance ere thou shalt continue captive — ^the land shall
lend its earthquakes, the water its wave&, \]S[i<& %ix \^ \jqsgk*^;^^^^

940 THB ABBOT.

fire its devouring flames, to desolate this house, rather than it shall
continue the place of thy captivity. — ^Hear this and tremble, all ye
who fight against the light, for she says it, to whom it hath been
assured i "

She was sQent^ and the astonished physician said, " If there was
ever an Unergumene, or possessed Demoniac, in our days, there is a
devil speaking with that woman's tongue 1 "

'^ Practice/' said the Lady of Lochleven, recovering her surprise;
" here is all practice and imposture — ^To the dungeon with her 1 "

''Lady of Lochleven," said Mary, arising &om her bed, and
coming forward with her wonted dignity, " ere you make arrest on
any one in our presence, hear me but one word. I have done you
some wrong — I believed you privy to the murderous purpose of your
vassal, and I deceived you in suffering you to believe it had taken
effect. I did you wrong, Lady of Lodileven, for I perceive your
purpose to aid me was sincere. We tasted not of the liquid, nor are
we now sick, save that we languish for our freedom."

''It is avowed like Mary of Scotland," said Magdalen GrsBme;
" and know, besides, that had the Queen drained the draught to the
dregs, it was harmless as the water from a sainted spring. Trow ye,
proud woman," she added, addressing herself to the Lady of Loch-
leven, " that I — ^I — ^would have been the wretch to put poison in the
hands of a servant or vassal of the house of Lochleven, knowing
whom that house contained? as soon would I have furnished drug
to slay my own daughter I "

"Am I thus bearded in mine own castle 1" said the Lady; "to
the dungeon with her ! — she shall abye what is due to the vendor of
poisons and practiser of witchcraft."

"Yet hear me for an instant, Lady of Lochleven," said Mary;
"and do you," to Magdalen, "be silent at my command. — Your
steward, lady, has by confession attempted my life, and those of my
household, and this woman hath done her best to save them, by
furnishing him with what was harmless, in place of the fatal drugs
which he expected. Methinks I propose to you but a fair exchange,
when I say I forgive your vassal with all my heart, and leave
vengeance to God, and to his conscience, so that you also forgive the
boldness of this woman in your presence ; for we trust you do not
hold it as a crime, that she substituted an innocent beverage for the
mortal poison which was to have drenched our cup."

"Heaven forefend, madam," said the Lady, "that I should

account that a crime which saved the house of Douglas from a foul

breach of honour and hospitality! We have written to our son

touching our vassal's delicti and loL^b toas^ abide hia doomi which will

THB ABBOT. 341

mofit likely be death. Toubhing this woman, her trade is damnable
by Scriptare, and is mortally punished by the wise laws of our
ancestry — she also must abide her doom.*'

"And have I then,'' said the Qneen, ''no daim on the house of
Lochleren for the wrong I hare so nearly sofifered within their
walls 1 I ask but in requital, the life of a frail and aged woman,
whose brain, as yourself may judge, seems somewhat affected by
years and suffering."

'' If the Lady Mary," replied the inflexible Lady of Lochleven,
''hath been menaced with wrong in the house of Douglas, it may
be regarded as some compensation that her oomplots have cost that
house the exile of a valued son."

"Plead no more for me, my gracious Sovereign," said Magdalen
Grseme, " nor abase yourself to ask so much aS a grey hair of my
head at her hands. I knew the risk at which I served my Church
and my Queen, and was ever prompt to pay my poor life as the
ransom. It is a comfort to think, that in slaying me, or in restrain-
ing my freedom, or even in injuring that single grey hair, the house,
whose honour she boasts so highly, will have filled up the measure of
their shame by the breach of their solemn written assurance of
safety." — ^And taking from her bosom a paper, she handed it to the
Queen.

"It is a solemn assurance of safety in life and limb," said Queen
Mary, " with space to come and go, under the hand and seal of the
Chamberlain of Kinross, granted to Magdalen GrsBme, commonly
called Mother Nicneven, in consideration of her consenting to put
herself, for the space of twenty-four hours, if required, within the
iron gate of the castle of Lochleven."

"Knave!" said the Lady, turning to the Chamberlain, "how
dared you grant her such a protection?"

" It was by your Ladyship's orders, transmitted by Bandal, as he
can bear witness," replied Doctor Lundin; "nay, I am only like the
pharmacopolist, who compounds the drugs after the order of Utie
medidner."

"I remember — I remember," answered the Lady; "but I meant
the assurance only to be used in case, by residing in another juris-
diction, she could not have been apprehended under our warrant."

" Nevertheless," said the Queen, " the Lady of Lochleven is bound
by the action of her deputy in granting the assurance."

"Madam," replied the Lady, "the house of Douglas have never
broken their safe-conduct, and never will — ^too deeply did they suffer
by such a breach of trust, exercised on themselves, when your
Grace's ancestor^ the second James, m de^ttno^ ol ^<^ T^gD^»^ ^

342 THE ABBOT.

hospitality, and of his own written assurance of safety, poniarded the
brave Earl of Douglas with his own hand, and within two yards of
the social board, at which he had just before sat the King of
Scotland's honoured guesf

'' Methinks,'' said the Queen, carelessly, ''in consideration of so
yeiy recent and. enormous a tragedy, which I think only chanced
some six-score years agone, the Douglasses should have shown them-
selves less tenacious of the company of their sovereigns, than you.
Lady of Lochleven, seem to be of mine."

'^ Let Eandal," said the Lady, " take the hag back to Kinross, and
set her at full liberty, discharging her from our bounds in future, on
peril of her head. — ^And let your wisdom," to the Chamberlain, " keep
her company. And fear not for your character, though I send you
in such company; for, granting her to be a witch, it would be a
waste of fagots to bum you for a wizard."

The crestfallen Chainberlain was preparing to depart; but
Magdalen Graeme, collecting herself, was about to reply, when the
Queen interposed, saying, " Good mother, we heartily thank you for
your unfeigned zeal towards our person, and pray you, as our li^e-
woman, that you abstain from whatever may lead you into personal
danger; and, further, it is our will that you depart without a word
of farther parley with any one in this castle. For thy present
guerdon, take this small reliquary — ^it was given to us by our uncle
the Cardinal, and hath had the benediction of the Holy Father
himself ;^-and now depart in peace and in silence. — ^For you, learned
sir," continued the Queen, advancing to the Doctor, who made his
reverence in a manner doubly embarrassed, by the awe of the
Queen's presence, which made him fear to do too little, and by the
apprehension of his lady's displeasure, in case he should chance to do
too much, — ''for you, learned sir, as it was not your fault, though
surely our own good fortune, that we did not need your skill at this
time, it would not become us, however circumstanced, to suffer our
leech to leave us without such guerdon as we can offer."

With these words, and with the grace which never forsook her,
though, in the present case, there might lurk under it a little gentle
ridicule, she offered a small embroidered purse to the Chamberlain,
who, with extended hand and arched back, his learned face stooping
until a physiognomist might have practised the metoposcopical
science upon it, as seen from behind betwixt his gambadoes, was
about to accept of the professional recompense offered by so fair as
well as illustrious a hand. But the Lady interposed, and, regarding
the Chamberlain, said aloud, ''No servant of our house, without
instantly relinquishing that dtaxsifi^T, «xA \&ssQxtm!^ withal our

THE ABBOT. 343

highest displeasure, shall dare receive any gratuity at the hand of
the Lady Mary."

Sadly and slowly the Chamberlain raised his depressed stature
into liie perpendicular attitude, and left the apartment dejectedly,
followed by Magdalen Graeme, after, with mute but expressive
gesture, she had kissed the reliquary with which the Queen had
presented her, and raising her clasped hands and uplifted eyes
towards Heaven, had seemed to entreat a benediction upon the royal
dame. As she left the castle, and went towards the quay where
the boat lay, Boland Graeme, anxious to communicate with her if
possible, iJirew himself in her way, and might have succeeded in
exchanging a few words with her, as she was guarded only by the
dejected Chamberlain and his halberdiers, but she seemed to have
taken, in its most strict and literal acceptation, the command to be
silent which she had received from the Queen ; for, to the repeated
signs of her grandson, she only replied by laying her finger on her
lip. Dr. Lundin was not so reserved. Begret for the handsome
gratuity, and for the compulsory task of self-denial imposed on him,
had grieved the spirit of that worthy officer and learned mediciner
— " Even thus, my friend," said he, squeezing the page's hand as he
bade him farewell, " is merit rewarded. I came to cure this unhappy
lady — and I profess she well deserves the trouble, for, say what they
will of her, she hath a most winning manner, a sweet voice, a gracious
smile/ and a most majestic wave of her hand. If she was not
poisoned, say, my dear Master !Roland, was that fault of mine, I
being ready to cure her if she had? — and now I am denied the per-
mission to accept my well-earned honorarium — O Galen ! O Hippo-
crates ! is the graduate's cap and doctor's scarlet brought to this pass!
Frustra fatigamm remediis cegroa! "

He wiped his eyes, stepped on the gunwale, and the boat pushed
off from the shore, and went merrily across the lake, which was
dimpled by the summer wind.*

844 THE ABBOT.

CHAPTER XXXm.

Dealih distant t — ^No^ alas! he's ever with us,
And shakes the dart at ns in all our actings :
He lurks within our cups, while we're in health ;
Sits by our sick-bed, mocks our medicines;
We cannot walk, or sit, or ride, or travel,
But Death is by to seize us when he lists.

The Spanish Father.

From tl^e agitating scene in the Queen's presence-chamber, the Lady
of Lochleven retreated to her own apartment, and ordered the
steward to be called before her,

'' Have they not disarmed thee, Dryfesdalel " she said, on seeing
him enter, accoutred, as usual, with sword and dagger.

'' No ! '' replied the old man ; *^ how should they 1— Your ladyship,
when you commanded me to ward, said nought of laying down my
arms; and, I think, none of your menials, without your order, or
your son's, dare approach Jasper Dryf esdale for such a purpose. —
Shall I now give up my sword to youl — it is worth little now, for it
has fought for your house till it is worn down to old iron, like the
pantler's old chipping knife."

'' You have attempted a deadly crime — ^poison under trust"

" Under trust? — ^hem ! — ^I know not what your ladyship thinks of
it, but the world without thinks the trust was given you even for
that very end ; and you would have been well off had it been so ended
aa I proposed, and you neither the worse nor the wiser."

" Wretch ! " exclaimed the Lady, " and fool as well as villain, who
could not even execute the crime he had planned 1 "

'' I bid as fair for it as man could," replied Dryf esdale ; ^ I went
to a woman — a witch and a papist — If I found not poison, it was
because it was otherwise predestined. I tried fair for it; but the
half-done job may be clouted, if you will."

" Villain ! I am even now about to send off an express messenger
to my son, to take order how thou shouldst be disposed of. Prepare
thyself for death, if thou canst."

''He that looks on death, Lady," answered Dryf esdale, ''as that
which he may not shun, and which has its own fixed and certain
hour, is ever prepared for it. He that is hanged in May will eat no
flaunes [pancakes] in midsummer — so there is the moan made for
the old serving-man. But whom, pray I, send you on so fair an
errand?"

^^ITieire will be no lack, oi meaaen^oc^" «3Qss?r«ced his mistresa.

THE ABBOT. 845

<' By my hand, but there will,'' replied the old man ; '' your caatle
is but poorly maimed, oonsideriiig the watches that you must keep,
having this charge — ^There is the warder, and two others, whom you
discarded for tampering with Master George ; then for the warder's
tower, the bailie, the donjon — five men mount each guard, and the
rest must sleep for the most part in their clothes. To send away
another man, were to harass the sentinels to death — unthrifty misuse
for a household. To take in new soldiers were dangerous, the charge
requiring tried men. I see but one thing for it — I wOl do your
errand to Sir William Douglas myself.''

'^ That were indeed a resource ! — ^And on what day within twenty
years would it be done?" said the Lady.

" Even with the speed of man and horse," said Dryfesdale ; '' for
though I care not much about the latter days of an old serving-
man's life, yet I would like to know as soon as may be, whether my
neck is mine own or the hangman's."

''Holdest thou thy own life so lightly?" said the Lady.

'' Else I had recked more of that of others," said the predestinar-
ian — " What is death? — it is but ceasing to live — And what is living?
— ^a weary turn of light and darkness, sleeping and waking, being
hungered and eating. Your dead man needs neither candle nor
can, neither fire nor feather-bed; and the joiner's chest serves him
for an eternal frieze-jerkin."

'' Wretched man ! believest thou not that after death comes the
judgment?"

<< Lady," answered Dryfesdale, '' as my mistress, I may not dispute
your words ; but, as spiritually speaking, you are still but a burner
of bricks in Egypt, ignorant of the freedom of the saints ; for, as was
well shown to me by that gifted man, Nicolaus Schoefierbach, who
was martyred by the bloody Bishop of Munster, he cannot sin who
doth but execute that which is predestined, since"

"Silence!" said the Lady, interrupting him, — ^''Answer me not
with thy bold and presumptuous blasphemy, but hear me. Thou
hast been long the servant of our house"

" The bom servant of the Douglas — they have had the best of me
— I served them since I left Lockerbie : I was then ten years old^
and you may soon add the threescore to it."

" Thy foul attempt has miscarried, so thou art guilty only in inten-
tion. It were a deserved deed to hang thee on the warder's tower;
and yet, in thy present mind, it were but giving a soul to Satan. I
take thine offer, then — Gro hence — ^here is my packet — ^I will add to
it but a line, to desire him to send me a faithful servant or two to
complete the garrison. Let my son deal mtk "^ow «sk Ie^^^itS^ "S^

346 THE ABBOT.

thou art wise, thou wilt make for Lockerbie so soon as thy foot
touches dry land, and let the packet find another bearer; at all
rates, look it miscarries not.^

" Nay, madam," replied he — " I was bom, as I said, the Douglas's
servant, and I will be no corbie-messenger in mine old age— your
message to your son shall be done as truly by me as if it concerned
another man's neck. I take my leave of your honour.''

The Lady issued her commands, and the old man was ferried over
to the shore, to proceed on liis extraordinaiy pilgrimage. It is
necessary the reader should accompany him on his journey, which
Providence had determined should not be of long duration.

On arriving at the village, the steward, although his disgrace had
transpired, was readily accommodated with a horse, by the Cham-
berlain's authority; and the roads being by no means esteemed safe,
he associated himself with Auchtermuchty, the common carrier, in
order to travel in his company to Edinburgh.

The worthy waggoner, according to the established custom of all
carriers, stage-coachmen, and other persons in such pubHc authority,
from the earliest days to the present^ never wanted good reasons for
stopping upon the road, as often as he would ; and the place which
had most captivation for him as a resting-place was a change-house,
as it was termed, not very distant from a romantic dell, well known
by the name of Keirie Craigs. Attractions of a kind very different
from those which arrested the progress of John Auchtermuchty and
his wains, still continue to hover round this romantic spot, and none
has visited its vicinity without a desire to remain long and to return
soon.

Arrived near his favourite howf^ not all the authority of Ihiyfes-
dale (much diminished indeed by the rumours of his disgrace) could
prevail on the carrier, obstinate as the brutes which he drove, to
pass on without his accustomed halt, for which the distance he had
travelled furnished little or no pretence. Old Keltie, the landlord,
who has bestowed his name on a bridge in the neighbourhood of his
quondam dwelling, received the carrier with his usual festive cordi-
ality, and adjourned with him into the house, under pretence of
important business, which, I believe, consisted in their emptying
together a mutchkin stoup of usquebaugh. While the worthy host
and his guests were thus employed, the discarded steward, with a
double portion of moroseness in his gesture and look, walked dis-
contentedly into the kitchen of the place, which was occupied but by
oue guest. The stranger was a slight figure, scarce above the age of
boyhood, and in the dress of a page, but bearing an air of haughty
arisbocraiic boldness and even inaoVence m V:d& look osvd manner, that

THE ABBOT. 347

might hare made Dryfesdale conclude he had pretensionB tosaperior
rank, had not his experience taught him how frequently these airs
of superiority were assumed hj the domestics and military retainers
of the Scottish nobility. — ^ The pilgrim's morning to you, old sir,"
said the youth; ''you come, as I think, from Lochleven Castle —
What news of our bonny Queen? — a fairer dove was never pent up
in so wretched a dovecot."

'' They that speak of Lochleven, and of those whom its walls con-
tain," answered Dryfesdale, ''speak of what concerns the Douglas;
and they who speak of what concerns the Douglas, do it at their
periL"

" Do you speak from fear of them, old man, or would you make a
quarrel for them? — I should have deemed your age might have cooled
your blood."

" Never, while there are empty-pated coxcombs at each comer to
keep it warm."

" The sight of thy grey hairs keeps mine cold," said the boy, who
had risen up and now sat down again.

" It is well for thee, or I had cooled it with this holly-rod," replied
the steward. " I think thou be'st one of those swashbucklers, who
brawl in ale-house and taverns ; and who, if words were pikes, and
oaths were Andrew Ferraras, would soon place the religion of
Babylon in the land once more, and the woman of Moab upon the
throne."

" Now, by Saint Bennet of Seyton," said the youth, " I will strike
thee on the face, thou foul-mouUied old railing heretic !"

" Saint Bennet of Seyton !" echoed the steward ; " a proper warrant
is Saint Bennefs, and for a proper nest of wolf-birds like the
Seytons ! — ^I will arrest thee as a traitor to Kmg James and the

good Begent. Ho! John Auchtermuchty, raise aid against the

King's traitor !"

So saying, he laid his hand on the youth's collar, and drew his
sword. John Auchtermuchty looked in, but, seeing the naked
weapon, ran faster out than he entered. Keltic, the landlord, stood
by and helped neither party, only exclaiming, " Crentiemen ! gentle-
men ! for the love of Heaven !" and so forth. A struggle ensued, in
which the young man, chafed at Dryfesdale's boldness, and unable,
with the ease he expected, to extricate himself from the old man's
determined grasp, drew his dagger, and with the speed of light,
dealt him three wounds in the breast and body, the least of which
was mortal. The old man sunk on the ground with a deep groan,
and the host set up a piteous exclamation of surprise.

" Peace, ye bawling hound !" said the ^OMaidft^ ^\je^«ac\\ "- %xfe

348 THE ABBOT.

•

daggeiHstabs and dying men snch rarities in Scotland, that you should
ciy as if the house were falling? — ^Youth, I do not forgive thee, for
there is nought betwixt us to forgive. Thou hast done what I have
done to more than one — ^And I suffer what I have seen them suffer
— it was all ordained to be thus and not otherwise. But if thou
wouldst do me right, thou wilt send this packet safely to the hands
of Sir William of Douglas ; and see that my memory suffer not, as
if I would have loitered on mine errand for fear of my life."

The youth, whose passion had subsided the instant he had done
the deed, listened with sympathy and attention, when another person,
muffled in his cloak, entered the apartment, and exclaimed — " Good
God! Diyfesdale, and expiring!"

'' Ay, and Dryf esdale would that he had been dead," answered the
wounded man, " rather than that his ears had heard the words of
the only Douglas that ever was false — ^but yet it is better as it is.
Good my murderer, and the rest of you, stand back a little, and let
me speak with this unhappy apostate. — ^Kneel down by me. Master
George — ^You have heard that I failed in my attempt to take away
that Moabitish stumbling-block and her retinue — I gave them that
which I thought would have removed the temptation out of thy path
— and this, though I had other reasons to show to thy mother and
others, I did chiefly purpose for love of thee."

" For the love of me, base poisoner !" answered Douglas, "wouldst
thou have committed so horrible, so unprovoked a murder, and men-
tioned my name with iti"

"And wherefore not, George of Douglas?" answered Diyf esdale.
" Breath is now scarce with me, but I would spend my last gasp on
this argument. Hast thou not, despite the honour thou oweet to
thy parents, the faith that is due to thy religion, the truth that is
due to thy King, been so carried away by the charms of this beauti-
ful sorceress, that thou wouldst have helped her to escape from her
prison-house, and lent her thine arm again to ascend the throne,
which she had made a place of abomination? — Nay, stir not from me
— ^my hand, though fast stiffening, has yet force enough to hold thee —
— ^What dost thou aim at — to wed this witch of Scotland? — I war-
rant thee, thou mayest succeed — ^her heart and hand have been oft
won at a cheaper rate, than thou, fool that thou art, would think
thyself happy to pay. But, should a servant of thy father's house
have seen thee embrace the fate of the idiot Damley, or of the villain
Bothwell — the fate of the murdered fool, or of the living pirate —
while an ounce of ratsbane would have saved thee?"

" Think on God, Dryf esdale," said George Douglas, " and leave the
utterance of those horrors—- B^pent \1 tkou ^sudsAt— ii not^ at least be

THB ABBOT. d49

gQent. — Seyton, aid me to support this dying wretch, that he may
compose himself to better thoughts, if it be possible.^

" Seyton I" answered the dying man ; " Seyton 1 Is it by a Seyton's
hand that I fall at last? — ^There is something of retribution in tibat —
since the house had nigh lost a sister by my deed." Fixing his fad-
ing eyes on the youth, he added, " He hath her very features and
presence ! — Stoop down, youth, and let me see thee, closer — ^I would
know thee when we meet in yonder world, for homicides will herd
together there, and I have been one.'' He pulled Seyton's face, in
spite of some resistance, closer to his own, looked at him fixedly, and
added, *'Thou hast begun young — ^thy career will be the briefer —
ay, thou wilt be met with, and that anon — a young plant never
throve that was watered with an old man's blood. — ^Yet why blame
I thee? Strange turns of fate," he muttered, ceasing to address
Seyton, '' I designed what I could not do, and he has done what he
did not perchance design. — ^Wondrous, that our will should ever
oppose itself to the strong and uncontrollable tide of destiny — that
we should strive with the stream when we might drift with the
canent ! My brain will serve me to question it no farther — I would
Schoefferbadi were here — ^yet why? — I am on a course which the
vessel can hold without a pilot. — Farewell George of Douglas — I die
true to thy father's house." He fell into convulsions at these words,
and shortly after expired.

Seyton and Douglas stood looking on the dying man, and when
the scene was closed, the former was the first to speak. '' As I live,
Douglas, I meant not this, and am sorry ; but he laid hands on me,
and compelled me to defend my freedom, as I best might, with my
dagger. If he were ten times thy friend and follower, I can but say
that I am sorry."

'' I blame thee not, Seyton," said Douglas, " though I lament the
chance. There is an overruling destiny above us, though not in
the sense in which it was viewed by that wretched man, who,
beguiled by some foreign mystagogue, used the awful word as the
ready apology for whatever he diose to do— we must examine the
packet."

They withdrew into an inner room, and remained deep in consul-
tation, untn they were disturbed by the entrance of Keltic, who,
with an embarrassed countenance, asked Master George Douglas's
pleasure respecting the disposal of the body. " Your honour knows,"
he added, " that I make my bread by living men, not by dead corpses ;
and old Mr. Dryf esdale, who was but a sorry customer while he was
alive, occupies my public room now that he is deceased and can
neither call for ale nor brandy."

360 THE ABBOT.

" lie a stone round his neck/' said Seyton, '* and when the son is
down, have him to the Loch of Ore, heave him in, and let him alone
for finding out the bottom.''

" Under your favour, sir," said George Douglas, " it shall not be
so. — Keltic, thou art a true feUow to me, and thy having been so
shall advantage thee. Send or take the body to the chapel at Scot-
land's Wall, or to the church of Ballingry, and teU what tale thou
wilt of his having fallen in a brawl with some unruly guests of thine.
Auchtermuchty knows nought else, nor are the times so peaceful as
to admit dose looking into such accounts."

" Nay, let him tell the truth," said Seyton, " so far as it harms
not our scheme. — Say that Henry Seyton met with him, my good
fellow ; — I care not a brass boddle for the feud."

"A feud with the Douglas was ever to be feared, however," said
Creorge, displeasure mingling with his natured deep gravity of
manner.

" Not when the best of the name is on my side," replied Seyton.

^' Alas ! Henry, if thou meanest me, I am but half a Douglas in
this emprize — ^half head, half heart, and half hand. — But I will think
on one who can never be forgotten, and be aU, or more, than any of
my ancestors was ever. — ^Keltic, say it was Henry Seyton did the
deed ; but beware, not a word of me ! — ^Let Auchtermuchty carry
this packet" (which he had resealed with his own signet) " to my
father at Edinburgh ; and here is to pa^ for the funeral expenses,
and thy loss of custom."

