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The Abbot

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"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 George 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 grace with your presence
bring followers to aid 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 and kindred--who
bring nothing to your standard but a single 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?"

"God forbid, madam!" interrupted the young man, eagerly; "were it to
do again, and had I ten times as much rank and wealth, and twenty
times as many friends to lose, my losses would be overpaid by the
first step you made, as a free princess, upon the soil of your native
kingdom."

"And what then ails you, that you will not rejoice with those who
rejoice upon the same joyful occasion?" said the Queen.

"Madam," replied the youth," though exheridated 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 will.--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 which I have
done--Mary 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 interest is every
thing, 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."

Roland 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, "How now, Roland? you are negligent 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 soon 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."

"Willingly, madam," answered Seyton, "so that the youth 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--and
to win my friendship, he must give up thoughts 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 Roland;
"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 about to interfere, for Roland'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, enclosed 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 Graemes 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 Malise Earl of Strathern, called Malise with
the Bright Brand; and I trow the blood of your house springs from no
higher source."

"Good mother," said Seyton, "methinks your sanctity should make you
superior to these worldly 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 qualified as
the mother's."

"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 unfortunate 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, Roland, 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, prevented 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
enclosed 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
unloosed 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 rests upon men's hearts and men's
swords. May they prove as trusty as the faith of women!"

"You will not leave us, mother," said the Queen--"you whose practices
in our favour were so powerful, who dared so many dangers, and wore so
many disguises, to blind our enemies and to confirm our friends--you
will not leave us in the dawn of our reviving fortunes, ere we have
time 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
is 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 persuasion, 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 eloquence."

"Sovereign Lady," replied the enthusiast, "it shames me that at this
high moment something of human frailty should cling 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 clay of mortality--I will yield to the folly," she said, weeping
as she spoke, "and it shall be the last." Then seizing Roland'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!--Oh, for every weary step I have made in your rightful cause, in
this and in foreign lands, give protection to the child whom I must no
more call mine!"

"I swear to you, mother," said the Queen, deeply affected, "that, for
your sake and his own, his happiness and fortunes shall be our
charge!"

"I thank you, daughter of princes," said Magdalen, and pressed her
lips, first to the 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 unknown, the priests shall ask
who is the Queen of that distant northern land, for whom the aged
pilgrim was so fervent in prayer. Farewell! Honour be thine, and
earthly prosperity, if it be the will of God--if not, may the penance
thou shalt do here ensure thee happiness 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 Roland 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 Roland at the same time,--"For all this, thou hast not
my sister's."

"May it please your Grace," said Lord Seyton, "now that these passages
are over, to honour our poor meal. Time it were that our banners were
reflected in the Clyde. We must to horse with as little delay as may
be."




Chapter the Thirty-Seventh.


Ay, sir--our ancient crown, in these wild times,
Oft stood upon a cast--the gamester's ducat,
So often staked, and lost, and then regain'd,
Scarce knew so many hazards.
THE SPANISH FATHER.

It is not our object to enter into the historical part of the reign of
the ill-fated Mary, or to recount how, during the week which succeeded
her flight from Lochleven, her partisans mustered around her with
their followers, forming a gallant army, amounting to six thousand
men. So much light has been lately thrown on the most minute details
of the period, by Mr. Chalmers, in his valuable history of Queen Mary,
that the reader may be safely referred to it for the fullest
information which ancient records afford concerning that interesting
time. It is sufficient for our purpose to say, that while Mary's
head-quarters were at Hamilton, the Regent and his adherents had, in
the King's name, assembled a host at Glasgow, inferior indeed to that
of the Queen in numbers, but formidable from the military talents of
Murray, Morton, the Laird of Grange, and others, who had been trained
from their youth in foreign and domestic wars.

In these circumstances, it was the obvious policy of Queen Mary to
avoid a conflict, secure that were her person once in safety, the
number of her adherents must daily increase; whereas, the forces of
those opposed to her must, as had frequently happened in the previous
history of her reign, have diminished, and their spirits become
broken. 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 of
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 foot, apparelled in their armour,
and ready to follow the Queen's standard in array of battle, the
avowed determination being to escort her to the Castle of Dunbarton in
defiance of her enemies.

The muster was made upon Hamilton-Moor, and the march commenced in all
the pomp of feudal times. Military music sounded, banners and pennons
waved, armour glittered far 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 fair retinue of ladies and household attendants, and a
special guard of gentlemen, amongst whom young Seyton and Roland 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. Roland 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. Roland hastened to pull off his
basnet, and beseech the Abbot's 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 Roland.

"I did so, but it was under seal of confession from thy grandmother;
nor was I at liberty to tell the secret, till she herself should make
it known."

"Her reason for such secrecy, my father?" said Roland 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 times, even had your father done
your mother that justice which I well hope he did, could 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. "Scotland 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 ever."

"Ay," replied the Abbot, "I hear the Seytons hold thee cheap for that
stain on thy shield. Something, however, I have learnt from the late
Abbot Boniface, which, if it prove sooth, may redeem that reproach."

"Tell me that blessed news," said Roland, "and the future service of
my life--"

"Rash boy!" said the Abbot, "I should but madden thine impatient
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 madmen 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 confidence. We shall be encountered, and
that to the purpose."

"And so much the better," replied Roland; "the field of 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 will know,
perchance, ere this day is out, what yonder men are, whom you hold in
rash contempt."

"Why, what are they?" said Henry Seyton, who now joined them: "have
they sinews of wire, and flesh of iron?--Will lead pierce and steel
cut them?--If so, reverend father, we have little to fear."

"They are evil men," said the Abbot, "but the trade of war demands no
saints.--Murray and Morton are known to be the best generals in
Scotland. No one ever saw Lindesay's or Ruthven's back--Kirkaldy 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."

"The 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 Roland 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, fortune,
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, Roland became sensible that the high grounds before them
were already in part occupied by a force, showing, like their own, the
royal banner of Scotland, and on the point of being supported 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 chiefs
immediately assembled around the Queen, and held a hasty council of
war. Mary's quivering lip confessed the fear which she endeavoured to
conceal under a bold and dignified demeanour. But her efforts were
overcome by painful 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 involuntarily 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 Highness's 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 yonder
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. "Oh, 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 Highness 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 Seyton, "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, and brave
men-tenants, we will see which will first reach the post of danger.
For God and Queen Mary!"

"Ill-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 Roland and Seyton, who were each
about to follow those who hastened thus disorderly to the conflict,
"will you leave the Queen's person unguarded?"

"Oh, leave me not, gentlemen!" said the Queen--"Roland 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."

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