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The Abbot

S >> Sir Walter Scott >> The Abbot




He started up from the floor, and only exclaiming, "My life or death
are yours, and at your disposal!"--drew his sword, and broke through
those who stood betwixt him and the door. The enthusiasm of his onset
was too sudden and too lively to have been opposed by any thing 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 pursued from curiosity, or
command of their mistress, exclaimed from below, that he had cast
himself into the lake.

"Brave Douglas still!" exclaimed the Queen--"Oh, 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 Randal immediately entering, said that Master George 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 Randal; "by this time they are half way to
shore, and a cloud 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 accomplices in this
base treachery."

"Lady of Lochleven," said Mary, advancing towards her, "you have this
night cut off my fairest hopes--You 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 comfort 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 under 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 passion."

"We are bounden 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, "who knew so well how to _take_, may think
themselves 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 Lady 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 not an ungratified 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
Rome 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, colouring
with indignation, "as they deem marriage _no_ sacrament, 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
Lochleven'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 bed-room, followed by her two
women.

Lady Lochleven, stunned as it were by this last sarcasm, 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 Randal endeavoured to rouse her
to recollection by questions.

"What is your honourable Ladyship's pleasure in the premises?"

"Shall we not double the sentinels, and place one upon the boats and
another in the garden?" said Randal.

"Would you that despatches were sent to Sir William at Edinburgh, to
acquaint him with what has happened?" 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 insulted!"

"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 vengeance, 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 Roland 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 wrong--it 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 casement, (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 news of this discovery to Holyrood, where thou
mayest do thyself much grace, as well with the Earl of Morton and the
Regent himself, as with Sir William Douglas, seeing thou hast seen the
matter from end to end, and borne faithful part therein. 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 Roland 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 defection--neither would the
Regent 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. Resume 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 thou 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 on any turret
that ever mason built."

"Farewell, thou prating and speckled pie," said Dryfesdale, "that art
so 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 mayst find--it is open war
betwixt us, each for the cause of our mistress, and God show the
right!"

"Amen, and defend his own people!" said the steward. "I will let my
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.




Chapter the Thirty-First.


Poison'd--ill fare!--dead, forsook, cast off!--
KING JOHN.

However weary Roland 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
accomplishing 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, who, as soon as it was placed on the board in
the inner apartment, said to Roland Graeme, with a glance of sarcastic
import, "I leave you, my young sir, to do the office of sewer--it has
been too long 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 Roland,
"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 himself 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 assumes the place
of a comrade who has fallen in the front of battle. "I am now," he
said, "their only champion: and, come weal, come wo, I will be, to the
best of my skill and power, as faithful, as trustworthy, 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. Roland Graeme approached her with beating heart and with
down-cast eyes, and asked her, in a low and hesitating voice, whether
the Queen were well?

"Can you suppose it?" said Catherine. "Think you her heart and body
are framed of steel and iron, to endure the cruel disappointment of
yester even, and the infamous taunts of yonder puritanic hag?--Would
to God 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 formidable."

"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 so 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 important a
confidence?"

"Because your communications with Henderson, and--with pardon--the
natural impetuosity and fickleness of your disposition, made us dread
to entrust 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 case of necessity."

"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
Roland 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 eye fixed on
the floor, as if she shunned the glance of Roland 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 Roland
Graeme, 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.
You 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 gratification of
their vanity, or the mean purpose of engrossing a lover's admiration
and affection, better than they love the virtue and honour of the man
they may be brought to prefer. He that serves his religion, his
prince, and his country, with ardour and devotion, need not plead his
cause with the commonplace rant of romantic passion--the woman whom he
honours with his love becomes his debtor, and her corresponding
affection is engaged to repay his glorious toil."

"You hold a glorious prize for such toil," said the youth, bending his
eyes on her with enthusiasm.

"Only a heart which knows how to value it," said Catherine. "He that
should free this injured Princess from these dungeons, and set her at
liberty among her loyal and warlike nobles, whose hearts are burning
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 the
land, and he the offspring of the poorest cottager that ever held a
plough?"

"I am determined," said Roland, "to take the adventure. Tell me first,
however, fair Catherine, and speak it as if you were confessing to the
priest--this poor Queen, I know she is unhappy--but, Catherine, do you
hold her innocent? 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 clear, 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. "Oh, 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 Rachel, 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, fair Catherine,--for you shall
see the very 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 stern commands of duty also, compel me to aid the
Queen's deliverance."

"Indeed!" said Catherine; "you were wont to have doubts on that
matter."

"Ay, but her life was not then threatened," replied Roland.

"And is it now more endangered than heretofore?" asked Catherine
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 Roland, "for which woman never
forgives woman. I saw the Lady's brow turn pale, 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."

"You terrify me," said Catherine.

"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 living
and breathing man, in all 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 will 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 apparently
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 headtire, 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 supporting and assisting 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, and stood ready for service in the place
usually occupied by his predecessor, the young Seneschal. Mary's eye
rested an instant on him, and could 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 herself 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 your Grace's
service, and who, by me, makes you tender of his hand and sword."

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