"And the washing of the floor," said the landlord, "which will
be an extraordinary job ; for blood, they say, will scarcely ever cleanse
out"

" But as for your plan," said George of Douglas, addressing Seyton,
as if in continuation of what they had been before treating of, " it
has a good face; but, imder your favour, you are yourself too hot
and too young, besides other reasons whidi are much against your
playing the paxt you propose."

" We will consult the Father Abbot upon it," said the youth. " Do
you ride to Kinross to-night?"

" Ay — so I purpose," answered Douglas ; " the night will be dark,
and suits a muffled man.* — ^Keltic, I forgot, there should be a stone
laid on that man's grave, recording his name, and his only merit,
which was being a faithful servant to the Douglas."

"What religion was the man of?" said Seyton; "he used words
which made me fear I have sent Satan a subject before his time."

"I can tell you little of that," said George Douglas; "he was
noted for r^ifllilring both Eiome and G^xievau) Oiivd s^ke of lights he

THE ABBOT. 361

had learned among the fierce sectaries of Lower Germany — an evil
doctrine it was, if we judge hy the fruits. €rod keep us from pre-
sumptuously judging of Heaven's secrets !''

"Amen !" said the young Seyton, "and from meeting any encounter
this evening."

" It is not thy wont to pray so,** said George Douglas.

"No! I leave that to you,** replied the youth, "when you are
seized with scruples of engaging with your father's vassals. But I
would fain have this old man's blood off these hands of mine ere I
shed more — I will conf eds to the Abbot to-night, and I trust to have
light penance for ridding the earth of such a miscreant. All I
sorrow for is, that he was not a score of years younger — ^He drew
steel first, however, that is one comfort"

CHAPTER XXXIV.

Ay, Pedro, — Come you here with mask and lantern,
Ladder of ropes and other moonshine tools —
^^y* youngster, thou mayst cheat the old duenna.
Platter the waiting-woman, bribe the valet;
But know, that I her father play the giyphon,
Tameless and sleepless, proof to fraud or bribe,
And guard the hidden treasure of her beauty.

The Spanish Fathet\

The tenor of our tale carries us back to the Castle of Lochleven,
where we take up the order of events on the same remarkable day
on which Dryfesdale had been dismissed from the castle. It was
past noon, the usual hour of dinner, yet no preparation seemed
made for the Queen's entertainment. Mary herself had retired into
her own apartment, where she was closely engaged in writing. Her
attendants were together in the presence-chamber, and much dis-
posed to speculate on the delay of the dinner; for it may be recol-
lected that their breakfast had been interrupted. " I believe in my
conscience," said the page, '' that having found the poisoning scheme
miscarry, by having gone to the wrong merchant for their deadly
wares, they are now about to try how famine will work upon us."

Lady Fleming was somewhat alarmed at this surmise, but com-
forted herself by observing, that the chimney of the kitchen had
reeked that whole day in a manner which contradicted the supposition.
— Catherine Seyton presently exclaimed, "They were bearing the
dishes across the court, marshalled by the Lady Lochleven herself,
dressed out in her highest and stiffest ruff, with. h.«£ ^^^dx^^ ^is^

352 THE ABBOT.

Edeeves of cypruB, and her huge old-fashioned farthingale of crimson
velvet." /

" I believe on my word,* said the page, approaching the window
also, ^4t was in that very farthingale that she captivated the heart
of gentle King Jamie, which procured our poor Queen her precious
bargain of a brother."

"That may "hardly be. Master Boland," answered the Lady
Fleming, who was a great recorder of the changes of fashion, " since
the farthingales came first in when the Queen Begent went to Saint
Andrews, after the battle of Pinkie, and were then called Vertu-
gardins^

She would have proceeded farther in this important discussion,
but was interrupted by the entrance of the Lady of Lochleven, who
preceded the servants bearing the dishes, and formally discharged
the duty of tasting each of them. Lady Fleming regretted, in courtly
phrase, that the Lady of Lochleven should have undertaken so
troublesome an office.

" After the strange incident of this day, madam," said the Lady,
"it is necessary for my honour and that of my son, that I partake
whatever is o£fered to my involuntary guest. Please to inform the
Lady Mary that I attend her commands."

" Her Majesty," replied Lady Fleming, with due emphasis on the
word, " shall be informed that the Lady Lochleven waits."

Mary appeared instantly, and addressed her hostess with courtesy,
which even approached to something more cordiaL " This is nobly
done. Lady Lochleven," she said ; " for though we ourselves appre-
hend no danger under your roof, our ladies have been much alarmed
by this morning's chance, and our meal will be the more cheerful for
your presence and assurance. Please you to sit down.''

The Lady Lochleven obeyed the Queen's ooimnands, and Boland
performed the office of carver and attendant as usuaL But, not-
withstanding what the Queen had said, the meal was silent and
unsocial; and every effi>rt which Mary made to excite some conveiv
sation died away imder the solemn and chill replies of the Lady of
LochleveiL At length it became plain that the Queen, who had con-
sidered these advances as a condescension on her part, and who
piqued herself justly on her powers of pleasing, became ofifended at
the repulsive conduct of her hostess. After looking with a sii^-
ficant glance at Lady Fleming and Catherine, she slightly shrugged
her shoulders, and remained silent. A pause ensued, at the end of
which the Lady Douglas spoke : — " I perceive, madam, I am a check
on the mirth of this fair company. I pray you to excuse me — ^I am
A widow — alone here in a most ^p^nLoxjA chax^e— deserted by my

THE ABBOT. 858

grandson — ^betrayed hy my servant — I am little worthy of the grace
you do me in oflfering me a seat at your table, where I am aware
that wit and pastime are usually expected from the guests.^

" If the Lady Lochleven is serious," said the Queen, " we wonder
by what simplicity she expects our present meals to be seasoned with
mirth. If she is a widow, she lives honoured and uncontrolled, at
the head of her late husband's household. But I know at least of
one widowed woman in the world, before whom the words desertion
and betrayal ought never to be mentioned, since no one has been
made so bitterly acquainted with their import.**

*' I meant not, madam, to remind you of your misfortunes, by the
mention of mine," answered the Lady Lochleven, and there was again
a deep silence.

Mary at length addressed Lady Fleming. " We can commit no
deadly sins here, ma bonne, where we are so well warded and looked
to ; but if we could, this Carthusian silence might be useful as a kind
of penance. If thou hast adjusted my wimple amiss, my Fleming,
or if Catherine hath made a wry stitch in her broidery, when she
was thinking of something else than her work, or if Boland Graeme
hath missed a wild duck on the wing, and broke a quarrel-pane t of
glass in the turret window, as chanced to him a week since, now is
the time to think on your sins and to repent of them.''

" Madam, I speak with all reverence," said the Lady Lochleven ;
"but I am old, and claim the privilege of age. Methinks your
followers might find fitter subjects for repentance than the trifles
you mention, and so mention — once more I crave your pardon — as
if you jested with sin and repentance both."

"You have been our taster. Lady Lochleven," said the Queen,
" I perceive you would eke out your duty with that of our Father
Confessor — and since you choose that our conversation should be
serious, may I ask you why the Eegenfs promise — since your son so
styles himself — has not been kept to me in that respect? From time
to time this promise has been renewed, and as constantly broken.
Methinks those who pretend themselves to so much gravity and
sanctity, should not debar from others the religious succours which
their consciences require."

"Madam, the Earl of Murray was indeed weak enough," said
the Lady Lochleven, "to give so far way to your unhappy preju-
dices, and a religioner of the Pope presented himself on his part
at our town of Kinross. But the Douglas is Lord of his own
castle, and will not permit his threshold to be darkened, no, not

t Diamond- shaped ; literally, formed like the head of a guarrelf or arrow for the crOba-
bow.

354 THE ABBOT.

for a single moment, by an emissary belonging to the Bishop of
Eome."

" Methinks it were well, then,'' said Mary, *' that my Lord B^ent
would send me where there is less scrapie and more charity."

''In this, madam," answered the Lady Lochleven, ''you mistake
the nature both of charity and of religion. Charity giveth to those
who are in delirimn the medicaments which may avail their health,
but refuses those enticing cates and liquors which please the palate,
but augment the disease."

"This your charity. Lady Lochleven, is pure cruelty, under the
hypocritical disguise of friendly care. I am oppressed amongst you
as if you meant the destruction both of my body and soul; but
Heaven will not endure such iniquity for ever, and they who are the
most active agents in it may speedily expect their reward."

At this moment Bandal entered the apartment, with a look so
much perturbed, that the Lady Fleming uttered a faint scream, the
Queen was obviously startled, and the Lady of Lochleven, though
too bold and proud to evince any marked signs of alarm, asked hastily
what was the matter)

"Dryfesdale has been slain, madam," was the reply; "murdered
as soon as he gained the dry land by young Master Henry Seyton."

It was now Catherine's turn to start and grow pale — " Has the
murderer of the Douglas's vassal escaped?" was the Lady's hasty
question.

" There was none to challenge him but old Keltie, and the carrier
Auchtermuchty," replied Eandal ; " unlikely men to stay one of the
frackestf youths in Scotland of his years, and who was sure to have
friends and partakers at no great distance."

"Was the deed completed?" said the Lady.

"Done, and done thoroughly," said Bandal; "a Seyton seldom
strikes twice — ^But the body was not despoiled, and your honour's
packet goes forward to Edinburgh by Auchtermuchty, who leaves
Keltie-Bridge early to-morrow — marry, be has drunk two bottles of
aquavitee to put the fright out of his head, and now sleeps them off
beside his cart-avers."]:

There was a pause when this fatal tale was told. The Queen and
Lady Douglas looked on each other, as if each thought how she could
best turn the incident to her own advantage in the controversy,
which was continually kept alive betwixt them — Catherine Seyton
kept her kerchief at her eyes, and wept.

" You see, madam, the bloody maxims and practice of the deluded
Papists," said Lady Lochleven.

t Boldest— most ion?axd. % QwrVbanm.

THE ABBOT. 366

^Naj, madam," replied the Queen, '^mj imtiier joa we tlie
deserved jadgment of Heaven i^on a Odvinktieal pouoner.*

^' Dryf esdale was not of the Church ci Geneva, or ci SoofQand/
said the Lady of Loddeven, hastilj.

''He was a heretic^ however,'' replied Mary; ''tiiere is bat one
tme and unerring gmde; the others lead alike into aror."

''Well, madam,^ I trost it will reooncQe yon to your retreat, that
this deed shows the temper ci those who might wish yon at liberty.
Bloodthirsty tyrants, and cruel men-qneUers are they all, from ihe
Clan-Banald and Glan-Toeach in the north, to the Femiherit and
Bucdench in the south — ^the murdering Seytons in the east, and "

"Methinks, madam, you forget that I am a Sejrton?* said
Catherine, withdrawing her kerdiief from her face, which was now
coloured with indignation.

"HI had forgot it, fair mistress, your forward bearing would have
reminded me,'' said Lady Lodileven.

" If my brother has slain the villain that would have poisoned
his Sovereign and his sister," said Catherine, "I am only so far
sorry that he should have spared the hangman his proper task. For
aught further, had it been the best Douglas in the land, he would
have been honoured in falling by the Seyton's sword."

" Farewell, gay mistress," said the Lady ci Lochleven, rising to
withdraw; "it is such maidens as you, who make giddy-fashioned
revellers and deadly brawlers. Boys must needs rise, forsooth, in
the grace of some spri^tly damsel, who thinks to dance through
life as through a French galliard." She then made her reverence to
the Queen, and added, " Bo you also, madam, fare you well, till
curfew time, when I will make, perchance, more bold than welcome
in attending upon your supper-board. — Come with me, "Randal, and
tell me more of this cruel fact"

"Tis an extraordinary chance," said the Queen, when she had
departed ; "and, villain as he was, I would this man had been spared
time for repentance. We will cause something to be done for his
soul, if we ever attain our liberty, and the Church will permit such
grace to a heretic. — But, tell me, Catherine, ma mign&ne — tlus
brother of thine, who is so frcushy as the fellow called him, bears he
the same wonderful likeness to thee as formerly? "

" If your Grace means in temper, you know whether I am %o frock
as the serving-man spoke him."

"Nay, thou art prompt enough in all reasonable conscience,"
replied the Queen; "but thou art my own darling notwithstanding
— ^But I meant, is this thy twin-brother as like thee in form and
features as formerly) I remember thy doas isio\k<^T ^<^^|^ ^ ^sii<^

866 THE ABBOT.

reason for destming thee to the veily that^ were ye both to go at
large, thou wouldgt 8iirel7 get the credit of some of thy brother's
mad pranks."

^^I believe, madam,** said Catherine, ''there are some nnnsnallj
simple people even yet^ who can hardly distinguish betwixt ns,
especially when, for dHlversion's sake, my brother hath taken a female
dress,'*— -and, as she spoke, she gave a quick glance at Boland Grseme,
to whom this conversation conveyed a ray of light, welcome as ever
streamed into the dungeon of a captive through the door which
opened to give him freedom.

<< He must be a handsome cavalier this brother of thine, if he be
so like you,** replied Mary. '' He was in France, I thiok, for these
late years, so that I saw him not at Holyrood.**

''His looks, madam, have never been much found fasalt with,**
answered Catherine Seyton; " but I would he had less of that angry
and heady spirit which evil times have encouraged amongst our
young nobles. God knows, I grudge not his life in your Grace's
quarrel ; and love him for the willingness with which he labours for
your rescue. But wherefore should he brawl with an old ruffianly
serving-man, and stain at once his name with such a broil, and his
hands with the blood of an old and ignoble wretch 1 **

"Nay, be patient, Catherine; I will not have thee traduce my
gallant young knight. With Henry for my knight, and Boland
Grseme for my trusty squire, methinks I am like a princess of
romance, who may shortly set at defiance the dungeons and the
weapons of all wicked sorcerers. — ^But my head aches with the agita-
tion of the day. Take me La Mer des Histoires, and resume where
we left off on Wednesday. — Our Lady help thy head, girl, or rather
may she help thy heart ! — ^I asked thee for the Sea of Histories, and
thou hast brought La Crontque cP Amour/"

Once embarked upon the Sea of Histories, the Queen continued her
labours with her needle, while Lady Fleming and Catherine read to
her alternately for two hours.

As to Boland Grseme, it is probable that he continued in secret
intent upon the Chronicle of Love, notwithstanding the censure
which the Queen seemed to pass upon that branch of study. He
now remembered a thousand circumstances of voice and manner,
which, had his own prepossession been less, must surely have dis-
criminated the brother from the sister ; and he felt ashamed, that,
having as it were by heart every particular of Caiherine*s gestures,
words, and manners, he should have thought her, notwithstanding
her spirits and levity, capable of assuming the bold step, loud tones,
and forward assurancei whic^ sAcoxdi^ ^«IL enough with her

THE ABBOT. 867

Inrother^s hasty and maaculine character. He endeavoured repeatedly
to catch a glimpse of Catherine's eye, that he might judge how she
was disposed to look upon him since he had made the discovery, but
he was unsuccessful ; for Catherine, when she was not reading her-
self, seemed to take so much interest in the exploits of the Teutonic
knights against the Heathens of Esthoniaand Livonia, that he could
not surprise her eye even for a second. But when, closing the book,
the Queen commanded their attendance in the garden, Mary,
perhaps of set purpose (for Boland's anxiety could not escape so
practised an observer), afforded him a favourable opportunity of
accosting his mistress. The Queen commanded them to a little
distance, while she engaged Lady Fleming in a particidar and
private conversation; the subject whereof, we learn from another
authority, to have been the comparative excellence of the high
standing ruff and the falling band. Eoland must have been duller
and more sheepish than ever was youthful lover, if he had not
endeavoured to avail himself of this opportunity.

"I have been longing this whole evening to ask of you, fair
Catherine," said the page, ''how foolish and unapprehensive you
must have thought me, in being capable to mistake betwixt your
brother and youl "

'' The circumstance does indeed little honour to my rustic manners,"
said Catherine, '' since those of a wild young man were so readily
mistaken for mine. But I shall grow wiser in time ; and with that
view I am determined not to think of your follies, but to correct my
own."

''It will be the lighter subject of meditation of the two," said
Boland.

" I know not that," said Catherine, very gravely; " I fear we have
been both unpardonably foolish."

"I have been mad," said Boland, "unpardonably mad. But you,
lovely Catherine "

"I," said Catherine, in the same tone of unusual gravity, "have
too long suffered you to use such expressions towards me — I fear I
can permit it no longer, and I blame myself for the pain it may give
you."

"And what can have happened so suddenly to change our relation
to each other, or alter, with such sudden cruelty, your whole deport-
ment to mel"

" I can hardly tell," replied Catherine, " unless it is that the events
of the day have impressed on my mind the necessity of our observing
more distance to each other. A chance similar to that which
betrayed to you the existence of my \)Tot\iet, xaK^ xaaJ&a Vc^sy^^jL Xs^

368 THE ABBOT.

Hemy the terms jon have used to me : and, alas ! his whole condact,
as well as his deed this day, makes me too justly apprehensive of the
consequences."

'^Fear nothing for that, fair Catherine,'' answered the page;
" I am well able to protect myself against risks of that nature."

** That is to say," replied she, " that you would fight with my twin-
brother to show your regard for his sister? I have heard the Queen
say, in her sad hours, that men are, in love or in hate, the most
selfish animals of creation; and your carelessness in this matter looks
very like it. But be not so much abashed — ^you are no worse than
others."

" You do me injustice, Catherine," replied the page, " I thought
but of being threatened with a sword, and did not remember in
whose hand your fancy had placed it. If your brother stood before
me, with his drawn weapon in his hand, so like as he is to you in
word, person, and favour, he might shed my life's blood ere I could
find in my heart to resist him to his injury."

"Alas!" said she, *'it is not my brother alone. But you
remember only the singular circumstances in which we have met in
equality, and I may say in intimacy. You think not, that whenever
I re-enter my father's house, there is a gulf between us you may not
pass, but with peril of your life. Your only known relative is of
wild and singular habits, of a hostile and broken clanf — the rest of
your lineage unknown — forgive me that I speak what is the undeni-
able truth."

"Love, my beautiful Catherine, despises genealogies," answered
Boland Graeme.

"Love may, but so will not the Lord Seyton," rejoined the
damsel.

" The Queen, thy mistress and mine, she will intercede. O ! drive
me not from you at the moment I thought myself most happy ! — and
if I shall aid her deliverance, said not yourself that you and she
would become my debtors?"

" All Scotland wiU become your debtors," said Catherine ; " but
for the active eflfects you might hope from our gratitude, you must
remember I am wholly subjected to my father ; and the poor Queen
is, for a long time, more likely to be dependent on the pleasure of
the nobles of her party, than possessed of power to control them."

"Be it so," replied Boland; "my deeds shall control prejudice
itself — ^it is a bustling world, and I will have my share. The Knight

t A brokem olan was one who had no chief able to find aeonrity for their good be-
b»rIour-~a clan of ouUaws ; and the QisameB of the Debateable Luid were in that con-
dition.

THE ABBOT. 359

of Avenel, high as he now stands, rose from as obscure an origin as
mine.^

"Ay! "said CSatherine, "there spokie the doughty knight of ro-
mance, that will cut his way to the imprisoned princess, through fiends
and fiery dragons ! '^

" But if I can set the princess at large, and procure her the free-
dom of her own choice," said the page, " where, dearest Catherine,
will that choice alight?"

" Belease the princess from duresse, and she will tell you," said
the damsel ; and breaking off the conversation abruptly, she joined
the Queen so suddenly, that Mary exclaimed, half aloud —

" No more tidings of evil import — ^no dissension, I trust, in my
limited household?" — ^Then looking on Catherine's blushing cheek,
and Boland's expanded brow and glancing eye — "No — no," she
said, " I see all is well — Ma petite migndne, go to my apartment and
fetch me down — ^let me see — ^ay, fetch my pomander box."

And having thus disposed of her attendant in the manner best
qualified to hide her confusion, the Queen added, speaking apart to
Boland, " I should at least have two grateful subjects of Catherine
and you ; for what sovereign but Mary would aid true love so will-
ingly? — ^Ay, you lay your hand on your sword — joxa petite flamherge
d rien there — ^Well, short time will show if all the good be true that
is protested to ns — I hear them toll curfew from Elinross. To our
chamber — ^this old dame hath promised to be with us again at our
evening meaL Were it not for the hope of speedy deliverance, her
presence would drive me distracted. But I will be patient."

" I profess," said Catherine, who just then entered, " I would I
could be Henry, with all a man's privileges for one moment — I long
to throw my plate at that conf ect of pride, and formality, and ill-
nature ! "

The Lady Fleming reprimanded her young companion for this
explosion of impatience ; the Queen laughed, and they went to the
presence-chamber, where almost immediately entered supper, and the
Lady of the castle. The Queen, strong in her prudent resolutions,
endured her presence with great fortitude and equanimity, until her
patience was disturbed by a new form, which had hitherto made no
part of the ceremonial of the castle. When the other attendant had
retired, Bandal entered, bearing the keys of the castle fastened upon
a chain, and, announcing that the watch was set, and the gates locked,
delivered the keys with all reverence to the Lady of Lochleven.

The Queen and her ladies exchanged with each other a look of
disappointment, anger, and vexation; and Mary said aloud, "We
cannot regret the sm^Obiess of our coxirt, 'w\i«vi ^^ «»» ^'sa Vos^Kesa^

380

THE ABBOT.

discharge in peiBon so man; of its officea. In additdoD to tier (jufgea
of principal steward of our household asd grand almoner, she has to-
night done duly as captain of our guard."

"And will continue to do so in future, madam," answered the
lodj Lochleven, with much gravity ; " tiie biatory of Scotland may

t«sch me how ill the duty is performed, which is done by an accre-
dited deputy — We have heard, madam, of favourit«e of later date,
and aa little merit, as Oliver Sinclair." t

"O, madam," replied the Queen, "my father had his female aa
well aa his male fayourit£s~-tbere were the I^ies SandiLands and
Olifaunt, % and some others, methinka ; but their names cannot sur-
vive in the memoiy of bo grave a person as you."

The Lady Lochleven looked as if she could have slain the Queen
on the spot, but commanded her temper, and retired from the apart-
ment, bearing in her hand the ponderous bunch of keys.

THB ABBOT. 361

** Now Qod be praised for that woman's youthful frailty ! " said
the Queen. ^' Had she not that weak point in her character, I might
waste my words on her in vain '-But that stain is the very reverse
of what is said of the witch's mark — ^I can make her feel there,
though she is otherwise insensible all over. — But how say you, girls
— ^here is a new difficulty — ^How are these keys to be come by? — there
is no deceiving or bribing this dragon, I trow."

" May I crave to know," said Boland, " whether, if your Grace
were beyond the walls of the castle, you could find means of convey-
ance to the firm land, and protection when you are there 1"

''Trust us for that> Boland/' said the Quden; ''for to that point
our scheme is indifferent well laid."

" Then if your Grace will permit me to speak my mind, I think I
could be of some use in this matter."

"As how, my good youth? — speak on," said the Queen, "and fear-
lessly."

"My patron, the Knight of Avenel, used to compel the youth
educated in his household to learn the use of axe and hammer, and
working in wood and iron— he used to speak of old northern cham-
pions, wlio forged their own weapons, and of the Highland Captain,
Donald nan Ord, or Donald of the Hammer, whom he himself knew,
and who used to work at the anvil with a sledge-hammer in each
hand. Some said he praised this art, because he was himself of churl's
blood. However, I gained some practice in it, as the Lady Catherine
Seyton partly knows; for since we were here I wrought her a silver
brooch."

"Ay," replied Catherine, " but you should tell her Grace that your
workmanship was so indifferent that it broke to pieces next day, and
I flung it away."

" Believe her not, Eoland," said the Queen ; " she wept when it
was broken, and put the fragments into her bosom. But for your
scheme — could your skill avail to forge a second set of keys?"

"No, madam, because I know not the wards. But I am con-
vinced I could make a set so like that hateful bunch which the Lady
bore off even now, that could they be exchanged against them by
any means, she would never dream she was possessed of the wrong."

"And the good dame, thank Heaven, is somewhat blind," said the
Queen; "but then for a forge, my boy, and the means of labouring
unobserved?"

