Have you ever thought about what fiction is? Probably, such a question may seem surprising: and so everything is clear. Every person throughout his life has to repeatedly create the works he needs for specific purposes - statements, autobiographies, dictations - using not gypsum or clay, not musical notes, not paints, but just a word. At the same time, almost every person will be very surprised if he is told that he thereby created a work of fiction, which is very different from visual art, music and sculpture making. However, everyone understands that a student's essay or dictation is fundamentally different from novels, short stories, news that are created by professional writers. In the works of professionals there is the most important difference - excogitation. But, oddly enough, in a school literature course, you don’t realize the full power of fiction. So using our website in your free time discover fiction for yourself. The Abbot by Walter Scott (the little red hen ebook .txt) 📖
- Author: Walter Scott
Book online «The Abbot by Walter Scott (the little red hen ebook .txt) 📖». Author Walter Scott
The Queen and her ladies exchanged with each other a look of disappointment, anger, and vexation; and Mary said aloud, “We cannot regret the smallness of our court, when we see our hostess discharge in person so many of its offices. In addition to her charges of principal steward of our household and grand almoner, she has to-night done duty as captain of our guard.”
“And will continue to do so in future, madam,” answered the Lady Lochleven, with much gravity; “the history of Scotland may teach me how ill the duty is performed, which is done by an accredited deputy—We have heard, madam, of favourites of later date, and as little merit, as Oliver Sinclair.” [Footnote: A favourite, and said to be an unworthy one, of James V.]
“Oh, madam,” replied the Queen, “my father had his female as well as his male favourites—there were the Ladies Sandilands and Olifaunt, [Footnote: The names of these ladies, and a third frail favourite of James, are preserved in an epigram too gaillard for quotation.] and some others, methinks; but their names cannot survive in the memory of so 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 apartment, bearing in her hand the ponderous bunch of keys.
“Now God 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 Roland, “whether, if your Grace were beyond the walls of the castle, you could find means of conveyance to the firm land, and protection when you are there?”
“Trust us for that, Roland,” said the Queen; “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 fearlessly.”
“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 champions, who 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 Catharine, “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, Roland,” 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 convinced 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 dismissed with the warder for being supposed too much attached to George Douglas. The people are accustomed to see me work there, and I warrant I shall find some excuse that will pass 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 Roland; “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 God bless you my children!—If Mary's head ever rises above water, you shall all rise along with her.”
Chapter the Thirty-Fifth. It is a time of danger, not of revel, When churchmen turn to masquers. SPANISH FATHER.
The enterprise of Roland 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 presented 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 resembling 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 difference. 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 which make her grasp her keys the faster, as if she said to herself—Here I hold what sets me above your taunts and reproaches—And even for her liberty, Mary Stuart could not stoop to speak the proud heretic fair.—What shall we do? Shall Lady Fleming try her eloquence in describing the last new head-tire from Paris?—alas! the good dame has not changed the fashion of her head-gear since Pinkie-field for aught
Comments (0)