" The armourer's forge, at which I used sometimes to work with
him, is the round vault at the bottom of the turret — he was dis-
missed with the warder for being supposed too much attached to
George Douglas. The people are accvxatooi^ ^ ^^^\Ckfc^<5^'^^xfe^

362 THE ABBOT.

and I warrant I shall find some excuse that will pa£B current with
them for putting bellows and anvil to work/'

''The scheme has a promising face,'' said the Queen; ''about it>
my lad, with all speed, and beware the nature of your work is not
discovered.'*

"Nay, I will take the liberty to draw the bolt against chance
visitors, so that I will have time to put away what I am working
upon, before I undo the door."

" "Will not that of itself attract suspicion, in a place where it is so
current already?" said Catherine.

" Not a whit," replied Boland ; " Gregory the armourer, and every
good hammerman, locks himself in when he is about some master-
piece of craft. Besides, something must be risked."

" Part we then to-night," said the Queen, "and Gk)d bless you, my
children I — K Mary's head ever Tises above water, you shall all rise
along with her."

CHAPTEE XXXV.

It is a time of danger, not of revel,
When churchmen turn to masquera

Spanish Fatlier.

The enterprise of Boland Graeme appeared to prosper. A trinket or
two, of which the work did not surpass the substance, (for the
materials were silver, supplied by the Queen,) were judiciously pre-
sented to those most likely to be inquisitive into the labours of the
forge and anvil, which they thus were induced to reckon profitable
to others, and harmless in itself. Openly, the page was seen working
about such trifles. In private he forged a number of keys resem-
bling so nearly in weight and in form those which were presented
every evening to the Lady Lochleven, that, on a slight inspection, it
would have been difficult to perceive the diflference. He brought
them to the dark rusty colour by the use of salt and water; and, in
the triumph of his art, presented them at length to Queen Mary in
her presence-chamber, about an hour before the tolling of the curfew.
She looked at them with pleasure, but at the same time with doubt.
— " I allow," she said, " that the Lady Lochleven's eyes, which are
not of the clearest, may be well deceived, could we pass those keys
on her in place of the real implements of her tyranny. But how is
this to be done, and which of my little court dare attempt this tour
de jongleur with any chance of success? Could we but engage her
in some earnest matter of argument — ^but those which I hold with
her, always have been of a kind "w\i\<i\i i^aakfe V^t ^gra&v ber keys

TBE ABBOT. 363

the faster, ss if she eaid to herself — Here I hold wh&t seta me
above your taunta and reprofiches^Aiid even for her liberty, Mary
Stewart could not stoop to apeak the piood heretic fair. — What
shall we do? Shall Lady Fleming try her eloquence in describing
the last new headtire from
Paris? — Alas! the good
dame haa not changed the
fashion of her head-gear '
since Pinkie-field, for anght
that I know. Shall my
miffnSne Catherine sing to
her one of those touching
ain, which draw the rery
eoula out of me and Boland
Orffimel— Alaa! Dame Mar-
garet Douglas would rather
hear a Huguenot psalm of '
dement Marrot, sung i
the tune of RiveUUx vous,
belie endormie. — Cousins
and liega counBellors, what =
ia to be done, for our wits t
are really astray in 1
matterl — Most our man-at- i
arms and the champion of I
oar body, Boland Qneme, I
manfully assault ^e old ^
ladj, and take the keys '
from her jMT voiedufaitf

"Nay! with your Grace's
permiasion," said Bdand, "I do not donbt being able to manage
the matter with more diB<Tetion; for though, in your Grace's service,
I do not fear"-^

" A host of old women," interrupted Catherine, " each armed with
rock and spindle, yet he has no fancy for pikes and partisaDS, which
might rise at the cry of Bdp/ a Souglat, a Dovgku / "

"They that do not fear fair ladies' tongues," continued the page,
"need dread nothing else. — But^ gracious Liege, I am well-nigh
satisfied that I could pass the exchange of these keys on the Lady
Lochleven ; but I dread the sentinel who ia now planted nightly in
the garden, which, by necessity, we must traveise."

" Our last advices from our friends on the shore have promised us
n that matter," replied the Qoe&ii.

364 THE ABBOT.

'^ And is your Grace well assured of the fidelity and watchfulness
of those without?"

"For their fidelity, I will answer with my life, and for their yigi-
lance, I will answer with my life. I will give thee instant proof, my
faithful Boland, that they are ingenuous and trusty as thyself. Come
hither — Nay, Catherine, attend us; we carry not so deft a page into
our private chamber alone. Make fast the door of the parlour,
Fleming, and warn us if you hear the least step— or stay, go thou to
the door, Catherine" (in a whisper), ''thy ears and thy wits are both
sharper. — Good Fleming, attend us thyself" — (and again she whis-
pered) " her reverend presence will be as safe a watch on Boland as
thine can — so be not jealous, mignOner

Thus speaking, they were lighted by the Lady Fleming into the
Queen's bedroom, a small apartanent enlightened by a projecting
window.

" Look from that window, Boland," she said ; " see you amongst
the several lights which begin to kindle, and to glimmer palely
through the grey of the evening from the village of Eanross — seest
thou, I say, one solitary spark apart from the others, and nearer it
seems to tiie verge of the water? — It is no brighter at this distance
than the torch of the poor glow-worm, and yet, my good youth, that
light is more dear to Mary Stewart, than every star that twinkles in
the blue vault of heaven. By that signal, I know that more than
one true heart is plotting my deliverance; and without that con-
sciousness, and the hope of freedom it gives me, I had long since
stooped to my fate, and died of a broken heart. Plan after plan has
been formed and abandoned, but still the light glimmers; and while
it gUmmeis, my hope live8.-0 ! how many evemngs have I ant muring
in despair over our ruined schemes, and scarce hoping that I should
again see that blessed signal; when it has suddenly kindled, and,
like the lights of Saint Elmo in a tempest^ brought hope and con-
solation, where there was only dejection and despair!"

'' If I mistake not," answered Boland, " the candle shines from the
house of Blinkhoolie, the mail-gardener."

"Thou hast a good eye," said the Queen; ''it is there where my
trusty lieges — Gk>d and the saints pour blessings on them! — ^hold
consultation for my deliverance. The voice of a wretched captive
would die on these blue waters, long ere it could mingle in their
councils ; and yet I can hold communication — I will confide the whole
to thee — I am about to ask those faithful friends, if the moment for
the great attempt is nigh — Place the lamp in the window, Fleming."

She obeyed, and immediately withdrew it. No sooner had she
done BO, than the light in the co\A:aig,% ci \)bA vg^«ii.er disappeared.

THE ABBOT. 306

^Now, ooont,* said Queen Marj, ''for mj heart beats ao thick
that I cannot count myself."

The Lady Fleming hegajo, deliberately to count, one, two, three,
and when she had arriyed at ten, the light on the shore again showed
its pale twinkle.

"Now, our Lady be praised!'' said the Queen; "it was but two
nights since, that the absence of the light remained, while I could
tdl thirty. The hour of deliverance approaches. May Qod bless
those who labour in it with such truth to me! — alas! with such
hazard to themselyes — and bless you too, my children! — Come, we
must to the audience-chamber again. Our absence might excite
suspicion, should they serve supper."

They returned to the presence-chamber, and the evening concluded
as usuaL '

The next morning, at dinner time, an unusual incident occurred.
While Lady Douglas of Lochleven performed her daily duty of
ass i stant and taster at the Queen's table, she was told a man-at-
arms had arrived recommended by her son, but without any letter
or other token than what he brought by word of mouth.

"Hath he given you ih&t token?" demanded the Lady.

"He reserved it, as I think, for your Ladyship's ear," replied Bandal.

"He doth weU," said the Lady; "tell him to wait in the hall—
But no — ^with your permission, madam," (to the Queen) "let him
attend me here."

" Since you are pleased to receive your domestics in my presence,"
said the Queen, " I cannot choose"

"My infirmities must plead my excuse, madam," replied the Lady;
" the life I must lead here ill suits with the years which have passed
over my head, and compels me to wave ceremonial."

"O, my good Lady," replied the Queen, "I would there were
nought in this your castle more strongly compulsive than the cob-
web chains of ceremony; but bolts and bars are harder matters to
contend with."

As she spoke, the person announced by Bandal entered the room,
and Boland Graeme at once recognized in h\m the Abbot Ambrosius.

" What is your name, good fellow?" said the Lady.

" Edward Glendinning," answered the Abbot, with a suitable .
reverence.

"Art thou of the blood of the Knight of Avenell" said the Lady
of Lochleven.

"Ay, madam, and that nearly," replied the pretended soldi^.

" It is likely enough," said the Lady, " for the Knight is the son of
his own good works, and has risen from obecxxx^ ^xi<g;^^<b'Vj^\£a^^^s^9i«3Gi!(k

366 THE ABBOT.

high rank in the Estate— Bat he is of sure truth and approved
worth, and his kinsman is welcome to us. You hold, unquestionably,
the true faith 1"

<< Do not doubt of it, madam," said the disguised churchman.

" Hast thou a token to me from Sir William Douglas)'' said the
Lady.

" I have, madam," replied he ;, " but it must be said in private."

'* Thou art right," said the Lady, moving towards the recess of a
window ; " say in what does it consist."

" In the words of an old bard," replied the Abbot.

^' Bepeat them," answered the Lady ; and he uttered, in a low tone,
the lines from an old poem, called The Howlet, —

*'0, Douglas! Douglas!
Tender and true."

"Trusty Sir John Holland !"t said the Lady Douglas, apostro-
phizing tiie poet; "a kinder heart never inspired a rhyme, and the
Douglas's honour was ever on thy heart-string! We receive you
among our followers, Glendinning — But, Bandal, see that he keep
the outer ward only, till we shall hear more touching him from our
son. — ^Thou fearest not the night air, Glendinning?"

" Li the cause of the lady before whom I stand, I fear nothing,
madam," answered the disguised Abbot.

" Our garrison, then, is stronger by one trustworthy soldier," said
the matron — '' Go to the buttery, and let them make much of thee."

When the Lady Lochleven had retired, the Queen said to Boland
Graeme, who was now almost constantly in her company, "I spy
comfort in that stranger's countenance ; I know not why it should
be so, but I am well persuaded he is a friend."

" Your Grace's penetration does not deceive you," answered the
page ; and he informed her that the Abbot of Saint Mary's himself
played the part of the newly arrived soldier.

The Queen crossed herself and looked upwards. "Unworthy sin-
ner that I am," she said, "that for my sake a man so holy, and so high
in spiritual office, should wear the garb of a base sworder, and run
the risk of dying the death of a traitor !"

'^Heaven will protect its own servant, madam," said Catherine
Seyton ; " his aid would bring a blessing on our imdertaking, were
it not already blest for its own sake."

" What I admire in my spiritual father," said Eoland, " was the
steady front with which he looked on me, without giving the least

t Sir John Holland's poem of The Howlet in known to oolleotozB by the beantifol
edition pmanted to the Bannatyne Olu\> \>7 llx. I>a^<l\A&n^

THE ABBOT. 367

sign of former aoqnaintance. I did not think the like was possible,
since I have ceased to believe that Henry was the same person with
Catherine."

" But marked you not how astuciouslj the good father,'' said the
Queen, '' eluded the questions of the woman Lochleven, telling her
the very truth, which yet she received not as such?"

Boland thought in his heart, that when the truth was spoken for
the purpose of deceiving, it was little better than a lie in disguise.
But it was no time to agitate such questions of conscience.

''And now for the signal from the shore !" ezdaimed Catherine;
'' my bosom tells me we shall see this night two lights instead of one
gleam from that garden of Eden — ^And then, Boland, do you play
your part manfully, and we will dance on the green sward like mid-
night fairies !»

Catherine's conjecture misgave not, nor deceived her. In the
evening two beams twinkled from the cottage, instead of one ; and
the page heard, with beating heart, that the new retainer was ordered
to stand sentinel on the outside of the castle. When he intimated
this news to the Queen, she held her hand out to him — ^he knelt, and
when he raised it to his lips in all dutiful homage, he found it was
damp and cold as marble. " For God's sake, madam, droop not now
— sink not now !"

. " Call upon Our Lady, my liege," said the Lady Fleming — " call
upon your tutelar saint."

'' Call the spirits of the hundred kings you are descended from !"
exclaimed the page; ''in this hour of need, the resolution of a
monarch were worth the aid of a hundred saints."

" O ! Boland Graeme," said Mary, in a tone of deep despondency,
*^ be true to me — many have been false to me. Alas ! I have not
always been true to myself ! My mind misgives me that I shall die
in bondage, and that this bold attempt will cost all our lives. It
was foretold me by a soothsayer in France, that I should die in
prison, and by a violent death, and here comes the hour — O, would
to God it found me prepared !"

"Madam," said Catherine Seyton, "remember you are a Queen.
Better we all died in bravely attempting to gain our freedom, than
remained here to be poisoned, as men rid them of the noxious vermin
that haunt old houses."

" You are right, Catherine," said the Queen ; " and Mary will bear
her like herself. But, alas ! your young and buoyant spirit can ill
spell the causes which have broken mine. Forgive me, my children,
and farewell for a while — I will prepare both mind and body for
this awful venture."

368 THE ABBOT.

They separated, till again called together by the tolling of the
curfew. The Queen appeared grave, but firm and resolved; the
Lady Fleming, with the art of an experienced courtier, knew per-
fectly how to disguise her inward tremors ; CSatherine's eye was fired,
as if with the boldness of the project, and the half smile which dwelt
upon her beautiful mouth seemed to contemn all the risk and all the
consequences of discovery; Boland, who felt how much success
depended on his own address and boldness, summoned together his
whole presence of mind, and if he found his spirits flag for a moment,
cast his eye upon Catherine, whom he thought he had never seen
look so beautiful. — ^* I may be foiled," he thought, '' but with this
reward in prospect, they must bring the devil to aid them ere they
cross me." Thus resolved, he stood like a greyhound in the slips,
with hand, heart, and eye intent upon making and seizing opportun-
ity for the execution of their project.

The keys had, with the wonted ceremonial, been presented to the
Lady Lochleven. She stood with her back to the casement, whidi,
like that of the Queen's apartment, commanded a view of Kinross
with the church, which stands at some distance from the town, and
nearer to the lake, then connected with the town by straggling
cottages. With her back to this casement, then, and her face to the
table, on which the keys lay for an instant while she tasted the
various dishes which were placed there, stood the Lady of Lochleven,
more provokingly intent than usual — so at least it seemed to her
prisoners — ^upon the huge and heavy bunch of iron, the implements
of their restraint. Just when, having finished her ceremony as
taster of the Queen's table, she was about to take up the keys, the
page, who stood beside her, and had handed her the dishes in succes-
sion, looked sidewise to the churchyard, and exclaimed he saw corpse-
caudles in the churchyard. The Lady of Lochleven was not without a
touch, though a slight one, of the superstitions of the time; the fate
of her sons made her alive to omens, and a corpse-light, as it was
called, in the family burial-place, boded death. She turned her head
towards the casement— saw a distant glimmering — ^forgot her charge
for one second, and in that second were lost the whole fruits of her
former vigilance. The page held the forged keys under his cloak,
and with great dexterity exchanged them for the real ones. His
utmost address could not prevent a slight clash as he took up the
latter bunch. " Who touches the keys?" said the Lady ; and while
the page answered that the sleeve of his doak had stirred them, she
looked round, possessed herself of the bunch which now occupied the
place oi the genuine keys, and again turned to gaze at the supposed
coipse-candles.

THE ABBOT. 369

''I hold these gleams," ahe'said^ after a momenfa oonsideration,
'* to come, not from the churohTard, but from the hut of the old
gardener Blinkhoolie. I wonder what thrift that churl drives, that
of late he hath ever had light in his house till the night grew deep.
I thought him an industrious, peaceful man — ^If he turns resetter of
idle companions and night-walkers, the place must be rid of him.''

*' He may work his baskets perchance,'' said the page, desirous to
stop the train of her suspicion.

'' Or nets, may he not? " answered the Lady.

''Ay, madam," said Boland, ''for trout and salmon."

" Or for fools and knaves," replied the Lady ; " but this shall be
looked after to-morrow. — I wish your Grace and your company a
good evening. — Bandal, attend us." And Kandal, who waited in the
antechamber after having surrendered his bunch of keys, gave his
escort to his mistress as usual, while, leaving the Queen's apartment,
she retired to her own.

"To-morrow?" said the page, rubbing his hands with glee as he
repeated the Lady's last words, " fools look to to-morrow, and wise
folk use to-night. — May I pray you, my gracious Liege, to retire for
one half hour, until all the castle is composed to rest? I must go
and rub with oil these blessed implements of our freedom. Courage
and constancy, and all wUl go well, provided our friends on the shore
fail not to send the boat you spoke of."

" !E^ear them not^" said Catherine, " they are true as steel — ^if our
dear mistress do but maintain her noble and royal courage." *

"Doubt not me, Catherine," replied the Queen; "a while since I
was overborne, but I have recalled the spirit of my earlier and more
sprightly days, when I used to accompany my armed nobles, and
wish to be myself a man, to know what life it was to be in the fields
with sword and buckler, jack and knapscap ! "

" O, the lark lives not a gayer life, nor sings a lighter and gayer
song, than the merry soldier," answered Catherine. " Your Grace
shall be in the midst of them soon, and the look of such a liege
Sovereign will make each of your host worth three in the hour of
need: — ^but I must to my task."

" "V^e have but brief time," said Queen Mary ; " one of the two
lights in the cottage is extinguished — that shows the boat is put o£P."

" They will row very slow," said the page, " or kent where depth
permits, to avoid noise. — To our several tasks — I will communicate
with the good Father."

At the dead hour of midnight, when all was silent in the castle,
the page put the key into the lock of the wicket which opened into
the garden, and which was at the bottom of a «t»i£<»8i^ -vik^ss^.

370 THE ABBOT.

descended from the Queen's apartment ^Now, torn smooth and
softly, thon good bolt/' said he, '^ if ever oil softened rost ! " and his
precautions had been so effectual, that the bolt revblyed with little
or no sound of resistance. He ventured not to cross the threshold,
but exchanging a word with the disguised Abbot^ asked if the boat
were ready?"

'^ This half hour," said the sentineL '^ She lies beneath the wall,
too dose under the islet to be seen by the warder, but I fear she will
hardly escape his notice in putting off again."

'' The darkness," said the page, '' and our profound silence, may
take her off unobserved, as she came in. Hildebrand has the watch
on the tower — a heavy-headed knave, who holds a can of ale to be
the best head-piece upon a night-watch. He sleeps for a wager."

"Then bring the Queen," said the Abbot, "and I will call Henry
Seyton to assist them to the boat."

On tiptoe^ with noiseless step and suppressed breath, trembling at
every rustle of their own apparel, one after another the fair prisoners
glided down the winding stair, under the guidance of Boland Graeme,
and were received at the wicket-gate by Heniy Seyton and the
churchman. The former seemed instantly to take upon himself the
whole direction of the enterprise. " My Lord Abbot," he said, " give
my sister your arm — ^I will conduct the Queen — and that youth will
have the honour to guide Lady Fleming."

This was no time to dispute the arrangement, although it was not
that which Boland Grseme would have chosen. Catherine Seyton,
who well knew the garden path, tripped on before like a sylph,
rather leading the Abbot than receiving assistance — ^the Queen, her
native spirit prevailing over female fear, and a thousand painful re-
flections, moved steadily forward, by the assistance of Henry Seyton
— ^while the Ijady Fleming encumbered with her fears and her help-
lessness Boland Graeme, who followed in the rear, and who bore
under the other arm a packet of necessaries belonging to the Queen.
The door of the garden, which communicated with the shore of the
islet, yielded to one of the keys of which Boland had possessed him-
self, although not until he had tried several, — a moment of anxious
terror and expectation. The ladies "were then partly led, partly
carried, to the side of the lake, where a boat with six rowers attended
them, the men couched along the bottom to secure them from obser-
vation. Henry Seyton placed the Queen in the stem; the Abbot
offered to assist Catherine, but she was seated by the Queen's side
before he could utter his proffer of help ; and Boland Graeme was
just lifting Lady Fleming over the boat-side, when a thought sud-
denljr occurred to him, and exdaiming/' Forgotten, forgotten ! wait for

THE ABBOT. 371

me but one half minute," he replaced on the shore the helpless lady of
the bedchamber, threw the Queen's packet into the boat, and sped back
through the garden with the noiseless speed of a bird on the wing.

"Bj Heaven, he is false at last !" said Seyton; ''I ever feared
it!"

*' He is as true," said Catherine, " as Heaven itself, and that I will
maintain."

" Be silent, minion," said her brother, " for shame, if not for fear —
Fellows, put oflP, and row for your lives I "

'' Help me, help me on board ! " said the deserted Lady Fleming,
and that louder than prudence warranted.

" Put off— put gS ! " cried Henry Seyton; " leave all behind, so the
Queen is safe."

"Will you permit this, madam?" said Catherine, imploringly;
"you leave your deliverer to death."

" I will not," said the Queen. — " Seyton, I command you to stay at
every risk."

"Pardon me, madam, if I disobey," said the intractable young
man ; and with one hand lifting in Lady Fleming, he began himself
to push off the boat.

She was two fathoms' length from the shore, and the rowers were
getting her head round, when Eoland Graeme, arriving, bounded from
the beach, and attained the boat, overturning Seyton, on whom he
lighted. The youth swore a deep but suppressed oath, and stopping
Graeme as he stepped towards the stem, said, " Your place is not
with high-bom dames — keep at the head and trim the vessel — ^Now
give way — give way — ^Eow, for God and the Queen ! "

The rowers obeyed, and began to pull vigorously.

"Why did you not muffle the oars?" said Roland Graeme; "the
dash must awaken the sentinel — ^Eow, hids, and get out of reach of
shot; for had not old Hildebrand, the warder, supped upon poppy-
porridge, this whispering must have waked him."

" It was all thine own delay," said Seyton ; " thou shalt reckon
with me hereafter for that and other matters."

But Boland's apprehension was verified too instantly to permit
him to reply. The sentinel, whose slumbering had withstood the
whispering, was alarmed by the dash of the oars. His challenge
was instantly heard. "A boat — ^a boat! — ^bring to, or I shoot!"
And, as they continued to ply their oars, he called aloud, " Treason !
treason ! " rung the bell of the castle, and discharged his harquebuss
at the boat. The ladies crowded on each other like startled wild-
fowl, at the flash and report of the piece, while the men urged the
rowers to the utmost speed. They heard more than one ball whia

S78 THE ABBOT.

along &0 BortMM <rf tbe lake, at no great dietanee bom tiieb Iiltl«
bark; aod from the lights, which glanced like mete(nti from vindoir
to window, it was evident the whole caatle was alarmed, and their
escape diecorered.

"Pnll!" again exclaimed Sexton ; " stretch to yonr oars, or I will
spar Ton to the tuik with m^ dagger — the^ will launch a boat
immediately."

" That is cared for," aaid Boland ; " I locked gate and wicket on
them when I went back, and no boat will stir from the island this
night, if dooTB of good oak and bolts of iron can keep men within
Btone-waUa. — ^And now I resign my office of porter of Lochleven, and
give the keyB to the Kelpie's keeping."

As the heavy keys plunged in the lake, the Abbot, who till then
had been repeating his prayers, exclaimed, "Now, bless thee, my
son! for fhj ready pmdence puts shame on ns all."*

" I knew," Bud Mary, drawing her breath more freely, as they
were now ont of reach of the musketry — " I knew my squire's truth,
promptitude, and sagacity.— I must have him dear friends with
my no lees true knights, Douglas and Sejlon— but where, then, is
Boughtal"

"Here, madam," answered the deep and melancholy voice of the
boatman who sat next her, and who acted ae steersman.

" AlsH I was it yon who stretched yoor body before me," said the
Qaeeo, " when the balls were runiot^ around usi *

THK ABBOT. 373

^Believe you,* Baid he, in a low tone, ^th&t Douglas would have
resigned to any one the chance of protecting his Queen's life with
his own? *

The dialogue was here interrupted by a shot or two from one of
those small pieces of artillery called falconets, then used in defend-
ing castles. The shot was too vague to have any effect, but the
broader flash, the deeper sound, the louder return which was made
by the midnight echoes of Bennarty, terrified and imposed silence
on the liberated prisoners. The boat was alongside of a rude quay or
landing-place, running out from a garden of considerable extent, ere
any of them again attempted to speak. They landed, and whUe the
Abbot returned thanks aloud to Heaven, which had thus far
favoured their enterprise, Douglas enjoyed the best reward of his
desperate undertaking, in conducting the Queen to the house of the
gardener. Yet, not unmindful of Boland Graeme even in that
moment of terror and exhaustion, Mary expressly commanded
Seyton to give his assistance to Fleming, while Catherine voluntarily,
and without bidding, took the arm of the page. Seyton presently
resigned Lady Fleming to the care of the Abbot, alleging he must
look after their horses ; and his attendants, disencumbering them-
selves of their boat-cloaks, hastened to assist him.

While Mary spent in the gardener's cottage the few minutes which
were necessary to prepare the steeds for their departure, she per-
ceived in a comer, the old man to whom the garden belonged, and
called him to approach. He came as it were with reluctance.

"How, brother," said the Abbot, "so slow to welcome thy royal
Queen and mistress to liberty and to her kingdom! "

The old man, thus admonished, came forward, and, in good terms
of speech, gave her Grace joy of her deliverance. The Queen returned
him thanks in the most gracious manner, and added, " It will remain
to us to offer some immediate reward for your fidelity, for we wot
well youf house has been long the refuge in which our trusty ser-
vants have met to concert measures for our freedom." So saying,
she offered gold, and added, " We will consider your sei'vices more
fully hereafter.'*

"Kneel, brother," said the Abbot, "kneel instantly, and thank
her Grace's kindness."

" Good brother, that wert once a few steps under me, and art still
many years younger," replied the gardener, pettishly, "let me
do mine acknowledgments in my own way. Queens have knelt to
me ere now, and in truth my knees are too old and stiff to bend even
to this lovely-faced lady. — ^May it please your Grace, if your Grace's
servants have occupied my house, so that 1 eo\)id. \ic:k\* ^:»2^ S^ ^s^s^

374 THE ABBOT.

own — ^if they have trodden down my flowers in the zeal of their
midnight comings and goings, and destroyed the hope of the fruit
season, by bringing their war-horses into my gaixlen, I do but crave
of your Grace in requital, that you will choose your residence as far
from me as possible. I am an old man, who would willingly creep
to my grave as easily as he can, in peace, good-will, and quiet labour."

" I promise you fairly, good man," said the Queen, " I will not
make yonder castle my residence again, if I can help it. But let me
press on you this money — ^it will make some amends for the havoc
we have made in your little garden and orchard."

" I thank your Grace, but it will make me not the least amends,"
said the old man. " The ruined labours of a whole year are not so
easily replaced to him who has perchance but that one year to live ;
and besides, they teU me I must leave this place, and become a
wanderer in mine old age — I that have nothing on earth saving these
fruit-trees, and a few old parchments and family secrets not worth
knowing. As for gold, if I had loved it, I might have remained
Lord Abbot of Saint Mary's — ^and yet, I wot not — for, if Abbot
Boniface be but the poor peasant Blinkhoolie, his successor, the
Abbot Ambrosius, is still transmuted for the worse into the guise of
a sword-and-buckler man."

"Is this indeed the Abbot Boniface of whom I have heard?"
said the Queen. " It is indeed I who should have bent the knee for
your blessing, good Father ! "

" Beud no knee to me, Lady ! The blessing of an old man, who is
no longer an Abbot, go with you over dale and down — I hear the
trampling of your horses."

" Farewell, Father," said the Queen. " When we are once more
seated at Holyrood, we will neither forget thee nor thine injured
garden."

" Forget us both," said the Ex- Abbot Boniface, " and may God be
with you ! "

As they hurried out of the house, they heard the old man talking
and muttering to himself, as he hastily drew bolt and bar behind
them."

" The revenge of the Douglasses will reach the poor old man," said
the Queen. " God help me, I ruin every one whom I approach ! "

" His safety is cared for," said Seyton ; " he must not remain here,
but will be privately conducted to a place of greater security. But
I would your Grace were in the saddle. — ^To horse ! to horse ! "

The party of Seyton and of Douglas were increased to about ten by

those attendants who had remained with the horses. The Queen and

ber ladiea, with all the rest w\iO caxoft ixoixi Vk<bV^^^re instantly

THE ABBOT. 376

mounted; and holding aloof from the village, which was already
alarmed by the firing from the castle, with Douglas acting as their
guide, they soon reached the open ground, and began to ride as fast
as was consistent with keeping together in good order.

CHAPTEE XXXVI.

He mounted himself on a coal-black steed,

And her on a freckled grey,

With a bugelet horn hmig down from his side.

And roundly they rode away.

Old Ballad.

The influence of the free air, the rushing of the horses over high
and low, the ringing of the bridles, the excitation at once arising from
a sense of freedom and of rapid motion, gradually dispelled the con-
fused and dejected sort of stupefaction by which Queen Mary was
at first overwhelmed. She could not at last conceal the change of
her feelings from the person who rode at her rein, and who she
doubted not was the Father Ambrosius; for Seyton, with all the
heady impetuosity of a youth, proud, and justly so, of his first suc-
cessful adventure, assumed all the bustle and importance of com-
mander of the little party, which escorted, in the language of the
time, the Fortune of Scotland. He now led the van, now checked
his bounding steed till the rear had come up, exhorted the leaders to
keep a steady, though rapid pace, and commanded those who were
hindmost of the party to use their spurs, and allow no interval to
take place in their line of march; and anon he was beside the
Queen, or her ladies, inquiring how they brooked the hasty journey,
and whether they had any commands for him. But while Seyton
thus busied himself in the general cause with some advantage to the
regular order of the march, and a good deal of personal ostentation,
the horseman who rode beside the Queen gave her his full and
undivided attention, as if he had been waiting upon some superior
being.' When the road was rugged and dangerous, he abandoned
almost entirely the care of his own horse, and kept his hand con-
stantly upon the Queen's bridle ; if a river or larger brook traversed
their course, his left arm retained her in the saddle, while his right
held her palfrey's rein.

'*I had not thought, reverend Father," said the Queen, when
they reached the other bank, ''that the convent bred such good
horsemen.'' — ^The person she addressed sighed, but made no other
answer. — " I know not how it is,^^ said Queen Mary ^ '' but ^\tk<&\i tk<^

376

! ABBOT.

■ense of freedom, or the [deasare of mj faTonrite ezeroiae, from
which I have been eo long debarred, or both combimed, seem to
hSiTa given wings to me — no fish ever shot throogh the water, no
bird through the air, with the hunied feeling of liberty and rapture
with which I sweep through this night-wind, and over these wolds.
Na;, Huch is the magic of feeling myself once more in the saddle,
that I could almost swear I am at tfaie moment mounted on 1117
own favourite Boaabelle, who was never matched in Scotland for
swiftness, for ease of motion, and for aureeeas of foot."

"And if the horse which bears eo dear a burden could spetdc,"
answered the deep voice of the melancholy George of Douglas,
"would she not reply, who but Btsabelle ought at andt an emei^;ence
as this to serve her beloved mietreBB, or who but Douglas ou^t to
hold her bridle-rein 1 "

Queen Mary started; shn foresaw at once aU the evils like to
arise to herself and him from the deep enthusiastic paceion of this
youth; but her feelings as a woman, grateful at once and com-
paasionalie, prevented her assuming the dignity of a Queen, and ahe
endeavoured to continue the conversation in an indifferent tone.

" Methought," she said, " I heard that, at the division of my spoils,
BoBabelle had become the property of Iiosd Morton's paramour and
. ladye-love, Alice."

"The noble palfrey had indeed \imil dttAuMd to so base a lot^"

THE ABBOT. 877

answered Douglas; "she was kept tinder four keys, and under the
charge of a numerous crew of grooms and domestics — ^but Qaeen
Mary needed Bosabelle, and Bosabelle is here."

"And was it well, Douglas,'' said Queen Mary, ''when such
fearful risks of various kinds must needs be encountered, that you
should augment their perils to yourself, for a subject of so little
moment as a palfrey ? "

''Do you call that of little moment^" answered Douglas, "which
has afforded you a moment's pleasure ?—Did you not start with joy
when I first said you were moimted on Bosabelle? — ^And to purchase
you that pleasure, though it were to last no longer than the flash of
lightning doth, would not Douglas have risked his life a thousand
timesl"

"O, peace, Douglas, p^ace," said the Queen, "this is unfitting
language; and, besides, I would speak," said she, recollecting herself,
"with the Abbot of St Mary's—Nay, Douglas, I will not let you
quit my rein in displeasure."

" Diq>leasnre, lady!" answered Douglas; "alas! sorrow is all that
I can feel for your well-warranted contempt — ^I should be as soon
displeased with Heaven for refusing the wildest wish which mortal
can form."

"Abide by my rein, however," said Mary, "there" is room for my
Lord Abbot on the other side ; and, besides, I doubt if his assistance
would be so useful to Bosabelle and me as yours has been, should
the road again require it."

The Abbot came up on the other side, and she inmiediately opened
a conversation with him on the topic of the state of parties, and the
plan fittest for her to pursue in consequence of her deliverance. In
this conversation Douglas took little share, and never but when
directly applied to by the Queen, while, as before, his attention
seemed entirely engroesed by the care of Mary's personal safety.
She learned, however, she had a new obligation to him, since, by his
contrivance, the Abbot^ whom he had furnished with the family
pass-word, was introduced into the castle as one of the garrison.

Long before daybreak they ended their hasty and perilous journey
before the gates of Niddrie, a castle in West Lothian, belonging to
Lord Seyton. When the Queen was about to alight, Henry Seyton,
preventing Douglas, received her in his arms, and, kneeUng down,
prayed her Majesty to enter the house of his father, her faithful
servant.

"Your Grace," he added, "may repose yourself here in perfect
safety — ^it is already garrisoned with good men for your protection ;
and I have sent a post to my father, wboBft ins^aso^ vcnsi^v^ '^^c^

378 THE ABBOT.

head of five hundred men, may be looked for. Do not dismay your-
self, therefore, should your sleep be broken by the trampling of
horse ; but only think that here are some scores more of the aSLucy
Seytons come to attend you."

''And by better friends than the saucy Seytons, a Scottush Queen
cannot be guarded,'' replied Mary. ''Bosabelle went fleet as the
summer breeze, and well-nigh as easy ; but it is long since I have
been a traveller, and I feel that repose will be welcome. — Catherine,
ma mign6ne, you must sleep in my apartment to-night, and bid me
welcome to your noble father's castle. — ^Thanks, thanks to all my
kind deliverers — ^thanks, and a good night is all I can now offer; but
if I dimb once more to the upper side of Fortune's wheel, I will not
have her bandage. Mary Stewart will keep her eyes open and
distinguish her friends.— Seyton, I need scarcely recommend the
venerable Abbot, the Douglas, and my page to your honourable care
and hospitality."

Henry Seyton bowed, and Catherine and Lady Fleming attended
the Queen to her apartment; where, acknowledging to them that she
should have found it difficult in that moment to keep her promise of
holding her eyes open, she resigned herself to repose, and awakened
not till the morning was advanced.

Mary's first feeling when she awoke, was the doubt of her
freedom; and the impulse prompted her to start from bed, and
hastily throwing her mantle over her shoulders, to look out at the
casement of her apartment. O sight of joy ! instead of the crystal
sheet of Lochleven, unaltered save by the influence of the wind, a
landscape of wood and moorland lay before her, and the park around
the castle was occupied by the troops of her most faithful and most
favourite nobles. Bise, rise, Catherine," cried the enraptured
Princess; ''arise and come hither! — ^here are swords and spears in
true hands, and glittering armour on loyal breasts. Here are
banners, my girl, floating in the wind, as lightly as summer clouds —
Great God ! what pleasure to my weary eyes to trace their devices
—thine own brave father's — the princely Hamilton's — ^the faithful
Fleming's — See — see — ^they have caught a glimpse of me, and throng
towards the window ! "

She flung the casement open, and with her bare head, from which
the tresses flew back loose and dishevelled, her fair arm, slenderly
veUed by her mantle, retiuned by motion and sign the exulting
shouts of the warriors, which echoed for many a furlong aroimd.
When the first burst of ecstatic joy was over, she recollected how
lightly she was dressed, and, putting her hands to her face, which
was covered wiUi blushes at ^e x^coW^oXk^Ki, ^vtkdrew abruptly

THE ABBOT. 379

from the window. The cause of her retreat was easily conjectured,
and increased the general enthusiasm for a Princess, who had
forgotten her rank in her haste to acknowledge the services of her
subjects. The unadorned beauties of the lovely woman, too, moved
the military spectators more than the highest display of her regal
state might; and what might have seemed too free in her mode of
appearing before them, was more than atoned for by the enthusiasm
of the moment, and by the delicacy evinced in her hasty retreat.
Often as the shouts died away, as often were they renewed till wood
and hiU rung again ; and many a deep oath was made that morning
on the cross of the sword, that the hand should not part with the
weapon, till Mary Stewart was restored to her righte. But what
are promises, what the hopes of mortals? In ten days these gallant
and devoted votaries were slain, were captives, or had fled.

Mary flung herself into the nearest seat, and still blushing, yet
half-smiling, exclaimed, ^^ Ma mign6ne, what will they think of me?
to show myself to them with my bare feet hastily tiirust into the
slippers — only this loose mantle about me — my hair loose on my
shoulders — ^my arms and neck so bare — O, the best they can suppose
is, that her abode in yonder dungeon has turned their Queen's brain!
But my rebel subjects saw me exposed when I was in the depth of
auction, why should I hold colder ceremony with these faithful and
loyal men? — Call Fleming, however — I trust she has not forgotten
the little mail with my apparel — ^We must be as brave as we can,
migvj6ne.'*

** Nay, Madam^ our good Lady Fleming was in no case to remem-
ber anything."

" You jest, Catherine," said the Queen, somewhat offended ; " it is
not in her nature, surely, to forget her duty so far as to leave us
without a change of apparel?"

'' Boland Graeme, madam, took care of that," answered Catherine ;
" for he threw the mail, with your highness's clothes and jewels, into
the boat, ere he ran back to lock the gate — I never saw so awkward
a page as that youth — ^the packet well-nigh fell on my head."

" He shall make thy heart amends, my girl," said Queen Mary,
laughing, " for that and all other offences given. But call Fleming,
and let us put ourselves into apparel to meet our faithful lords."

Such had been the preparations, and such was the skill of Lady
Fleming, that the Queen appeared before her assembled nobles in
such attire as became, though it could not enhance, her natural
dignity. "With the most winning courtesy, she expressed to each
individual her grateful thanks, and dignified not only every noble,
but many of the lesser barons, by her paiticxiAakX ^\^A's:i^<^'Vi.

880 THE ABBOT.

"And whither now, my lordsl" she said; "what way do youi
ootinaelB detennine for nsl"

"To Draphane Castle," replied Lord Arbroath, "if your Majesty
is so pleased ; and thence to Donbarton, to place your Grace's person
in safety, after which we long to prove if these traitors will abide us
in the field."

" And when do we journey ? "

"We propose," said Lord Seyton, "if your Grace's fatigue will
permit, to take horse after the morning's meaL"

"Your pleasure, my lords, is mine," replied the Queen; "we will
rule our journey by your wisdom now, and hope hereafter to have
the advantage of governing by it our kingdom. — ^You will permit
my ladies and me, my good lords, to break our fast along with you.
We must be half soldiers ourselves, and set state apart"

Low bowed many a helmeted head at this gracious proffer, when
the Queen, glancing her eyes through the assembled lead«:s, missed
both Douglas and Boland Graeme, and inquired for them in a
whisper to Catherine Sejrton.

"They are in yonder oratory, madam, sad enough," replied
Catherine ; and the Queen observed that her favourite's eyes were
red with weeping.

" This must not be," said the Queen. " Keep the company amused
— I will seek them, and introduce them myself."

She went into the oratory, where the first she met was C^rge
Douglas, standing, or rather reclining, in the recess of a window, his
back rested against the wall, and his arms folded on his breast. At
the sight of the Queen he started, and his countenance showed, for
an instant, an expression of intense delight, which was instantly
exchanged for his usual deep melancholy.

"What means this?" she said; "Douglas, why does the first
deviser and bold executor of the happy scheme for our freedom, shun
the company of his fellow nobles, and of the Sovereign whom he has
obliged?"

"Madam," replied Douglas, "those whom you grao? with your
presence bring followers to sdd your cause, wealth to support your
state, — can offer you halls in which to feast, and impregnable castles
for your defence. I am a houseless and landless man— disinherited
by my mother, and laid under her malediction — disowned by my
name Mid kmdred-who bring nothing to your standard but a singk
sword, and the poor life of its owner."

" Do you mean to upbraid me, Douglas," replied the Queen, " by
showing what you have lost for my sake)"

*'Qod forbid, madam \" mtAri\ip\^\k(&^o\)3i^ma3i^ea^rly ; " were

THE ABBOT. 881

il to do again, and had I ten tunea aa mnch rank and wealth, and
twenty tunea aa many friends to lose, my loaaes would he over-paid
by the first step yon made, aa a free princess, upon the soil of your
native kingdom."

'' And what then ails you, that you will not rejoice with those
wlao rejoice upon the same joyful occasion?" said the Queen.

"Madam," replied the youth, "though ezheridated and disowned,
I am yet a Douglas : with most of yonder nobles my family have
been in feud for ages — ^a cold reception amongst them were an
insult, and a kind one yet more humiliating."

" For shame, Douglas," replied the Queen, " shake off this unmanly
gloom ! — ^I can make thee match for the best of them in title and
fortune, and, believe me, I wiU. — Go then amongst them, I command
you."

"That word," said Douglas, "is enough — ^I go. This only let me
.say, that not for wealth or title would I have done that whidi I have
done — ^Maiy Stewart will not, and the Queen cannot, reward me."

So saying, he left the oratory, mingled with the nobles, and placed
himself at the bottom of the table. The Queen looked after him,
and put her kerchief to her eyes.

" Now, Our Lady pity me," she said, " for no sooner are my prison
cares ended, than those which beset me as a woman and a queen
again thicken around me — ^Happy Elizabeth ! to whom political in-
terest is everything, and whose heart never betrays thy head. — ^And
now must I seek this other boy, if I would prevent daggers-drawing
betwixt him and the young Seyton."

Bbland Graeme was in the same oratory, but at such a distance
from Douglas, that he could not overhear what passed betwixt the
Queen and him. He also was moody and thoughtful, but cleared
his brow at the Queen's question, " riow now, Eoland? you are negli-
gent in your attendance this morning. Are you so much overcome
with your night's ride?"

"Not so, gracious madam," answered Graeme; "but I am told
the Page of Lochleven is not the Page of Niddrie Castle; and so
Master Henry Seyton hath in a manner been pleased to supersede
my attendance."

" Now, Heaven forgive me," said the Queen, " how «oon these
cock-chickens begin to spar! — with children and boys, at least, I
may be a queen. — I will have you friends. — Some one send me
Henry Seyton hither." As she spoke the last words aloud, the
youth whom she had named entered the apartment. " Come hither,"
she said, " Henry Seyton — I will have you give your hand to this
youth, who so well aided in the plan of my escape."

382 THE ABBOT.

"Willingly, madam," answered Seyton, "bo that the yoath will
grant me, as a boon, that he touch not the hand of another Seyton
whom he knows of. My hand has passed current for hers with him
before now-^d to win my friendXThe murt give up thoughte of
my sister's love."

"Henry Seyton," said the Queen, "does it become you to add any
condition to my command?"

" Madam," said Henry, " I am the servant of your Grace's throne,
son to the most loyal man in Scotland. Our goods, our castles, our
blood, are yours : Our honour is in our own keeping. I could say
more, but"

" Nay, speak on, rude boy," said the Queen ; " what avails it that I
am released from Lochleven, if I am thus enthralled under the yoke
of my pretended deliverers, and prevented from doing justice to one
who has deserved as well of me as yourself?"

"Be not in this distemperature for me, sovereign Lady," said
Boland ; " this young gentleman, being the faithful servant of your
Grace, and the brother of Catherine Seyton, bears that about him
which will charm down my passion at the hottest."

"I warn thee once more," said Henry Seyton, haughtily, "that
you make no speech which may infer that the daughter of Lord
Seyton can be aught to thee beyond what she is to every churl's blood
in Scotland."

The Queen was again abQut to interfere, for Boland's complexion
rose, and it became somewhat questionable how long his love for
Catherine would suppress the natural fire of his temper. But the
interposition of another person, hitherto unseen, prevented Mary's
interference. There was in the oratory a separate shrine, inclosed
with a high screen of pierced oak, within which was placed an
image of Saint Bennet, of peculiar sanctity. From this recess, in
which she had been probably engaged in her devotions, issued
suddenly Magdalen Graeme, and addressed Henry Seyton, in reply
to his last offensive expressions — "And of what clay, then, are
they moulded these Seytons, that the blood of the Greemes may
not aspire to mingle with theirs? Know, proud boy, that when I
call this youth my daughter's child, I affirm his descent from
MaJise Earl of Strathem, called Malise with the Bright Brand : and
I trow the blood of your house springs from no higher source."

"Grood mother," said Seyton, "methinks your sanctity should
make you superior jbo these wordly vanities ; and indeed it seems
to have rendered you somewhat oblivious touching them, since, to
be of gentle descent, the father's name and lineage must be as well
quali£ed as the mother's."

THE ABBOT. 383

''And if I say he comes of the blood of Avenel by the father's
side/' replied Magdalen Graeme, '' name I not blood as richly coloured
as thine own?"

" Of Avenel?" said the Queen ; " is my page descended of Avenel?**

''Ay, gracious Princess, and the last male-heir of that ancient
house— Julian Avenel was his father, who fell in battle against the
Southron."

" I have heard the tale of sorrow," said the Queen; "it was thy
daughter, then, who followed that imf ortunate baron to the field, and
died on his body ? Alas ! how many ways does woman's affection
find to work out her own misery ! The tale has oft been told and sung
in hall and bower — ^And thou, Boland, art that child of misfortune,
who was left among the dead and dying? Henry Seyton, he is thine
equal in blood and birth."

"Scarcely so," said Henry Seyton, " even were he legitimate; but
if the tale be told and sung aright, Julian Avenel was a false knight,
and his leman a frail and credulous maiden."

"Now, by Heaven, thou liest!" said Roland Graeme, and laid his
hand on his sword. The entrance of Lord Seyton, however, pre-
vented violence.

" Save me, my lord," said the Queen, "and separate these wild and
untamed spirits."

"How, Henry!" said the Baron, "are my castle, and the Queen's
presence, no checks on thine insolence and impetuosity? — ^And with
whom art thou brawling? — ^unless my eyes spell that token false, it
is with the very youth who aided me so gallantly in the skirmish
with the Leslies — Let me look, fair youth, at the medal which thou
wearest in thy cap. By Saint Bennet, it is the same ! — Henry, I
command thee to forbear him, as thou lovest my blessing"

" And as you honour my command," said the Queen ; " good service
hath he done me."

"Ay, madam," replied young Seyton, "as when he carried the
billet, inclosed in the sword-sheath, to Lochleven — ^Marry, the
good youth knew no more than a pack-horse what he was carrying."

" But I, who dedicated him to this great work," said Magdalen
Graeme — " I, by whose advice and agency this just heir hath been
imloosed from her thraldom — I, who spared not the last remaining
hope of a falling house in this great action — ^I, at least, knew and
counselled: and what merit may be mine, let the reward, most
gracious Queen, descend upon this youth. My ministry here is
ended ; you are free — a sovereign Princess, at the head of a gallant
army, surrounded by valiant barons — ^My service could avail you no
farther, but might well prejudice you ; your fortune now i:Q&t& >x^\!l

884 THE ABBOT.

men's hearts and men's swordci — May thej proYe as trusty as the
faith of women 1"

''You will not leave ns, mother," said the Queen — ^^^you whose
practices in our fikvour were so powerfal, who dared so many dangers,
and wore so many disguises, to blind our enemies and to confirm our
friends— you wiU not leave us in the dawn of our reviving fortunes,
ere we have tinke to know and to thank you.''

" You cannot know her," answered Magdalen Graeme, '' who knows
not herself — ^there are times, when, in this woman's frame of mine,
there la the strength of him of Gath — in this overtoiled brain, the
wisdom of the most sage counsellor — and again the mist is on me,
and my strength is weakness, my wisdom folly. I have spoken
before princes and cardinals — ay, noble Princess, even before the
princes of thine own house of Lorraine ; and I know not whence the
words of persuasion came which flowed from my lips, and were drunk
in by their ears. — And now, even when I most need words of per-
suasion, there is something which chokes my voice, and robs me of
utterance."

** If there be aught in my power to do thee pleasure," said the
Queen, ''the barely naming it shall avail as well as all thine elo-
quence."

'' Sovereign Lady," replied the enthusiast, " it shames me that at
this high moment something of human frailty should ding to one,
whose vows the saints have heard, whose labours in the rightful
cause Heaven has prospered. But it will be thus, while the living
spirit is shrined in the day of mortality — ^I will yield to the folly,"
she said, weeping as she spoke, ''and it shall be the last." Then,
seizing Boland's hand, she led him to the Queen's feet> kneeling
herself upon one knee, and causing him to kneel on both. " Mighty
Princess," she said, " look on this flower — it was found by a kindly
stranger on a bloody field of battle, and long it was ere my anxious
eyes saw, and my arms pressed, all that was left of my only daughter.
For your sake, and for that of the holy faith we both profess, I
could leave this plant, while it was yet tender, to the nurture of
strangers — ^ay, of enemies, by whom, perchance, his blood would
have been poured forth as wine, had the heretic Glendinning known
that he had in his house the heir of Julian AveneL Since then I
have seen him only in a few hours of doubt and dread, and now
I part with the child of my love for ever — for ever! — O, for
every weary step I have made in your rightful cause, in this and in
foreign lands, give protection to the duld whom I must no more call
mine!"

"I swear to you, motSier " oaid the Queen, deeply affected, "that

THB ABBOT. 385

for jour sake and his own, his happinesB and fortune shall be our
charge!''

''I thank you, daughter of princes,"* said Magdalen, and pressed
her lips, first to liie Queen's hand, then to the brow of her grandson.
''And now," she said, drying her tears, and rising with dignity?
'' Earth has had its own, and Heaven claims the rest. — ^Lioness of
Scotland, go forth and conquer! and if the prayers of a devoted
votaress can avail thee, they will rise in many a land, and from many
a distant shrine. I will glide like a ghost from land to land, from
temple to temple ; and where the very name of my country is un-
known, the priests shall ask who is the Queen of that distant northern
land, for whom the aged pilgrim was so fervent in prayer. Fare-
well ! Honour be thine, and earthly prosperity, if it be the will of
God — ^if not, may the penance thou shalt do here ensure thee happi-
ness hereafter ! — ^Let no one speak or follow me— my resolution is
taken — ^my vow cannot be cancelled."

She glided from their presence as she spoke, and her last look was
upon her beloved grandchild. He would have risen and followed,
but the Queen and Lord Seyton interfered.

" Press not on her now," said Lord Seyton, "if you would not lose
her for ever. Many a time have we seen the sainted mother, and
often at the most needful moment; but to press on her privacy, or
to thwart her purpose, is a crime which she cannot pardon. I trust
we shall yet see her at her need — a holy woman she is for certain,
and dedicated wholly to prayer and penance ; and hence the heretics
hold her as one distracted, while true Catholics deem her a saint."

" Let me then hope," said the Queen, " that you, my lord, will aid
me in the execution of her last request."

"What! in the protection of my young second) — cheerfully — ^that
is, in all that your majesty can think it fitting to ask of me. — ^Henry,
give thy hand upon the instant to Boland Avenel, for so I presume
he must now be called."

"And shall be Lord of the Barony," said the Queen, "if God
prosper our rightful arms."

" It can only be to restore it to my kind protectress, who now
holds it," said young AveneL " I would rather be landless all my
life, than she lost a rood of ground by me."

" Nay," said the Queen, looking to Lord Seyton, "his mind matches
his birth — ^Henry, thou hast not yet given thy hand."

"It is his," said Henry, giving it with some appearance of courtesy,
but whispering Boland at the same time, — ^"For all this thou hast
not my sister's."

"MJay it please your Grace," said Lord Seyton, "now that thesa

over, to honimr our poor meaL l^ine it 'wtm ttint oar
banners were reflected in the Cljde. We mutrt to horse with m litde
delay aa m&y be."

CHAPTER XXXVIL

Ay, BIT — our ancient crown, in these wild tunea.
Oft Btood upon a cast — the guneeter'a dacat.
So often staked, and lost, and then regsJn'd,
Scarce knew &o many hazards.

rft< Spanish FalAer.

It ia not our object to enter into the hiatorical part of the reign ot
the ill-fated Maiy, or to recount how, during tbe week which suc-
ceeded her flight from Lochleven, her partiaans mustered around her
with their followers, forming a gallant armj amounting to six thou-
sand men. So much light has been lately thrown on the moet minute
details of tiie period, bj Mr. Chalmers, in his valuable History of
Queen Maiy, that the reader may be safelj referred to it for tbo
(ulleat information which andeut records afford concerning tbat in-
teresting time. It is sufBcient for our purpose to say, that while
Mai^a head-quarters were at Hamilton, the Regent and his adherents
had, in the King's name, asembled a host at Glasgow, inferior
indeed to that of the Queen in numbers, but formidable from the
military talenta of Murray, Morton, the Laird of Grange, and others,
vbobad been trained {romllteii ^ooibmiotei^uid domestic wars.

THB ABBOT. 387

In these dicamstanoesy it was liie obvious policy of Queen Maiy
to avoid s conflict^ secure tbat were her person once in safety, the
number of her adherents must daily increase; whereas, the forces
of liiose opposed to her mnst^ as had frequently happened in the
previous history of her reign, have diminished, and their spiritB
become b]x>ken. And so evident was this to her counsellors, that
they resolved their first step should be to place the Queen in the
strong castle of Dunbarton, there to await the course of events, the
arrival oi succours from France, and the levies which were made by
her adherents in every province of Scotland. Accordingly, orders
were given that all men should be on horseback or on toot, apparelled
in their armour, and ready to follow the Queen's standard in array
of battie, the avowed determioation being to escort her to the castle
ot Dunbarton in defiance of her enemies.

The muster was made upon Hamilton-Moor, and the march com-
menced in all the pomp of feudal times. Military music sounded,
banners and pennons waved, armour glittered &u* and wide, and
spears glanced and twinkled like stars in a frosty sky. The gallant
spectacle of warlike parade was on this occasion dignified by the
presence of the Queen herself, who with a Mr retinue of ladies and
household attendants, and a special guard of gentlemen, amongst
whom young Seyton and Boland were distinguished, gave grace at
once and confidence to the army, which spread its ample files before,
around, and behind her. Many churchmen also joined the cavalcade,
most of whom did not scruple to assume arms, and declare their
intention of wielding them in defence of Mary and the Catholic
faith. Not so the Abbot of Saint Mary's. Boland had not seen this
prelate since the night of their escape from Lochleven, and he now
beheld him, robed in the dress of his order, assume his station near
the Queen's person. Boland hastened to pull off his basnet, and
beseech the Abbofs blessing.

''Thou hast it, my son !" said the priest; "I see thee now under
thy true name, and in thy rightful garb. The helmet with the holly
branch befits your brows well — ^I have long waited for the hour thou
shouldst assume it."

'' Then you knew of my descent, my good father?" said Boland.

'' I did so, but it was under seal of confession from thy grand-
mother ; nor was I at liberty to tell the secret, tiU she herself should
make it known."

"Her reason for such secrecy, my father?" said Boland AveneL

"Fear, perchance, of my brother — a mistaken fear, for Halbert
would not, to ensure himself a kingdom, have offered wrong to an
orphan; besides that your title, in quiet timfiB^ ev^iibaji^^>£Li»&58s:

388 THE ABBOT.

done jonr mother that justice which I well hope he did, ooold not
have competed with that of my brother's wife, the child of Julian's
elder brother."

*^ They need fear no competition from me," said AveneL ^ Scot-
land is wide enough, and there are many manors to win, without
plundering my benefactor. But prove to me, my reverend father,
that my father was just to my mother — show me that I may call
myself a legitimate Avenel, and make me your bounden slave for
everl"

''Ay," replied the Abbot, '' I hear the Seytons hold thee cheap for
that stain on thy shield. Something, however, I have leamt from
the late Abbot Bomface, which, if it prove sooth, may redeem that
reproach."

'' Tell me that blessed news," said Boland, ''and the future service
of my life"

" Bash boy 1" said the Abbot, " I should but madden thine im-
patient temper, by exciting hopes that may never be fulfilled — and
is this a time for them? Think on what perilous march we are
bound, and if thou hast a sin unconfessed, neglect not the only
leisure which Heaven may perchance afford thee for confession and
absolution."

"There will be time enough for both, I trust, when we reach
Dunbarton," answered the page.

" Ay," said the Abbot, " thou crowest as loudly as the rest — ^but
we are not yet at Dunbarton, and there is a lion in the path."

"Mean you Murray, Morton, and the other rebels at Glasgow,
my reverend father? Tush! they dare not look on the royal
banner."

" Even so," replied the Abbot, "speak many of those who are older,
and should be wiser, than thou. — I have returned from the southern
shires, where I left many a chief of name arming in the Queen's
interest — ^I left the lords here wise and considerate men — I find them
nmdmen on my return — ^they are willing, for mere pride and vain-
glory, to brave the enemy, and to carry the Queen, as it were in
triumph, past the walls of Glasgow, and under the beards of the
adverse army. — Seldom does Heaven smile on such mistimed con-
fidence. We shall be encountered, and that to the purpose."

" And so much the better," replied Boland, " the field oi battle
was my cradle."

" Beware it be not thy dying bed," said the Abbot. " But what
avails it whispering to young wolves the dangers of the chase? You
wiU know, perchance, ere thii? day is out, what yonder men are,
whom you hold in rash contempt.^

THE ABBOT. 889

"Why, what are theyr said Henry Seyton, who now joined
them: "have they sinews of wire, and fleeii of ironl — Will lead
pierce and steel cat them? — If so, reverend father, we have little to
fear.''

"They are evil men," said the Abbot, " but the trade of war de-
mands no saints — ^Murray and Morton are known to be the best
generals in Scotland. No one ever saw Lindesay's or Buthven's back
— ^E[irkaldy of Grange was named by the Constable Montmorency
the first soldier in Europe — My brother, too good a name for such a
cause, has been far and wide known for a soldier."

"•nie better, the better!" said Seyton, triumphantly; "we shall
have all these traitors of rank and name in a fair field before us.
Our cause is the best, our numbers are the strongest, our hearts and
limbs match theirs — Saint Bennet, and set on ! "

The Abbot made no reply, but seemed lost in reflection ; and his
anxiety in some measure communicated itself to Boland Avenel,
who ever, as their line of march led over a ridge or an eminence,
cast an anxious look towards the towers of Glasgow, as if he expected
to see symptoms of the enemy issuing forth. It was not that he
feared the fight, but the issue was of such deep import to his country,
and to himself, that the natural fire of his spirit burned with a less
lively, though with a more intense glow. Love, honour, fame, for-
tune, all seemed to depend on the issue of one field, rashly hazarded,
perhaps, but now likely to become unavoidable and decisive.

When, at length, their march came to be nearly parallel with the
city of Glasgow, Boland became sensible that the high grounds before
them were already in part occupied by a force, showing, like their
own, the royal bimner of Scotland, and on the point of being sup-
ported by columns of infantry and squadrons of horse, which the
city gates had poured forth, and which hastily advanced to sustain
those troops who already possessed the ground in front of the Queen's
forces. Horseman after horseman galloped in from the advanced
guard, with tidings that Murray had taken the field with his whole
army ; that his object was to intercept the Queen's march, and his
purpose unquestionable to hazard a battle. It was now that the
tempers of men were subjected to a sudden and a severe trial ; and
that those who had too presumptuously concluded that they would
pass without combat, were something disconcerted, when, at once,
and with little time to deliberate, they found themselves placed in
front of a resolute enemy. — ^Their chiefis immediately assembled
around the Queen, and held a hasty council of war. Mary's quiver-
ing lip confessed the fear which she endeavoured to conceal under a
bold and dignified demeanour. But her «1ioT\& ^^-t^ ^-^^SKsyoso^^X:^

390 THE ABBOT.

poinfal recollections of the disastrous issue of her last appearance in
arms at Carberry-hill ; and when she meant to have asked them their
advice for ordering the battle, she involnntarily inquired whether
there were no means of escaping without an engagement?

^ Escaping? '' answered the Lord Seyton ; '' when I stand as one to
ten of your Highnesses enemies, I may think of escape — ^but never
while I stand with three to two ! "

"^ Battle ! battle ! " exclaimed the assembled lords ; '' we will drive
the rebels from their vantage ground, as the hound turns the hare
on the hill side."

''Methinks, my noble lords," said the Abbot, ''it were as well
to prevent his gaining that advantage. — Our road lies through yon-
der hamlet on the brow, and whichever party hath the luck to possess
it, with its little gardens and enclosures, will attain a post of great
defence."

''The reverend father is right," said the Queen. "O, haste thee,
Seyton, haste, and get thither before them — ^they are marching like
the wind."

Seyton bowed low, and turned his horse's head. — " Your TTighTiAHa
honours me," he said; " I will instantly press forward and seize the
pass."

" Not before me, my lord, whose charge is the command of the
vanguard," said the Lord of Arbroath.

"Before you, or any Hamilton in Scotland," said the Sejrton,
"having the Queen's command — ^Follow me, gentlemen, my vassals
and kinsmen — Saint Bennet, and set on ! "

" And follow me," said Arbroath, " my noble kinsmen, ai^d brave
men-tenants, we wiU see which will first reach the post of danger.
For (rod and Queen Mary ! "

"Hi-omened haste, and most unhappy strife," said the Abbot,
who saw them and their followers rush hastily and emulously to
ascend the height, without waiting till their men were placed in
order. — "And you, gentlemen," he continued, addressing Boland and
Seyton, who were each about to follow those who hastened thus
disorderly to the conflict, "will you leave the Queen's person un-
guarded?"

"O, leave me not, gentlemen!" said the Queen, — "Boland and
Seyton, do not leave me — there are enough of arms to strike in this
fell combat — ^withdraw not those to whom I trust for my safety ! "

" We may not leave her Grace," said Boland, looking at Seyton,
and turning his horse.

"I ever looked when thou wouldst find out that," rejoined the

THE ABBOT. 891

Boland made no answer, bnt bit his lip till the blood came, and
spurring his horse up to the side of Catherine Seyton's palfrey, he
whispered in a low voice, '^ I never thought to have done aught to
deserve you; but this day I have heard myself upbraided with
cowardice, and my sword remained still sheathed, and all for the
love of you."

''There is madness among us all," said the damsel; ''my father,
my brother, and you, are all alike bereft of reason. Ye should think
only of this poor Queen, and you are all inspired by your own absurd
jealousies — ^The Monk is the only soldier and man of sense amongst
you all. — My Lord Abbot," she cried aloud, " were it not better we
should draw to the westward, and wait the event that Grod shall
send us, instead of remaining here in the highway, endangering the
Queen's person, and cumbering the troops in their advance? "

" You say well, my daughter," replied the Abbot ; " had we but
one to guide us where the Queen's person may be in safety — Our
nobles hurry to the conflict, without casting a thought on the very
cause of the war."

"Follow me," said a knight,, or man-at-arms, well mounted and
attired completely in black armour, but having the visor of his
helmet closed, and bearing no crest on his helmet, or device upon his
shield.

"We will follow no stranger," said the Abbot, "without some
warrant of his truth."

" I am a stranger and- in your hands," said the horseman; " if you
wish to know more of me, i^e Queen herself will be your warrant."

The Queen had remained fixed to the spot, as if dLsabled by fear,
yet mechanically smiling, bowing, and waving her hand, as banners
were lowered, and spears depressed before her, while, emulating the
strife betwixt Seyton and Arbroath, band on band pressed forward
their march towards the enemy. Scarce, however, had the black
rider whispered something in her ear, than she assented to what he
said; and when he spoke aloud, and with an air of command,
"Grentlemen, it is the Queen's pleasure that you should follow me,"
Mary uttered, with something like eagerness, the word " Yes."

All were in motion in an instant; for the black horseman, throw-
ing off a sort of apathy of manner, which his first appearance indi-
cated, spurred his horse to and fro, making him take such active
bounds and short turns, as showed the rider master of the animal ;
and getting the Queen's little retinue in some order for marching,
he led them to the left, directing his course towards a castle, which,
crowning a gentle yet commanding eminence, presented an exten-
sive view over the country beneath, and in ^^axt\c.\yW^<^TS£B^ass^^^

392 THE ABBOT.

a yiew of those heights which both armies hastened to occapy, and
which it was now apparent must ahnost instantly be the scene of
straggle and dispute.

'^ Yonder towers," said the Abbot, questioning the sable horseman,
^to whom do they belong? — and are they now in the hands of
friends r

''They are untenanted," replied the stranger, ''or, at least, they
ha^e no hostile inmates — But urge these youths. Sir Abbot, to make
more haste — ^this is but an evil time to satisfy their idle curiosity, by
peering out upon the battle in which they are to take no share."

" The worse luck mine," said Henry Seyton, who overheard him ;
"I would rather be under my father's banner at this moment than
be made Chamberlain of Holyrood, for this my present duty of
peaceful ward weU and patiently discharged."

"Your place under your father's banner will shortly be right
dangerous," said Boland Avenel, who, pressing his horse towards the
westward, had still his look reverted to the armies; "for I see yon-
der body of cavalry, which presses from the eastward, will reach the
village ere Lord Seyton can gain it."

"They are but cavalry," said Seyton, looking attentively; "they
cannot hold the village without shot of harquebuss."

" Look more closely," said Boland ; " you will see that each of these
horsemen who advance so rapidly from Glasgow, carries a footman
behind him."

" Now, by Heaven, he speaks well 1 " said the black cavalier; one
of you two must go carry the news to Lord Seyton and Lord Ar-
broath, that they hasten not their horsemen on before the foot, but
advance more regularly."

" Be that my errand," said Boland, " for I first marked the strata-
gem of the enemy."

"But, by your leave," said Seyton, "yonder is my father's banner
engaged, and it best becomes me to go to the rescue."

" I will stand by the Queen's decision," said Boland AveneL

"What new appeal? — ^what new quarrel?" said Queen Mary —
" Are there not in yonder dark host enemies enough to Mary Stewart,
but must her very friends turn enemies to each other?"

" Nay, madam," said Boland, " the young Master of Seyton and I
did but dispute who should leave your person to do a most needful
message to the host. He thought his rank entitled him, and I
deemed that the person of least consequence, being myself, were
better perilled "

" Not so," said the Queen ; " if one must leave me, be it Seyton."

Henry Seyton bowed tall \]kie -wYdbb -^^xmss^ on. bis helmet mixed

viA the flowing tune of his gaUant war-hone, then placed hinuelf
film in the aaddle, shook his lanoe aloft witli an air of triumph eouI
determination, and sbiking his hone with the spun, made towards
bii father's banner, which was still advancing up the 'bill, and dashed
his steed over eveiy obstaole that occurred in bis headlong path.

" Mj brother I my father I " exlaimed Catherine, with ai
of agonized apprehension — " they are in the midst of peril, and I in
aafetj."

" Would to God," said Boland, " that I were with them, and could
ransom every drop of t^eir blood by two of mine ! "

"Do I not know thon doet wiab itl" said Catherine — "Can a
woman saj to a man what I have well-nigh aaid to thee, and yet
think that he could harbour feax or faintness of heart I — There is that
in yon distant sound of approaching battle that pleases me even
while it a&ights me. I would I were a man, that I might feel that
stem delight, without the mixture of terror I "

" Bide up, ride up, l4uly Catherine Seyton," cried the Abbot, as
they atiU swept on at a rapid pace, and w«re now eknb b«ia»t^^lD!&

394 THE ABBOT.

walk of the castle — ''ride up, and aid Lady Fleming to support the
Queen — she gives way more and more."

They halted and lifted Mary from the saddle, and were about to
support her towards the castle, when she said faintly, '' Not there^
not there — ^these walls will I never enter more ! "

''Be a Queen, madam,*' said the Abbot, "and forget that you are
a woman.**

" O, I must forget much, much more," answered the unfortunate
Mary, in an undertone, " ere I can look with steady eyes on these
well-known scenes ! — I must forget the days which I spent here as
the bride of the lost — ^the murdered "

" This is the Castle of Crookstone," said the Lady Fleming, " in
which the Queen held her first court after she was married to
Damley."

" Heaven," said the Abbot, " thy hand is upon us ! — ^Bear yet up,
madam — ^your foes are the foes of Holy Church, and God will this
day decide whether Scotland shall be Catholic or heretic."

A heavy and continued fire of cannon and musketry bore a tremen-
dous burden to his words, and seemed far more than they to recall
the spirits of the Queen.

" To yonder tree," she said, pointing to a yew-tree which grew
on a small mount dose to the castle; "I know it well — ^from
thence you may see a prospect wide as from the peaks of
Schehallion."

And freeing herself from her assistants, she walked with a deter-
mined, yet somewhat wild step, up to the stem of the noble yew.
The Abbot, Catherine, and Boland Avenel followed her, while Lady
Fleming kept back the inferior persons of her train. The black
horseman also followed the Queen, waiting on her as closely as the
shadow upon the light, but ever remaining at the distance of two or
three yards — ^he folded his arms on his bosom, turned his back to the
battle, and seemed solely occupied by gazing on Mary, through the
bars of his closed visor. The Queen regarded him not, but fixed her
eyes upon the spreading yew.

"Ay, fair and stately tree," she said, as if at the sight of it she had
been rapt away from the present scene, and had overcome the horror
which had oppressed her at the first approach to Crookstone, " there
thou standest, gay and goodly as ever, though thou hearest the
sounds of war, instead of the vows of love. All is gone since I last
greeted thee — ^love and lover — vows and vower — ^king and kingdom.
— ^How goes the field, my Lord Abbot? — with us, I trust — ^yet what
hut evil can Mary's eyes witness from this spot ! "
Her attendants eagerly bent \keVr e^ea cin^tb^^V^o?. battle, but

THE ABBOT. 895

could discover nothing more than that it was obstinately contested.
The small enclosures and cottage gardens in the village, of which
they had a fuU and commanding view, and which shortly before lay,
with their lines of sycamore and ash trees, so* still and quiet in the
nuld light of a May sun, were now each converted into a line of fire,
canopied by smoke; and the sustained and constant report of the
musketry and cannon, mingled with the shouts of meeting com-
batants, showed that as yet neither party had given ground.

''Many a soul finds its final departure to heaven or hell in
these awful thunders,'' said the Abbot ; " let those that believe in the
Holy Church, join me in orisons for victory in this dreadful combat."

"Not here — not here," said the unfortunate Queen; "pray not
here, father, or pray in silence — ^my mind is too much torn between
the past and the present, to dare to approach the heavenly throne —
Or, if we will pray, be it for one whose fondest affections have been
her greatest crimes, and who has ceased to be a queen, only because
she was a deceived and a tender-hearted woman."

" Were it not well," said Boland, " that I rode somewhat nearer
the hosts, and saw the fate of the day? "

" Do so, in the name of God," said the Abbot ; " for if our friends
are scattered, our flight must' be hasty — ^but beware thou approach
not too nigh the conflict; there is more than thine own life depends
on thy safe return."

" O, go not too nigh," said Catherine; "but fail not to see how the
Seytons fight, and how they bear themselves."

"Fear nothing, I will be on my guard," said Boland Avenel ; and
without waiting further answer, rode towards the scene of conflict,
keeping, as he rode, the higher and unenclosed ground, and ever look-
ing cautiously around him, for fear of involving himseU in some
hostile party. As he approached, the shots rung sharp and more
sharply on his ear, the shouts came wilder and wilder, and he felt
that thick beating of the heart, that mixture of natural apprehension,
intense curiosity, and anxiety for the dubious event, which even the
bravest experience when they approach alone to a scene of interest
and of danger.

At length he drew so dose, that from a bank, screened by bushes
and underwood, he could distinctly see where the struggle was most
keenly maintained. This was in a hollow way, leading to the village,
up which the Queen's vanguard had marched, with more hasty
courage than well-advised conduct^ for the purpose of possessing
themselves of that post of advantage. They found their scheme
anticipated, and the hedges and enclosures ahready occupied by the
enemy, led by the celebrated Kirkaldy oi Qnrosi^^ii) «sA ^^ "^aia^w

S96 THB ABBOT.

of Morton; and not small was the loss which they snstained while
straggling forward to come to dose with the men-at-arms on the
other side. But, as the Queen's followers were chiefly Qoblemen and
barons, with their kinsmen and followers, they had pressed onward,
contemning obstacles and danger, and had, when Boland arrived on
the ground, met hand to hand at the gorge of the pass with the
Begenfs vanguard, and endeavoured to bear them out of the village
at the spear-point; while their foes, equally determined to keep the
advantage which they had attained, straggled with the like obstinacy
to drive back the ascNulants.

Both parties were on foot, and armed in proof; so that, when the
long lances of the front ranks were fixed in each other's shields,
corselets, and breast-plates, the struggle resembled that of two bulls,
who, fixing their frontlets hard against each other, remain in that
posture for hours, until the superior strength or obstinacy of the one
compels the other to take to flight, or bears him down to the earth.
Thus locked together in the deadly struggle, which swayed slowly to
and fro, as one or other parly gained the advantage, those who fell
were trampled on alike by fiends and foes; those whose weapons
were broken retired from tiie front rank, and had their place supplied
by others; while the rearward ranks, unable otherwise to share in the
combat, fired their pistols, and hurled their daggers, and the points and
truncheons of the broken weapons, like javelins against the enemy.

" Qod and the Queen ! " resounded from the one party ; " Grod and
the King ! " thundered from the other : while, in the name of their
sovereign, feUow-subjects on both sides shed each other's blood, and,
in the name of their Creator, defaced His image. Amid the tumult
was often heard the voices of the captains shouting their commands;
of leaders and chiefs, crying their gathering words; of groans and
shrieks from the falling and the dying.

The strife had lasted nearly an hour. The strength of both
parties seemed exhausted ; but their rage was unabated, and their
obstinacy unsubdued, when Boland, who turned eye and ear to all
around him, saw a column of infantry, headed by a few horsemen,
wheel round the base of the bank where he had stationed himself,
and, levelling their long lances, attack the flank of the Queen's van-
guard, closely engaged as they were in conflict on their front. The
very first glance showed him that the leader who directed this
movement was the Knight of Avenel, his ancient master ; and the
next convinced him, that its effect would be decisive. The result of
the attack of fresh and unbroken forces upon the flank of those
Already wearied with a long and obstinate struggle, was, indeed,
iDatantaneoaa,

THB ABBOT. 897

The column of the assailants, which had hitherto shown one dark,
dense, and united line of helmets, surmounted with plumage, was at
once broken and hurled in confusion down the hill, which they had
so long endeavoured to gain. In vain were the leaders heard calling
upon their followers to stand to the combat, and seen personally
resisting when all resistance was evidently vain. They were slain,
or felled to the earth, or hurried backwards by the mingled tide of
flight and pursuit. What were Boland's feelings on beholding the
rout, and feeling that all that remained for him was to turn bridle, and
endeavour to ensure the safety of the Queen's person I Yet keen as
his grief and shame might be, they were both forgotten, when,
almo«rt dose beneath the bank which he occupied, he saw Henry
Seyton forced away from his own party in the tumult, covered with
dust and blood, and defending himself desperately against several
of the enemy who had gathered around him, attracted by his gay
armour. Eoland paused not a moment, but pushing his steed down
the bonk, leaped him amongst the hostile party, dealt three or four
blows amongst them, which struck down two, and made the rest
stand aloof ; then reaching Seyton his hand, he exhorted him to seize
fast on his horse's mane.

''We live or die together this day," said he; ''keep but fast hold
till we are out of the press, and then my horse is yours.''

Seyton heard and exerted his remaining strength, and, by their
joint efforts, Bgland brought him out of danger, and behind the
spot from whence he had witnessed the disastrous conclusion of the
fight. But no sooner were they under shelter of the trees, than
Seyton let go his hold, and, in spite of Boland's efforts to support
him, fell at length on the turf. '^Trouble yourself no more with
me," he said; ''this is my first and my last battle — and I have already
seen too much of it to wish to see the close. Hasten to save the
Queen — and commend me to Catherine — she will never more be
mistaken for me nor I for her — the last sword-stroke has made an
eternal distinction."

''Let me aid you to mount my horse," said Boland, eagerly, "and
you may yet be saved — ^I can find my own way on foot — ^tum but
my horse's head westward, and he will cany you fleet and easy as
the wind."

"I will never mount steed more," said the youth; "farewell — 1
love thee better dying, than ever I thought to have done while in
life— -I would that old man's blood were not on my hand 1 — Sancte
Benediote, ora pro me I — Stand not to look on a dying man^ but
haste to save the Queen !"

These words were spoken with the \asfc ttSsstVt ^i \£k& ^^\Kib<k %s^

398 THE ABBOT.

Bcaroe were they uttered ere the speaker was no more. They recalled
Boland to the sense of the duty which he had well-nigh forgotten^
but they did not reach his ears only.

"The Queen— where is the Queen?'' said Sir Halbert Glendin-
ning, who, followed by two or three horsemen, appeared at this
instant. Boland made no answer, but turning his horse, and confid-
ing in his speed, gave him at once rein and spur, and rode over
height and hollow towards the Castle of Orookstone. More heavily
armed, and mounted upon a horse of less speed, Sir Halbert Glen-
dinning followed with couched lance, calling out as he rode, ** Sir,
with the holly-branch, halt, and show your right to bear that badge
— &y not thus jcowardly, nor dishonour the cognizance thou deservest
not to wear ! — ^Halt, sir coward, or, by Heaven, I will strike thee
with my lance on the back, and slay thee like a dastard — ^I am the
Knight of Avenel — ^I am Halbert Glendinning."

But Boland, who had no purpose of encountering his old master,
and who, besides, knew the Queen's safety depended on his m a king
the best speed he could, answered not a word to the defiances and
reproaches which Sir Halbert continued to throw out against him;
but making the best use of his spurs, rode yet harder than before,
and had gained about a hundred yards upon his pursuer, when
coming near to the yew-tree where he had left the Queen, he saw
them already getting to horse, and cried out as loud as he could,
"Foes! foes!— Bide for it, fair ladies — ^Brave gen]Jemen, do your
devoir to protect them ! "

So saying, he wheeled his horse, and avoiding the shock of Sir
Halbert Glendinning, charged one of that knighf s followers, who
was nearly on a line with him, so rudely with his lance, that he
overthrew horse and man. He then drew his sword, and attacked
the second, while the black man-at-arms, throwing himself in the
way of Glendinning, they rushed on each other so fiercely, that both
horses were overthrown, and the riders lay rolling on the plain.
Neither was able to rise, for the black horseman was pierced through
with Glendinning's lance, and the Knight of Avenel, oppressed with
the weight of his own horse, and sorely bruised besides, seemed in
little better plight than he whom he had mortally wounded.

"Yield thee. Sir Knight of Avenel, rescue or no rescue," said
Boland, who had put a second antagonist out of condition to combat,
and hastened to prevent Glendinning from renewing the conflict.

" I may not choose but yield," said Sir Halbert, " since I can no
longer fight; but it shames me to speak such a word to a coward like
thee J"

"Caii me not coward/' aaid Bo\alSi<^L,^^lSX^xx% V^Nisfc^c^ and helping

THE ABBOT. 399

his prisoner to rise, ''since but for old kindness at thy hand, and jet
more at thy lady's, I had met thee as a brave man should/'

''The favourite page of my wife !" said Sir Halbert, astonished :
" Ah ! wretched boy, I have heard of thy treason at Lochleven."

" Beproach him not, my brother," said the Abbot, " he was but an
agent in the hands of Heaven/'

"To horse, to horse!" said Catherine Seyton; "mount and be
gone, or we are all lost. I see our gallant army flying for many a
league — ^To horse, my Lord Abbot — ^To horse, Boland — My gracious
liege, to horse ! Ere this, we should have ridden a mile."

" Look on these features," said Mary, pointing to the dying knight,
who had been unhelmed by some compassionate hand ; " look there,
and tell me if she who ruins all who love her, ought to fly a foot
farther to save her wretched life ! "

The reader must have long anticipated the discovery which the
Queen's feelings had made before her eyes confirmed it. It was the
features of the unhappy George Douglas, on which death was
stamping his mark.

" Look — ^look at him well," said the Queen, " thus has it been with
all who loved Mary Stewart ! — ^The royalty of Francis, the wit of
Chastelar, the power and gallantry of the gay Gordon, the melody
of Bizzio, the portly form and youthful grace of Damley, the bold
address and courtly manners of Bothwell — and now the deep-devoted
passion of the noble Douglas — ^nought could save them — ^they looked
on the wretched Mary, and to have loved her was crime enough to
deserve early death! No sooner had the victim formed a kind
thought of me, than the poisoned cup, the axe and block, the dagger,
the mine, were ready to punish them for casting away affection on
such a wretch as I am ! — Importune me not — I will fly no farther —
I can die but once, and I will die here."

While she spoke, her tears fell fast on the face of the dying man,
who continued to fix his eyes on her with an eagerness of passion,
which death itself could hardly subdue. — " Mourn not for me," he
said faintly, " but care for your own safety — I die in mine armour as
a Douglas should, and I die pitied by Majy Stewart !"

He expired with these words, and without withdrawing his eyes
from her face; and the Queen, whose heart was of that soft and
gentle mould, which, in domestic life, and with a more suitable
partner than Damley, might have made her happy, remained weep-
ing by the dead man, until recalled to herself by the Abbot, who
found it necessary to use a style of unusual remonstrance. " We
also, madam," he said, "we, your Grace's devoted followers, have
friends and relatives to weep for. I leave a brothftt m vs£iS£^^s^

400 THB ABBOT.

Jeopardy — ^the husband of the Lady Fleming — ^the father and brother
of the Lady Catherine, are all in yonder bloody field, slain, it is to
be feared, or prisoners. We forget the fate of our own nearest and
dearest, to wait on our Queen, and she is too much occupied with
her own sorrows to give one thought to ours."

'^ I deserve not your reproach, father," said the Queen, checking
her tears; ^but I am docile to it — ^where must we go? — ^what must
we dol"

^^We must fly, and that instantly," said the Abbot; '^ whither, is
not so easily answered, but we may dispute it upon the road — Lift
her to her saddle, and set forward."*^

They set off accordingly — Boland lingered a moment, to command
the attendants of the Knight of Avenel to convey their master to
the Castle of Crookstone, and to say that he demanded from him no
other condition of liberty, than his word, that he and his followers
would keep secret the direction in which the Queen fled. As he
turned his rein to depart, the honest countenance of Adam Wood-
cock stared upon him with an expression of surprise, which, at
another time, would have excited his hearty mirth. He had been
one of the followers who had experienced the weight of Boland's arm,
and they now knew each other, Boland having put up his visor, and
the good yeoman having thrown away his barret-cap, with the iron
bars in front, that he might the more readily assist his master. Lito
this barret-cap, as it lay on the ground, Boland forgot not to drop
a few gold pieces (fruits of the Queen's liberality), and, with a signal
of kind recollection and enduring friendship, he departed at full
gallop to overtake the Queen, the dust raised by her train being
already far down the hilL

'' It is not fairy money," said honest Adam, weighing and hfl-TiHIing
the gold — ** And it was Master Boland himself, that is a certain thing
— ^the same open hand, and, by Our Lady !" — (shrugging his shoulders)
— ^**the same ready fist ! — Mj Lady will hear of this gladly, for she
mourns for him as if he were her son. And to see how gay he is !
But these light lads are as sure to be uppermost as the froth to be
on the top of the quart-pot — ^Your man of solid parts remains ever
a falconer." So saying, he went to aid his comrades, who had now
come up in greater numbers, to carry his master into the Castle of
Crookstone.

THE ABBOT. 401

CHAPTEE XXXVULL

My native land, good night 1

Btbon.

Many a bitter tear was shed, during the hasty flight of Queen Mary,
over fallen hopes, future prospects, and slaughtered friends. The
deaths of the brave Douglas, and of the fiery but gallant young Seyton,
seemed to affect the Queen as much as the fall from the throne, on
which she had so nearly been again seated. Catherine Seyton
devoured in secret her own grief, anxious to support the broken
spirits of her mistress ; and the Abbot, bending his troubled thoughts
upon futurity, endeavoured in yain to form some plan which had a
shadow of hope. The spirit of young Boland, for he also mingled in
the hasty debates held by the companions of the Queen's flight, con-
tinued unchecked and unbroken.

" Your Majesty,'* he said, " has lost a battle — ^Your ancestor, Bruce,
lost seven successively, ere he sat triumphant on the Scottish throne,
and proclaimed with the voice of a victor, in the field of Bannock-
bum, the independence of his country. Are not these heaths, which
we may traverse at will, better than the locked, guarded, and lake-
moated Castle of Lochleven] — "We are free — ^in that one word there
is comfort for all our losses."

He struck a bold note, but the heart of Mary made no response. '

'^ Better," she said, ** I had still been in Lodileven, than seen the
slaughter made by rebels among the subjects who ofiEered themselves
to death for my sake. Speak not to me of further e£P6rts — they
would only cost the lives of you, the friends who recommend them !
1 would not again undergo what I felt, when I saw from yonder
mount the swords of the fell horsemen of Morton raging among
the faithful Seytons and Hamiltons, for their loyalty to their Queen —
I would not again feel what I felt when Douglas's life-blood stained
my mantle for his love to Mary Stewart — ^not to be empress of all
that Britain's seas enclose. Find for me some place where I can hide
my unhappy head, which brings destruction on all who love it — ^it is
the last favour that Mary asks of her faithful followers."

In this dejected mood, but still pursuing her flight with unabated
rapidity, the unfortimate Mary, after having been joined by Lord
Herries and a few followers, at length halted, for the first time,
at the Abbey of Dundrennan, nearly sixty miles distant from the
field of battle. In this remote quarter of (xalloway, the Beforma-
tion not having yet been strictly enforced 9b^&^i^\> ^<ak \£!kss\its^^ ^a-

408 THE ABBOT.

few still lingered in their cells unmolested ; and the Prior, with
tears and reverence, received the fagitive Queen at the gate of his
convent.

''I bring you ruin, my good father," said the Queen, as she was
lifted from her palfrey.

" It is welcome," said the Prior, " if it comes in the train of duty."

Placed on the ground, and supported by her ladies, the Queen
looked for an instant at her palfrey, which, jaded and drooping its
head, seemed as if it mourned the distresses of its mistress.

"Good Boland," said the Queen, whispering, "let Bosabelle be
cared for — ^ask thy heart, and it will tell thee why I make this trifling
request even in this awful hour."

She was conducted to her apartment, and in the hurried consul-
tation of her attendants, the fatal resolution of the retreat to
England was finally adopted. In the morning it received her appro-
bation, and a messenger was despatched to the English warden, to
pray him for safe conduct and hospitality, on the part of the Queen
of Scotland. On the next day, the Abbot Ambrose walked in the
garden of the Abbey with Boland, to whom he expressed his dis-
approbation of the course pursued. " It is madness and ruin," he
said; "better commit herself to the savage Highlanders or wild
Bordetmen, than to the faith of Elizabeth. A woman to a rival
woman — a presumptive successor to the keeping of a jealous and
childless Queen ! — Boland, Herries is true and royal, but his counsel
Has ruined his mistress."

" Ay, ruin follows us everywhere," said an old man, with a spade
in his hand, and dressed like a lay-brother, of whose presence, in the
vehemence of his exclamation, the Abbot had not been aware— "Gaze
not on me with such wonder ! — I am he who was the Abbot Boniface
at Kennaquhair, who was the gardener Blinkhoolie at Lochleven,
hunted round to the place in which I served my noviciate, and now
ye are come to rouse me up again ! — ^A weary life I have had, for
one to whom peace was ever the dearest blessing !"

" We will soon rid you of our company, good father," said the
Abbot; " and the Queen will, I fear, trouble your retreat no more."

"Nay, you said as much before," said the querulous old man,
'' and yet I was put forth from Kinross, and pillaged by troopers
on the road. — They took from me the certificate that you wot of —
that of the Baron — ay, he was a moss-trooper like themselves —
You asked me of it, and I could never find it, but they found it — it
showed the marriage of— of— my memory fails me— Now see how
men differ J Father Nicholas would have told you an hundred tales
of the Abbot Ingelram, on. ^\io&^ ^vsl Ckodi W?^ xofixcy ! — ^He was,

THE ABBOT. 403

I warrant you, fourscore and six, and I am not more than — ^let me

see"-

^'Was not Avenel the name you Beek, my good Father)" said
Boland, impatien^y, yet moderating his tone for fear of alarming or
ofiEending the infirm old man.

"Ay, right — Avenel, Julian Arenel — ^You are perfect in the name
— I kept all the special confessions, judging it held with my vow to
do so — I could not find it when my successor, Ambrosius, spoke on't
— ^but the troopers found it, and the Knight who commanded the
party struck his breast, till the target clattered like an empty
watering-can."

"Saint Maryl" said the Abbot, "in whom could such a paper
excite such interest? What was the appearance of the Knight, his
arms, his colours?"

" Ye distract me with your questions — I dared hardly look at him
— they charged me with bearing letters for the Queen, and searched
my mail — ^This was all along of your doings at Lochleven."

*'I trust in God," said the Abbot to Boland, who stood beside
him, shivering and trembling with impatience, "the paper has fallen
into the hands of my brother — ^I heard he had been with his followers
on the scout betwixt Stirling and Glasgow. — Bore not the Knight a
hoUy-bough on his helmet? — Canst thou not remember?"

"O, remember — ^remember," said the old man, pettishly; "count
as many years as I do, if your plots will let you, and see what, and
how much, you remember. — ^Why, I scarce remember the pearmains
which I graced here with my own hands some fifty years since."

At this moment a bugle sounded loudly from the beach.

" It is the death-blast to Queen Mary's royalty 1 " said Ambrosius;
" the English warden's answer has been received, favourable doubt-
less, for when was the door of the trap dosed against the prey which
it was set for ! — Droop not, Boland — ^this matter shall be sifted to
the bottom — ^but we must not now leave the Queen — ^Follow me — ^let
us do our duty, and trust the issue with God — ^Farewell, good Father
— I will visit thee again soon."

He was about to leave the garden, followed by Boland, with half-
reluctant steps. The £x- Abbot resimied his spade.

" I could be sorry for these men," he said, "ay, and for that poor
Queen, but what avail earthly sorrows to a man of fourscore? — and
it is a rare dropping morning for the early oolewort"

" He is stricken with age," said Ambrosius, as he dragged Boland
down to the sea-beach; "we must let him take his time to collect
himself — ^nothing now can be thought on but the t&te of the Queen."

They soon arrived where she stood, soxTO\mii«^\ii V«\s!^^*«saai-^

404 THE ABBOT.

and by her side the Sheriff of Cumberland, a gentleman of the house
of Lowther, richly dressed and accompanied by soldiers. The aspect
of the Queen exhibited a singular mixture of alacrity and reluctance
to depart Her language and gestures spoke hope and consolation
to her attendants, and she seemed desirous to persuade even herself
that the step she adopted was secure, and that the assurance she had
received of kind reception was altogether satisfactory; but her
quivering lip, and unsettled eye, betrayed at once her anguish at
departing from Scotland, and her fears of confiding herself to the
doubtful faith of England.

" Welcome, my Lord Abbot," she said, speaking to Ambrosius,
" and you, Boland Avenel, we have joyful news for you — our loving
sister's officer proffers us, in her name, a safe asylum from the rebels
who have driven us from our own — only it grieves me we must here
part from you for a short space."

" Part from us, madam ! " said the Abbot " Is your welcome in
England, then, to commence with the abridgment of your train,
and dismissal of your counsellors? "

"Take it not thus, good Father," said Mary; "the Warden and
the Sheriff, faithful servants of our Eoyal Sister, deem it necessary
to obey her instructions in the present case, even to the letter, and
can only take upon them to admit me with my female attendants.
An express will instantly be despatched from London, assigning me
a place of residence ; and I will speedily send to all of you whenever
my Court shall be formed."

" Your Court formed in England ! and while Elizabeth lives and
reigns? " said the Abbot — " that will be when we shall see two suns
in one heaven ! "

"Do not think so," replied the Queen; "we are well assured of
our sister's good faith, Elizabeth loves fame — and not all that she
has won by her power and her wisdom will equal that which she
will acquire by extending her hospitality to a distressed sister !— not
all that she may hereafter do of good, wise, and great, would blot
out the reproach of abusing our confidence. — ^Farewell, my page^
now my knight — ^farewell for a brief season. I will dry the tears of
Catherine, or I will weep with her tiU neither of us can weep longer.*
She held out her hand to Boland, who, flinging himself on his knees,
kissed it with much emotion. He was about to render the same
homage to Catherine, when the Queen, assuming an air of sprightli-
ness, said, " Her lips, thou foolish boy 1 and, Catherine, coy it not —
these English gentlemen should see, that> even in our cold dime.
Beauty knows how to reward Bravery and Fidelity ! "
^* We are not now to leaam t\i^ ioxei^ qI ^x^^^ii^ beauty, or the

THE ABBOT. 406

mettle of Scottish valour," said the Sheriff of Cumberland, cour-
teously — "L would it were in my power to bid these attendants
upon her who is herself the mistress of Scottish beauty, as welcome
to England as my poor cares would make them. But our Queen's
orders are positive in case of such an emergence, and they must not
be disputed by her subject. — May I remind your Majesty that the
tide ebbs fast I''

The Sheriff took the Queen's hand, and she had already placed her
foot on the gangway, by which she was to enter the skiff, when the
Abbot, starting from a trance of grief and astonishment at the words
of the Sheriff, rushed into the water, and seized upon her mantle.

" She foresaw it ! — she foresaw it ! " — he exclaimed — "she foresaw
your flight into her realm ; and, foreseeing it, gave orders you should
be thus received. Blinded, deceived, doomed Princess ! your fate is
sealed when you quit this strand. Queen of Scotland, thou shalt not
leave thine heritage ! '' he continued, holding a still firmer grasp upon
her mantle ; " true men shall turn rebels to thy will, that they may
save thee from captivity or death. Fear not the bills and bows
whom that gay man has at his beck — we will withstand him by
force. O, for the arm of my warlike brother ! — ^Boland Avenel, draw
thy sword ! "

The Queen stood irresolute and frightened; one foot upon the
plank, the other on the sand of her native shore, which she was
quitting for ever.

" What needs this violence, Sir Priest?'' said the Sheriff of Cum-
berland; "I came hither at your Queen's command, to do her
service ; and I will depart at her least order, if she rejects such aid
as I can offer. No marvel is it if our Queen's wisdom foresaw that
such chance as this might happen amidst the turmoils of your un-
settled State; and, while willing to afford fair hospitality to her
Boyal Sister, deemed it wise to prohibit the entrance of a broken
army of her followers into the English frontier."

" You hear," said Queen Mary, gently unloosing her robe from the
Abbot's grasp, " that we exercise full liberty of choice in leaving this
shore ; and, questionless, the choice will remain free to us in going
to France, or returning to our own dominions, as we shall determine
— Besides, it is too late — Your blessing. Father, and God speed
thee !"

" May He have mercy on thee, Princess, and speed thee also !" said
the Abbot, retreating. '* But my soul tells me I look on thee for the
last time!"

The sails were hoisted, the oars were plied, the vessel went freshly
on her way through the Firth, wlai(i\i ^^i'^L'ea ^% ^Qt«^ ^"^ K^tqssv-

40e THS ABBOT.

berland frcau those of Qalloway ; but not till the Tsesel dlmiiiiahed
to the sue of ^ child's frigate^ did the doubtful, aiul dejected, and
diwnJMed followeis of the Qneen ceaae to linger on the Kuods; and
long, loog oonld they discern the kerchief of iSary, as ahe -wared the
oft-repeated signal of adieu to her faithful adherents, and to the
ahoree of Scotland.

If good tidings of a private nature could have consoled fioland for
parting vith his mistrea, and for the distresses of his sovereign, he
received such comfort some days subsequent to the Queen's leaving
Dundrenuan, A breathless post — no other than Adam Woodcock —
brouf^t despatflhea from Sir Halbert Glendinning to the Abbot,
whom he fonnd with Boland, still residing at IDundrennaa, and in
vain tortoriug Boniface with fresh interrogations. The packet bore
an earnest invitation to his brother to make Avenel Castle for a time
bis residence. " The clemene; of the Begent," said the writ«r, " has
extended jiardon both to fioluid «&4 te -joix, -ov^ia. «cmdi<tiaTi of yonr

THE ABBOT. 407

remaming a time under my wardship. And I have that to com-
municate respecting the parentage of Boland, which not only you
will willingly listen to, but which will be also found to afford me,
as the husband of his nearest relative, some interest in the future
course of his life,**

The Abbot read this letter, and paused, as if considering what
were best for him to do. Meanwhile, Woodcock took Boland aside,
and addressed him as follows : — '^ Now, look. Master Eoland, that
you do not let any papistrie nonsense lure either the priest or you
from the right quarry. See you, you ever bore yourself as a bit of a
gentleman. Bead that, and thank God that threw old Abbot Boni-
face in our way, as two of the Seyton's men were conveying him
towards Dundrennan here. We searched him for intelligence con-
cerning that fair exploit of yours at Lochleven, that has cost many a
man his life, and me a set of sore bones — ^and we found what is better
for your purpose than ours.**

The paper which he gave, was, indeed, an attestation by Father
Philip, subscribing himself unworthy Sacristan, and brother of the
House of Saint Mary's, stating, ^'that under a vow of secrecy he had
united, in the holy sacrament of marriage, Julian Avenel and
Catherine Greeme ; but that Julian having repented of his union, he.
Father Philip, had been sinfully prevailed on by him to conceal and
disguise the same, according to a complot devised betwixt him and
the said Julian Avenel, whereby the poor damsel was induced to
believe that the ceremony had been performed by one not in holy
orders, and having no authority to that effect. Which sinful con-
cealment the undersigned conceived to be the cause why he was
abandoned to the misguiding of a water-ffend, whereby he had been
under a spell, which obliged him to answer every question, even
touching the most solemn matters, with idle snatches of old songs,
besides being sorely afflicted with rheumatic pains ever after. Where*
fore he had deposited this testificate and confession, with the day and
date of the said marriage, with his lawful superior, Boniface, Abbot
of Saint Mary's, sub sigiUo confemonisJ^

It appeared by a letter from Julian, folded carefully up with the
certificate, that the Abbot Boniface had, in effect, bestirred himself
in the affair, and obtained from the Baron a promise to avow his
marriage ; but the death of both Julian and his injured bride, to-
gether with the Abbot's resignation, his ignorance of the fate of their
imhappy offspring, and, above all, the good father's listless and in-
active disposition, had suffered the matter to become totally forgotten,
untU it was recalled by some accidental conversation with the Abbot
Ambrosius concerning the fortunea oi tk^ Attq&s^ ^ssqc^. k^ "^s^

408 THE ABBOT.

request of his successor, the quondam Abbot made search for it;
but, as he would receive no assistance in looking among the few
records of spiritual experiences and important confessionfly which he
had conscientiously treasured, it might have remained for ever hidden
amongst them, but for the more active researches of Sir Halbert
Glendinning.

'^ So that you are like to be heir of Avenel at last, Master Bdand,
after my lord and lady have gone to their place,^ said Adam; ^and
as I have but one boon to ask, I trust you will not nick me with
nay/'

" Not if it be in my power to say yes, my tmsty friend.*

''Why, then, I must needs, if I live to see that day, keep on feed-
ing the eyasses with unwashed flesh," said Woodoodc, atoidilyy yet
as if doubting the reception that his request might meet with.

'' Thou shalt feed them with what you list for me,'' said Boland,
laughing; ''I am not many months older than when I left the
Castle, but I trust I have gathered wit enough to gtobb no man of
skill in his own vocation."

''Then I would not change places with the Ejng's falconer,'' said
Adam Woodcock, " nor with the Queen's neither — ^but they say she
wiU be mewed up and never need one. — I see it grieves yon to think
of it, and I could grieve for company ; but what help for it — ^FortnnB
will fly her own flight, let a man hollo himself hoarse."

The Abbot and Boland journeyed to Avenel, where the fbuner
was tenderly received by his brother, while the lady wept for joy
to find that in her favourite orphan she had protected the sole sur-
viving branch of her own family. Sir Halbert Glendinning and his
household were not a little surprised at the change which a brief
acquaintance with the world had produced in their f orme^ inmate,
and rejoiced to find, in the pettish, spoiled, and presuming ^age^ a
modest and unassuming young man, too much acquainted with Ids
own expectations and character, to be hot or petulant in demanding
the consideration which was readily and voluntarily yiekjed to him.
The old Major Domo Wingate was the first to sing his praises, to
which Mrs. Lilias bore a loud echo, always hoping that God would
teach him the true gospel.

To the true gospel the heart of Boland had secretly long inclined,
and the departure of the good Abbot for France, with the purpose
of entering into some house of his order in that kingdom, removed
his chief objection to renouncing the Catholic faith. Another might
have existed in the duty which he owed to Magdalen GrsBme, both
hjr birth and from gratitude. But he learned, ere he had been long
a resident in Avenel, that hia gEasi<9GDio>i\i<a\^^^ Colore, in

The Abbot, f. W».

THE ABBOT. 409

the performance of a penance too severe for her a^, which she had
taken upon herself in behalf of the Queen and Church of Scotland,
so soon as she heard of the defeat at Langside. The zeal of the
Abbot Ambrosius was more regulated; but he retired into the Scot-
tish convent of , and so lived there, that the fraternity were

inclined to claim for him the honours of canonization. But he
guessed their purpose, and prayed them, on his death-bed, to do no
honours to the body of one as sinful as themselves ; but to send his
body and his heart to be buried in Avenel burial-aisle, in the monas-
tery of Saint Mar/s, that the last Abbot of that celebrated house
of devotion might sleep among its ruins.*

Long before that period arrived, Eoland Avenel was wedded to
Catherine Seyton, who, after two years' residence with her unhappy
mistress, was dismissed, upon her being subjected to closer restraint
than had been at first exercised. She returned to her father's house,
and as Boland was acknowledged for the successor and lawful heir
of the ancient house of Avenel, greatly increased as the estate was
by the providence of Sir Halbert Glendinning, there occurred no
objections to the match on the part of her family. Her mother was
recently dead when she first entered the convent; and her father, in
the unsettled times which followed Queen Mar/s flight to England,
was not averse to an alliance with a youth, who, himself loyal to
Queen Mary, still held some influence, through means of Sir Halbert
Glendinning, with the party in power.

Boland and Catherine, therefore, were united, spite of their
differing faiths; and the White Lady, whose apparition had been
infrequent when the house of Avenel seemed verging to extinction,
waj9 seen to sport by her haunted well, with a zone of gold around
her bosom as broad as the baldrick of an EarL

NOTES TO THE ABBOT.

*P. 86. — GrLBNDONWTNB OF Glendonwynk. — ^This wa8 a house of
ancienii descent and superior consequence, including persons who fought at
Bannockbum and Otterbum, and closely connected by alliance and friend-
ship with the great Earls of Douglas. The Knight in the story argues as
most Scotsmen would do in his situation, for all of the same clan are
popularly considered as descended from the same stock, and as having a
right to the ancestral honour of the chief branch. This opinion, though
sometimes ideal, is so strong, even at this day of innovation, that it may be
observed as a national difference between my countrymen and the English.
If you ask an Englishman of good birth, whether a person of the same name
be connected with him, he answers (if in dubio), " No — ^he is a mere name-
sake." Ask a similar question of a Scot (I mean a Scotsman), he replies
— *'He is one of our clan; I daresay there is a relationship, though.! do
not know how distant" The EngUshman thinks of discountenancing a
species of rivalry in society; the Scotsman's answer is grounded on the
ancient idea of strengthening the clan.

* P. 76. — Cell of Saint Cuthbert. — I may here observe, that this is
entirely an ideal scene. Saint Cuthbert, a person of established sanctity,
bad, no doubt, several places of worship on the Borders, where he flourished
whilst living; but Tillmouth Chapel is the only one which bears some
resemblance to the hermitage described in the text. It has, indeed, a well,
famous for gratifying three wishes for every worshipper who shall quaff the
fountain with sufficient belief in its efficacy. At this spot the Saint is said
to have landed in his stone coffin, in which he sailed down the Tweed from
Melrose, and here the stone coffin long lay, in evidence of the fact. The late
Sir Francis Blake Delaval is said to have taken the exact measure of the
coffin, and to have ascertained, by hydrostatic principles, that it might have
actually swum. A profane farmer in the neighbourhood announced his
intention of converting this last bed of the Saint into a trough for his swine;
but the profanation was rendered impossible, either by the Saint, or by
some pious votary in his behalf, for on the following morning the stone
sarcophagus was found broken in two fragments.

Tillmouth Chapel, with these points of resemblance, lies, however, in
exactly the opposite direction as regards Melrose, which the supposed cell
of Saint Cuthbert is said to have borne towards Kennaquhair.

* P. 87. — Goss-HAWK. — The comparison is takop from some beautiful
verses in an old ballad, entitled Fause Foodrage, published in the "Minstrelsy
of the Scottish Border." A deposed queen, to preserve her infant son
from the traitors who have slain his father, exchanges him with the female
offspring of a faithful friend, and goes on to direct the education of the
children, and the private signals by which the parents are to hear news each
of her own offspring.

" And joa shall learn my gay goes-hawk
Right well to breast a steed
And 80 will I your turtle dow,
Aft weW to 'wn.\A andLXoeA.

NOTES TO THE ABBOT. 411

** And ye ahaU learn my gay goia-hawk
To wield both bow and brand ;
And io will I your turtle dow.
To l&y gowd with her hand.

*' At kirk or market when we meet^
We^ll dare make no avow.
Bat, * Dame, how does my gay goas-hawkt*
'Madame, how does my dow?'"

* P. 106.— NuKNBBY OF Saint Bridgbt.— ThiB, like the Cell of Saint
Cuthbert, is an imaginary scene, but I took one or two ideas of the desola-
tion of the interior from a story told me by my father. In his youth — ^it
may be near eighty years since, as he was bom in 1729 — ^he had occasion to
visit an old lady who resided in a Border castle of considerable renown.
Only one very limited portion of the extensive ruins sufficed for the accommo-
dation of the inmates, and my father amused himself by wandering through
the part that was untenanted. In a dining apartment, having a roof richly
adorned with arches and drops, there was deposited a large stack of hay, to
which calves were helping themselves from opposite sides. As my father
was scaling a dark ruinous turnpike staircase, his greyhound ran up before
him, and probably was the means of saving his life, for the animal fell
through a trap-door, or aperture in the stair, thus warning the owner of the

^ danger of the ascent As the dog continued howling from a great depth,

' my father got the old butler, who alone knew most of the locsJities about

the castle, to unlock a sort of stable, in which Kill-buck was found safe and

sound, the place being filled with the same commodity which littered the

stalls of Augeas, and which had rendered the dog's fall an easy one.

* P. 110. — ^NuN OF Kbnt. — ^A fanatic nun, called the Holy Maid of Kent,
who pretended to the gift of prophecy and power of miracles. Having
denounced the doom of speedy dea& against Henry YIII. for his marriage
with Anne Boleyn, the prophetess was attainted in Parliament, and executed
with her accomplices. Her imposture was for a time so successful, that
even Sir Thomas More was disposed to be a believer.

* P. 120.— Abbot of Unreason, — We learn from no less authority than
that of Napoleon Bonaparte, that there is but a single step between the
sublime and ridiculous ; and it is a transition from one extreme to another,
so very easy, that the vulgar of every degree are peculiarly captivated
with it. Thus the inclination to laugh becomes uncontrollable, when
the solemnity and gravity of time, place, and circumstances, render it
peculiarly improper. Some species of general license, like that which
inspired the ancient Saturnalia, or the modem Carnival, has been com-
monly indulged to the people at all times, and in almost all countries.
But it was, I think, pecuHar to the Boman Catholic Church, that while they
studied how to render their church rites imposing and magnificent, by all
that pomp, music, architecture, and external display could add to them, they
nevertheless connived, upon special occasions, at the frolics of the rude vul-
gar, who, in almost all Catholic countries, enjoyed, or at least assumed, the
privilege of making some Lord of the revels, who, under the name of the
Abbot of Unreason, the Boy Bishop, or the President of Fools, occupied the
churches, profaned the holy places by a mock imitation of the sacred rites,
and sung indecent parodies on hymns of the church. The indifference of
the clergy, even when their power was greatest, to the indecent exhibitions
which they always tolerated and sometimes encouraged, forms a strong con-
trast to the sensitiveness with which they regarded any serious attempt, by
preaching or writing, to impeach any of the doctrines of the church. It
could oidy be oompajred to the singulAr apathy with which. th.«^ csidsasftA^

412 NOTES TO THE ABBOT.

and often admired, the gross novels which Chaucer, Dnnbar, Boccacio,
Bandello, and others, composed upon the bad morals of the clergy. It
seems as if the churchmen in both instances had endeavoured to compromise
with the laity, and allowed them occasionally to gratify their coarse humour
by indecent satire, provided they would abstain from any grave question
concerning the foundation of the doctrines on which was erected such an
immense fabric of ecclesiastical power.

But the sports thus licensed assumed a very different appearance, so soon
as the Protestant doctrines began to prevail ; and the license which their
forefathers had exercised in mere gaiety of heart, and without the least
intention of dishonouring religion by their frolics, were now persevered in
by the common people as a mode of testifying their utter disregard for the
Boman priesthood and its ceremonies.

I may observe, for example, the case of an apparitor sent to Borthwick
from the Primate of Saint Andrews, to cite the lord of that castle, who was
opposed by an Abbot of Unreason, at whose command the officer of the
spiritual court was appointed to be ducked in a mill-dam, and obliged to eat
up his parchment citation.

The reader may be amused with the following whimsical details of this
incident, which took place in the castle of Borthwick, in the year 1547. It
appears, that in consequence of a process betwixt Master George Hay de
Minzeane and the Lord Borthwick, letters of excommunication had passed
against the latter, on account of the contumacy of certain witnesses.
William Langlands, an apparitor or macer {bcumlarius) of the See of Si
Andrews, presented these letters to the curate of the church of Borthwick,
requiring him to publish the same at the service of high mass. It seems
that the inhabitants of the castle were at this time engaged in the favourite
sport of enacting the Abbot of Unreason, a species of high- jinks, in which a
mimic prelate was elected, who, like the Lord of Misrule in England, turned
all sort of lawful authority, and particularly the church ritual, into ridicule.
This frolicsome person with his retinue, notwithstanding of the apparitor's
character, entered the church, seized upon the primate's officer without
hesitation, and, dragging him to the mill-dam on the south side of the
castle, compelled him to leap into the water. Not contented with this
partial immersion, the Abbot of Unreason pronounced, that Mr. William
Langlands was not yet sufficiently bathed, and therefore caused his assistants
to lay him on his back in the stream, and duck him in the most satisfactory
and perfect manner. The unfortunate apparitor was then conducted back to
the church, where, for his refreshment after his bath, the letters of excom-
munication were torn to pieces, and steeped in a bowl of wine ; the mock
abbot being probably of opinion that a tough parchment was but dry eating,
Langlands was compelled to eat the letters, and swallow the wine, and
dismissed by the Abbot of Unreason, with the comfortable assurance, that
if any more such letters should arrive during the continuance of his office,
*' they should a' gang the same gate," ie., go the same road.

A similar scene occurs betwixt a sumner of the Bishop of Bochester and
Harpool, the servant of Lord Cobham, in the old play of Sir John Oldcastle,
when the former compels the church-officer to eat his citation. The dialogue,
which may be found in the note, contains most of the Jests which may be
supposed appropriate to such an extraordinary occasion.*

* Harpool. Marry, sir, is this process parchment?

Sumner. Yes, many is it

HarpooL And this seal wax!

Sumner. It ji so.

JIarpooL If this be paichment, as\d CbL^aXM '«%x, «aXi -'jcp&.^hSft v>^tchment and wax, or

NOTES TO THE ABBOT. 413

• P. 121.— The Hobbt-hobsb.— This exhibition, the play-mare of Scot-
land, stood high among holyday gambols. It must be car^folly separated
from the wooden chargers which famish out our nurseries. It gives rise to
Hamlet's ejaculation, —

Bat ob, bat oh, the hobby-hone is forgot I

There is a very comic scene in Beaumont and Fletcher's play of "Women
Pleased," where Hope-on-high Bombye, a puritan cobbler, refuses to dance
with the hobby-horse. There was much difficulty and great variety in the
motions which the hobby-horse was expected to exhibit.

The learned Mr. Douce, who has contributed so much to the illustration
of our theatrical antiquities, has given us a full account of this pageant^ and
the burlesque horsemanship which it practised.

** The hobby-horse," says Mr. Douce, "was represented by a man equipped
with as much pasteboard as was sufficient to form the head and hinder
parts of a horse, the quadrupedal defects being concealed by a long mantle
or f ootcloth that nearly touched the groxmd. The former, on this occasion,
exerted all his skill in burlesque horsemanship. In Sympson's play of the
Law-breakers, 1636, a miller personates the hobby-horse, and being angry
that the mayor of the dty is put in competition with him, einlaims, ' Let
the mayor play the hobby-horse among his brethren, an he will ; I hope our
town-lads cannot want a hobby-horse. Have I practised my t&db, my
careers, my pranckers, my ambles, my false trots, my smooth ambles, and
Canterbury paces, and shall master mayor put me besides the hobby-horse?
Have I borrowed the f orehorse bells, his plumes, his braveries ; nay, had
his mane new shorn and frizzled, and shall the mayor put me besides the
hobby-horse?'" — Douob's Illustrations, vol. II., p. 468.

* P. 122. — Representation of Robin Hood and Little John. — ^The
representation of Robin' Hood was the darling May-game both in England
and Scotland, and doubtless the favourite personification was often revived,
when the Abbot of Unreason, or other pretences of frolic^ gave an unusual
degree of license.

The Protestant clergy, who had formerly reaped advantage from the
opportunities which these sports afforded them of directing their own satire

I will make iMuxdiment of your skin, and beat your bzainB into wax. Sirrah, Sunmer,
despatch— devour, sirrah, devour.

Sumner. I am my Lord of Rodiester's sumner; I came to do my office, and thou shalt
answer it.

Harpool. Sirrah, no railing, but betake thyself to thy teeth. Thou shalt eat no worse
than thou bringest with thee. Thou bringest it for my lord; and wilt thou bring my
lord worse than thou wilt eat thyself?

SunvMT. Sir, I brought it not my lord to eat.

HarpooL O, do you Sir me now ? All's one for that ; Til make you eat it fbr bringing it.

SumTur. I cannot eat it.

Harpool. Can you not? 'Sblood, ru beat you till you have a stomach I {Beatt hiin,)

Sumner. Oh, hold, hold, good Mr. Sexringman ; I will eat it.

HarpooU Be champing, be chewing, sir, or I will chew you, you rogue. Tough wax
is the purest of the hon^.

Sumner. The purest of the honey I — O Lord, sir I oh I oh I

Harpool. Feed, feed ; 'tis wholesome, rogue, wholesome. Cannot yon, like an honest
sumner, walk vriiii the devil your brotner, to fetch in your bailiff's rents, but you must
come to a nobleman's house with process? If the seal were broad as tiie leaA which
covers Rochester Church, tibou shouldst eat it.

Sumnev. Oh, I am ahnoet choked— I am almost choked I

Harpool. Who's within there? will you shame my lord? is there no beer in the house?
Butler, I say.

Enter BvTLsa,

BviUr. Here, here.

Harpool. Oive him beer. Tough old sheepskin's but dry meat.

First Pari aS ^ JoKa Old«aA\t> ^s:^\L.%infis^\.

414 NOTES TO THE ABBOT.

and the ridicale of the lower orders agamst the Catholio church, began to
find that, when these purposes were served, their favourite pastimes
deprived them of the wish to attend divine worship, and disturbed the
frame of mind in which it can be attended to advantage. The celebrated
Bishop Latimer gives a very naive account of the manner in which, bishop
as he was, he foxmd himself compelled to give place to Bobin Hood and his
followers. n

'' I came once myselfe riding on a journey homeward from London, and
I sent word over night into the towne that I would preach there in the
morning, because it was hoUday, and me thought it was a holidayes worke.
The church stood in my way, and I took my horse and my company, and
went thither (I thought I should have foxmd a great company in the church),
and when I came there the church doore was fast locked. I tarryed there
half e an houre and more. At last the key was found, and one of the parish
comes to me and said — 'Sir, this is a busie day with us, we cannot hear
you; it is Bobin Hood's day. The parish are gone abroad to gather for
Bobin Hood. I pray you let them not.' I was faine there to give place
to Bobin Hood. I thought my rochet should have been regarded, though
I were not: but it would not serve, it was faine to give place to Bobin
Hood's men. It is no laughing matter, my friends, it is a weeping matter,
a heavie matter, a heavie matter. Under the pretence for gathering for
Bobin Hood, a traytour, and a theif, to put out a preacher ; to have his office
lesse esteemed ; to preferre Bobin Hood before the ministration of God's
word ; and all this hath come of unpreaching prelates. This realme hath
been ill provided for, that it hath had such corrupt judgments in it, to pre-
fer Bobin Hood to God's word." — Bishop Larimers siocth Sermon before King
Edward.

While the English Protestants thus preferred the outlaw's pageant to the
preaching of their excellent Bishop, the Scottish calvinistic clergy, with the
celebrated John Knox at their head, and backed by the authority of the
magistrates of Edinburgh, who had of late been chosen exclusively from
this party, found it impossible to control the rage of the populace, when they
attempted to deprive them of the privilege of presenting their pageant of
Bobin Hood.

(1661.) " Vpon the xxi day of Junij, Archibalde Dowglas of Kilspindie,
Provest of Ed'., David Symmer and Adame Fullartoun, baillies of the
samyne, causit ane cordinare servant, caUit James Gillion, takin of befoir,
for playing in Ed', with Bobene Hude, to wnderly the law, and put him to
the knawledge of ane assyize qlk yaij haid electit of yair favoraris, quha with
schort deliberatioun condemnit him to be hangit for ye said cryme. And
the deaconis of ye craf tismen fearing vproare, maid great solistotnis at ye
handis of ye said provost and baillies, and als requirit John Elnox, minister,
for eschewing of tumult, to superceid ye executioun of him, vnto ye tyme
yai suld adverteis my Lord Duke yairof. And yan, if it wes his mynd and
will yat he should be disponit vpoun, ye said deaconis and craftismen sould
convey him yaire; quha answerit, yat yai culd na way stope ye executioun
of justice. Quhan ye time of ye said pouer mans hanging approchit, and
yat ye hangman wes cum to ye jibbat with ye ledder, vpoune ye qlk ye said
cordinare should have bene hangit, ane certadne and remanent craftischilder,
quha wes put to ye home with ye said Gillione, ffor ye said Bobene Hiude's
playest and vyris yair assistaris and favoraris, past to wappinis, and yai brak
down ye said jibbat, and yan chacit ye Said provest, baillies, and Alexr.
Guthrie, in ye said Alexander's writing buith, and held yame yairin ; and
yairefter past to ye tolbuy t, and becaus the samyne was steiket^ and onna-
wayea ould get the keyea thaaioi, tVoi \sn&iL& ^ai<b ^ssA V^xsi^ dssc« with

NOTES TO THE ABBOT. 416

foare harberia, per force, (the said proyest and baillies lackand thairon,) and
not onlie put thar the said Gillione to fredome and libertie, and brocht him
f urth of the said tolbuit, bot alsua the remanent personaris being thairintill ;
and this done, the said craftismen's servands, with the said condempnit
oordonar, past doun to the Netherbow, to have past furth thairat; bot
becaus the samyne on thair coming thairto wes closet, thai past vp agane
the Hie streit of the said bourghe to the Castellhill, and in this menetyme
the saidis provest and baillies and thair assistaris being in the writing buith
of the said Alexr. Guthrie, past and enterit in the said tolbuyt, and in the
said servandes passage vp the Hie streit, then schote furth thairof at thame
ane dog, and hurt ane servand of the said childer. This being done, thair
wes nathing vthir but the one partie schuteand out and castand stanes furth
of the said tolbuyt, and the vther pairtie schuteand hagbuttis in the same
again. And sua the craftismen's servandis, aboue written, held and inclosit
the said provest and baillies continewallie in the said tolbuyth, frae three
houris eftemone, quhill aught houris at even, and na man of the said town
prensit to relieve thair said provest and baillies. And than thai send to the
maisters of the Castell, to cans tham if thai mycht stay the said servandis,
quha maid ane maner to do the same, bot thai could not bring the same to
ane finall end, ffor the said servands wold on nowa3'es stay fra, quhill thai
had revengit the hurting of ane of them ; and thairefter the constable of the
Castell come down thairfra^ and he with the said maisters treatet betwix
the said pties in this maner : — That the said provost and baillies sail remit
to the said craftischilder, all actioun, cryme, and offens that thai had com-
mittit aganes thame in any tyme bygane ; and band and oblast thame never
to pursew them thairfor ; and ak commandit thair maisters to resaue them
agane in thair services, as thai did befoir. And this being proclamit at
the mercat cross, thai scalit, and the said provest and bailies come furth of
the same tolbouyth," &c. &c. &c.

John Knox, who writes at large upon this tumult, informs us it was in-
flamed by the deacons of crafts, who, resenting the superiority assumed over
them by the magistrates, would yield no assistance to put down the tumult.
" They will be magistrates alone," said the recusant deacons, ** e'en let them
rule the populace alone;** and accordingly they passed quietly to take their
four -hours penny ^ and left the magistrates- to help themselves as they could.
Many persons were excommunicated for this outrage, and not admitted to
church ordinances till they had made satisfaction.

• P. 142. — Inability op Evil Spibits to Enteb a House Uninvited.
— There is a popular belief respecting evil spirits, that they cannot enter an
inhabited house unless invited, nay, dragged over the threshold. There
is an instance of the same superstition in the Tales of the Genii, where
an enchanter is supposed to have intruded himself into the Bivan of the
Sultan.

'**Thus,' said the illustrious Misnar, 4et the enemies of Mahomet be
dismayed ! but inform me, O ye sages ! under the semblance of which of
your brethren did that foul enchanter gain admittance here?' — 'May the
lord of my heart,' answered Balihu, the hermit of the faithful from Queda,
' triumph over ail his foes ! As I travelled on the mountains from, Queda,
and saw neither the footsteps of beasts, nor the flight of birds, behold, I
chanced to pass through a cavern, in whose hollow sides I found this accursed
sage, to whom I unfolded the invitation of the Sultan of India, and we,
joining, journeyed towards the Divan ; but ere we entered, he said unto me,
' Put thy hand forth, and pull me towards thee into the Divan, calling on
the name of Mahomet, for the evil spirits are on me, and vex me.' "

I have understood that many parts of theaa &ii^ ^aJLsR^ vsA Ss^'^wi^^sS^aae.

416 NOTES TO THE ABBOT.

that of the Sultan Misnar, were taken from genuine Oriental Bonrces by the
editor, Mr. James Bidley.

Bat the moet picturesqne use of this popnlar belief occors in Coleridge's
beautiful and tantalizing fragment of ChiistabeL Has not our own imagi-
native poet cause to fear that future ages will desire to summon him from
his place of rest, as Milton longed

«

To call him up, who left half told
The story of Camboacaa bold " ?

The verses I refer to are when Ghristabel conducts into her father^s castle
a mysterious and malevolent beingi under the guise of a distressed female
stnmger.

" Thej oroes'd the moat, and Christabel
Took the key that fitted well ;
A little door ahe open'd straight,
All in the middle of the gate ;
The gate that was iron'd within and without.
Where an army in battle array had march'd out.

**The lady sank, belike thro' pain,
And Christabel with might and main
Lifted her up, a weary weight,
Over the threshold of the gate :
Then the lady rose again.
And moved as she were not in pain.

"So free fix>m danger, firee from fear.
They croas'd the court :— right glad they were,
And Christabel devoutly cried
To the lady by her side :
' Praise we the Virgin, all divine,
Who hath rescued thee from this distress.'
'Alas, alas I' said Geraldine,
* I cannot speak from weariness.'
So free firam danger, free firam fear.
They oxxe'd the court :— right glad they were

* P. 162. — Seytbn, OB Sbtton. — Greorge, fifth Lord Seton, was immov-
ably faithful to Queen Mary during all the mutabilities of her fortune. He
was grand master of the household, in which capacity he had a picture
painted of himself with his official baton, and the following motto : —

In adversUaUf patiens:
In prosperitate, benevoltUf
Hagardy yetfonoard.

On various parts of his castle he inscribed, as expressing his religious and
political creed, the legend,

Un Dibu, UN FoY, UN Roy, un Loy.

He declined to be promoted to an earldom, which Queen Mary offered
him at the same time when she advanced her natural brother to be Earl of
Mar, and afterwards of Murray.

On his refusing this honour, Mary wrote, or caused to be written, the
following lines in Latin and French : —

Sunt oomites, ducesque alii ; sunt denique reget;
Sethoni dominum sit satis ease mihL

n 7 a dea oomptes, des xoys, des duos; ainsi
Ceat aaaez poor xno^ d' «ito« ^«ii%;i^fisqx ^^Vgku

NOTES TO THE ABBOT. 417

Which may be thus rendered : —

Earl, duke, or king, be thon that list to be;
Beton, thy lardahip is enough for me.

This distich reminds us of the ^'pride which aped humility/' in the motto
of the house of Couci :

Je suis ni roy, ni prince anaai ;
Je BuiB le Seigneur de Coucy.

After the battle of Langside, Lord Seton was obliged to retire abroad
for safety, and was an exile for two years, during which he was reduced to
the necessity of driving a waggon in Flanders for his subsistence. He rose
to favour in James YI/s reign, and resuming his paternal property, had
himself painted in his waggoner's dress, and in the act of driving a wain
with four horses, on the north end of a stately gallery at Seton Castle. He
appears to have been fond of the arts ; for there exists a beautiful family-
piece of him in the centre of his fandly. Mr. Finkerton in his Scottish
Iconographia, published an engraving of this curious portrait. The original
is the property of Lord Somerville, nearly connected with the Seton family,
and is at present at his lordship's fishing villa of the Pavilion, near Melrose.

* P. 231. — The Ejesignation of Queen Mabt. — ^The details of this
remarkable event are, as given in the preceding chapter, imaginary; but
the outline of the events is historical Sir Bobert lindesay, brother to the
author of the Memoirs, was at first intrusted with the delicate commission
of persuading the imprisoned Queen to resign her crown. As he flatly
refused to interfere^ they determined to send &e Lord Lindesay, one of the
rudest and most violent of their own faction, with instructions, first to use
fair persuasions, and if these did not succeed, to enter into harder terms.
Knox associates Lord Buthven with Lindesay in this alarming commission.
He was the son of that Lord Buthven who was prime agent in the murder
of Bizzio; and little mercy was to be expected from hu conjunction with
Lindesay.

The employment of such rude tools argued a resolution on the part of
those who had the Queen's person in their power, to proceed to the utmost
extremities, should they find Mary obstinate. To avoid this pressing danger,
Sir Bobert Melville was despatched by them to Lochleven, cairymg with
him, concealed in the scabburd of his sword, letters to the Queen from the
Earl of Athole, Maitland of Lethington, and even from Throgmorton,.the
English ambassador, who was then favourable to the unfortunate Mary,
conjuring her to yield to the necessity of the times, and to subscribe such
deeds as Lindesay should lay before her, without being startled by their
tenor; and assuring her that her doing so, in the state of captivity under
which she was placed, would neither, in law, honour, nor consdenoe, be bind-
ing upon her when she should obtain her liberty. Submitting, by the ad-
vice of one part of her subjects, to the menace of the others, and learning
that Lindesay was arrived in a boasting, that is, threatening humour, the
Queen, "with some reluctancy, and with tears," saith Knox, subscribed one
deed resigning her crown to her infant son, and another establishing the
Earl of Murray regent. It seems agreed by historians, that Lindesay be-
haved with great brutality on the occasion. The deeds were signed 24th
July, 1567.

* P. 265. — ^Db. Lukb Luin>iN. — At Scottish fairs, the bailie, or magis-
trate, deputed by the lord in whose name the meeting is held, attends the
fair with his guard, decides trifling disputes, and punishes on the a^t qsl^
petty delinquencies. His attendants are \i&W82ilN «tm»\^'i^fi&.V<a&^^c^«sA^

418 MOTES TO THE ABBOT.

Bometimea at least, escorted by mosio. Thus, in the ''Life and Death of
Habbie Simpson," we are told of that famous minstrel —

*' At fidis be pla7*d befbre the tpMnnfln,
And gaily graithed in their gear-men ; —
Steel bonnets. Jiwdca, and ■words ahone daar then*

Liikeonybead;
Now wha thall plav before sio weiimen,

SinoeHibbia'sdMdr

* P. 292.— Thb Dabk Gbkt Mak. — ^By an andent, though improbable
tradition, the Douglases are said to have derived their name from a champion
who had greatly distinguished himself in an action. When the king de«
manded by whom the battle had been won, the attendants are said to have
answered, ''Sholto Douglas, sir," which is said to mean, ** Yonder dark grey
man." But the name is imdoubtedly territorial, and taken from DouglM
river and vale.

* P. 848. — SUFFOSED CONSPIBAOT AGAINST THB LiFB 01* MaBT. — ^A

romancer, to use a Scottish jdurase, wants but a hair to make a tether of.
The whole detail of the steward's supposed conspiracy against the life of
Mary, is grounded upon an expression in one of her letters, which afiSrms,
that Jasper Dryfesdale, one of the Laird of Lochleven's servants, had
threatened to murder William Douglas for his share in the Queen*s escape),
and averred that he would plant a dagger in Mary's own heart. — Chalmibs's
Life of Queen Mary, voL i p. 278.

* P. 860. — ^MuFFLSD Mi^. — Grenerally a disguised man ; originally one
who wears the doak or mantle muffled round the lower part of the face to
conceal his countenance. I have on an ancient piece of iron the represen-
tation of a robber thus accoutred, endeavouring to make his way into a
house, and opposed by a mastifif, to whom he in vain offers food. The motto
is Spemit dona fidet. It is part of a fire-grate said to have belonged to
Archbishop Sharpe.

* P. 869. — Demeanoub of Quebn Mart. — ^In the dangerous expedition
to Aberdeenshire, Bandolph, the English ambassador, gives Oedl the
following account of Queen Mary's demeanour : —

'* In all those garbulles, I assure your honour, I never saw the Queen
merrier, never dismayed ; nor never thought I that stomache to be in her
that I find. She repented nothing but, when the Lords and others, at
Inverness, cam^ in the morning from the watches, that she was not a man
to know what life it was to lye aU night in the fields, or to walk upon the
causeway with a jack and a knapscap^ a Glasgow buckler, and a broad-
sword." — Bandolph to Cboil, SeptemJber 18, 1562.

The writer of the above letter seems to have felt the same impreerion
which Catherine Seyton, in the text^ considered as proper to the Queen's
presence among her armed subjects.

'* Though we neither thought nor looked for other than on that day to
have fought or never — ^what desperate blows would not have been given,
when every man should have fought in the sight of so noble a Queen, and
so many fair ladies, our enemies to have taken them from us, and we to
save our honours, not to be reft of them, your honour can easily judge I " —
The same to the same, September 24, 1562.

* P. 872. — Escape of Queen Mabt fbom Loohleven. — It is well known
that the escape of Queen Mary from Lochleven was effected by George
Douglas, the youngest brother of Sir William Douglas, the lord of the
castle ; but the minute circumstances of the event have been a good deal

oonfaaed, owing to two agents having been concerned in it who bore the
same name. It has been alwaya sapi^oMdi ^^\ Q(«Kst\^ TyyQj|2Aa*^raA indnoed

NOTES TO THE ABBOT. 419

to abet Mary's escape by the ambitious hope that, by such sernce, he might
merit her hsmd. But his purpose was discovered by his brother Sir William,
and he was expelled from the castle. He continued, notwithstanding, to
hover in the neighbourhood, and maintain a correspondence with the royal
prisoner and others in the fortress.

If we believe the English ambassador Drury, the Queen was grateful to
George Douglas, and even proposed a marriage with him ; a scheme which
could hardly be serious, since she was still the wife of Bothwell, but which,
if suggested at all, might be with a purpose of gratifying the Begent
Murray's ambition, and propitiating Ms favour ; since he was, it must be
remembered, the brother uterine of Greorge Douglas, for whom such high
honour was said to be designed.

The proposal, if seriously made, was treated as inadmissible, and Mary
again resumed her purpose of escape. Her failure in her first attempt hais
some picturesque particulars, which might have been advantageously intro-
duced in fictitious narrative. Drury sends Cecil the following account of
the matter : —

"But after, upon the 25th of the last (April 1567), she interprised an
escape, and was the rather near efifect, through her accustomed long lying
in bed all the morning. The manner of it was thus : there cometh in to
her the laundress early as other times before she was wanted, and the
Queen according to such a secret practice putteth on her the hood of the
laundress, and so with the fardel of clothes and the muffler upon her face,
passeth out and entreth the boat to pass the Loch ; which, after some space,
one of them that rowed said merrily, ' Let us see what manner of dame this
is, and therewith offered to pull down her muffler, which, to defend, she
put up her hands, which they spied to be very fair and white ; wherewith
they entered into suspicion whom she was, beginning to wonder at her
enterprise. Whereat she was little dismayed, but charged them, upon
danger of their lives, to row her over to the shore, which they nothing
reg£u>ded, but eftsoons rowed her back again, promising her it should be
secreted, and especially from the lord of the house, under whose guard she
lyeth. It seemeth she knew her refuge, and where to have found it if she
had once landed ; for there did, and yet do linger, at a little village called
Kinross, hard at the Loch side, the same Greorge Douglas, one Sempel, and
one Beton, the which two were sometime her trusty servants, and, as yet
appeareth, they mind her no less affection." — ^Bishop Kbith'b History of
the Jffavra of Church and State in ScotUmdy p. 490.

Notwithstanding this disappointment^ little spoke of by historians, Mary
renewed her attempts to escape. There was in the Castle of Lochleven a
lad, named William Douglas, some relation probably of th6 baron, and
about eighteen years old. This youth proved as accessible to Queen
Mary's prayers and promises, as was the brother of his patron, Greorge
Douglas, from whom this William must be carefully kept distinct. It was
young William who played the part commonly assigned to his superior,
George, stealing the keys of the castle from the table on which they lay,
while his lord was at supper. He let the Queen and a waiting woman out
of the apartment where they were secured, and out of the tower itself, em-
barked with them in a small skiff, and rowed them to the shore. To pre-
vent instant pursuit^ he, for precaution's sake, locked the iron grated door
of the tower, and threw the keys into the lake. They found George
Douglas and the Queen's servant, Beton, waiting for them, and Lord
Seyton and James Hamilton of Orbieston in attendance, at the head of a
party of faithful followers, with whom they fled to Niddzie CaAUA^«a^4.tecscDL
thenoe to Hamilton.

420 NOTES TO THE ABBOT.

In narrating this romantio story, both history and tradition oonfose the
two Donglases together, and confer on Creorge the saccessfol execution of
the escape from &e castle, the merit of which belongs, in reality, to the
boy called William, or, more frequently, the Little Douglas, either from his
youth or his slight statura The reader will observe, that in the romance,
the part of the Little Douglas has been assigned to Boland Grseme. In
another case, it would be tedious to point out in a work of amusement such
minute points of historical fact ; but the general interest taken in the fate
of Queen Mary, renders everything of consequence which connects itself
with her misfortunes.

* F. 400. — Battle of Lakosidk — I am informed in the most polite
manner, by D. MacVean, Esq. of Glasgow, that I have been incorr^ in
my locality, in giving an account of &e battle of Langside. Crookstone
Castle, he observes, lies four miles west from the field of battle, and rather in
the rear of Murray's army. The real place from which Mary saw the rout
of her last army, was Cathcart Castle, which, being a mile and a half east
from Langside, was situated in the rear of the Queen*s own army. I was
led astray in the present case, by the authority of my deceased friend,
James Grahame, the excellent and amiable author of the Sabbath, in his
drama on the subject of Queen Mary ; and by a traditionary report of Mary
having seen the battle from the Castle of Crookstone, which seemed so
much to increase the interest of the scene, that I have been unwilling to
make, in this particular instance^ the fiction give way to the fact, which
last is undoubtedly in favour of Mr. MacYean's system.

It is singular how tradition, which is sometimes a sure guide to truth, is,
in other cases, prone to mislead us. In the celebrated field of battle at
Killiecrankie, the traveller is struck with one of those rugged pillars of
rough stone, which indicate the scenes of ancient conflict. A friend of the
author, well acquainted with the circumstances of the battle, was standing
near this large stone, and looking on the scene aroimd, when a Highland
shepherd hurried down from the hill to offer his services as cicerone, and pro-
ceeded to inform him, that Dundee was slain at that stone, which was raised
to his memory. " Fie, Donald," answered my friend, '' how can you tell
such a story to a stranger? I am sure you know well enough that Dundee
was killed at a considerable distance from this place, near the house of
Fascally, and that this stone was here long before the battle, in 1688." —
" Oich 1 oich ! " said Donald, no way abashed, " and your honour's in the
right, and I see you ken a' about it. And he wasna killed on the spot
neither, but lived till the next morning ; but a' the Saxon gentlemen like
best to hear he was killed at the great stane." It] is on the same principle
of pleasing my readers, that I retain Crookstone Castle instead of Cathcart.

If, however, the author has taken a liberty(in removing the actual field
of battle somewhat to the westward, he has been tolerably strict in adhering
to the incidents of the engagement, as will appear from a comparison of
events in the novel, with the following account from an old writer : —

*' The Kegent was out on foot and all his company, except the Laird of
Grange, Alexander Hume of Manderston, and some Borderers to the number
of two hundred. The Laird of Grange had already viewed the ground, and
with all imaginable diligence caused every horseman to take behind him a
footman of the Begent's, to guard behind them, and rode vrith speed to the
head of the Langside-hill, and set down the footmen with their culverings
at the head of a straight lane, where there were some cottage houses and
yards of great advantage. Which soldiers with their continiud shot killed
diven of the vaunt guard, led by the Hamiltons, who, courageously and
£ercely aaoendir^ up tiie b^ were 8\T««Ay ou^ c&\sK«6.>^^\i<tni^ Bjs^t's

NOTES TO THE ABBOT. 421

vaunt guard joined with them. Where the worthy Lord Hume fought on
foot with his pike in his hand very manfully, assisted by the Laird of Cess-
ford, his brother-in-law, who helped him up again when he was strucken to
the ground by many strokes upon his face, through the throwing pistols at
him after they had been discharged. He was also wounded with staveS)
and had many strokes of spears through his legs ; for he and Grange, at the
joining, cried to let their adversaries first lay down their spears, to bear up
theirs ; which spears were so thick fixed in the other's jacks, that some of
the pistols and great staves that were thrown by them which were behind,
might be seen lying upon the spears.

** Upon the Queen's side the Earl of Argyle commanded the battle, and
the Lord of Arbroth the vaunt guard. But the Begent committed to the
Laird of Grange the special care, as being an experimented captain, to over-
see every danger, and to ride to every wing, to encourage and make help
where greatest need was. He perceived, at the first joining, the right wing
of the Begent's vaunt guard put back, and like to fly, whereof the greatest
part were commons of the barony of Benf rew ; whereupon he rode to them,
and told them that their enemy was already turning their backs, request-
ing them to stay and debate till he should bring them fresh men forth of
the battle. Whither at full speed he did ride alone, and told the Begent
that the enemy were shaken and flying away behind the little village, and
desired a few number of fresh men to go with him. Where he found
enough willing, as the Lord Lindesay, the Laird of Lochleven, Sir James
Balfour, and all the Begent's servants, who followed him with diligence,
and re-inf orced that wing which was beginning to fly ; which fresh men
with their loose weapons struck the enemies in their fltuik and faces, whidi
forced them incontinent to give place and turn back after long fighting and
pushing others to and fro with their spears. There were not many horse-
men to pursue after them, and the Begent cried to save and not to kill, and
Grange was never cruel, so that there were few slain and taken. And the
only slaughter was at the first rencounter by the shot of the soldiers, which
Grange had planted at the lane-head behind some dikes."

It is remarkable that, while passing through the small town of Benfrew,
some partisans, adherents of tiie House of Lennox, attempting to arrest
Queen Mary and her attendants, were obliged to make way for her, not
without slaughter.

* P. 409. — Burial of the Abbot's Heabt in the Avbnel Aisle. — This
was not the explanation of the incident of searching for the heart, mentioned
in the introduction of the tale, which the author originally intended. It
was designed to refer to the heajii of Bobert Bruce. It is generally known
that that great monarch, being on his death-bed, bequeathed to the good
Lord James of Douglas, the task of carrying his heart to the Holy Land,
to fulfil in a certain degree his own desire to perform a crusade. Upon
Douglas's death, fighting against the Moors in Spain, a sort of military hora
doeuvre to which he could have pleaded no regular call of duty, his followers
brought back the Bruce's heart, and deposited it in the Abbey church of
Melrose, the Kennaquhair of the tale.

This Abbey had been always particularly favoured by the Bruce. We
have already seen his extreme anxiety that each of the reverend brethren
should be daily supplied with a service of boiled almonds, rice and milk,
pease, or the like, to be called the King's mess, and that without the
ordinary service of their table being either disturbed in quantity or quality.
But this was not the only mark of the benignity of good King Bobert
towards the monks of Melrose, since, by a duster of the d&t^^ ^2^^ \&3ks^
1326, he conferred on the Abbot of Melroae iJbft svoa qH Vwo ^civ»a»A^\««:^»

428 NOTES TO THE ABBOT.

sterling, for rebuilding the Ghnroh of St. Mary's, rtdned by the English ;
and there is little or no doabt that the principal part of the remains which
now display such exquisite specimens of G^othio architecture, at its very
purest period, had their origin in this munificent donation. The money was
to be paid out of crown lands, estates forfeited to the King, and other pro-
perty or demesnes of the crown.

A very curious letter written to his son about three weeks before his
death) has been pointed out to me by my friend Mr. Thomas Thomson,
Deputy-Begistrar for Scotland. It enlarges so much on the love of the
royal writer to the community of Melrose, that it is well worthy of being
inserted in a work connected in some degree with Scottish Histoiy.

LlTKBA DOMIKI BbOIB BoBEBTI AD FECJUM SUUM DaYID.

''Bobertus del gratia Bex Scottorum, David precordialissimo filio suo, ac
ceteris successoribos suis ; Salutem, et sic ejus precepta tenere, ut cum sua
benedictione possint regnare. Fili carissime, digne censeri videtur filius,
qui, patemos in bonis mores imitans, piam ejus nititur exequi voluntatem;
neo proprie sibi sumit nomen heredis, qui salubribus predeoessoris affectibus
non adherit : Cupientes igitur, ut piam affectionein et sdnceram dilectionem,
quam erga monasterium de Melros, ubi cor nostrum ex spedali devotione
disposuimus tumulandum, et erga Beligiosos ibidem Deo servientes, ipsorum
vita sanctissima nos ad hoc excitante, concepimus ; Tu ceterique successores
mei pia sdnceritate prosequamini, ut, ex vestre dilectionis affectu dictis
Beligiosis nostri causa post mortem nostram oetenso, ipei pro nobis ad oran-
dum f ervendus et f orcius animentur : Vobis predpimus quantum possumus,
instanter supplioamus, et ex toto corde injungimus, Quatinus assignacionibus
quas eisdem viris Beligioeis et f abrica Ecdesie sue de novo f edmus ac eciam
omnibus aliis donadonibus nostris, ipsos libere gaudere permittatis, Easdem
potius si necesse fuerit augmentantes quam diminuentes, ipsorum peticiones
auribus benevolis admittentes, ac ipsos contra sues invasores et emulos pia
defensione protegentes. Hanc aut«n exhortadonem supplicadonem et pre-
ceptum tu, fili ceterique successores nostri, prestanti animo complere curetis,
si nostram benedictionem habere velitis, una cum benedictione filii summi
Begis, qui filios docuit patrum voluntates in bono perficere, asserens in
mundum se venisse non ut suam voluntatem faceret sed patemam. In
testimonium autem nostre devotionis erga locum predictum sic a nobis dilec-
tum et electum concepte, presentem literam Beligiosis predidas dimittimus,
nostris successoribus in posterum oetendandam. Data apud Cardros^ im-
dedmo die Maij, Anno Begni nostri vicesimo quarto."

If this charter be altogether genuine, and there is no appearance of
forgery, it gives rise to a curious doubt in Scottish history. The letter
announces &&t the Eing had already destined his heart to be depodted at
Melrose. The resolution to send it to Palestine, under the charge of
Douglas, maa^ have been adopted betwixt 11th May, 1329, the date of the
letter, and 7th June of the same year, when the Bruce died ; or else we
must suppose that the commission of Douglas extended not only to taking
the Brace's heart to Palestine^ but to bring it safe back to its filial place of
depodt in the Abbey of Melrose.

It would not be worth inquiring by what caprice the author was induced

to throw the inddent of the Brace's heart entirely out of the story, save

merdy to say, that he found himself unable to fiU up the canvas he had

sketched, and indisposed to prosecute the management of the supernatural

maofi/nflry with which bit p\Ka,'w\i«ii i^^waa first rough-hewn, was connected

4yBd ownhfaedi