The Fortunes of Nigel by Walter Scott (bookreader .txt) 📖

put to his long curled locks what he called “the finishing touch of the redding-kaim,” he gravely kneeled down, kissed his hand, and bade him farewell, saying that he humbly craved leave to discharge himself of his lordship's service.

“Why, what humour is this?” said Lord Glenvarloch; “if you mean to discharge yourself of my service, Richie, I suppose you intend to enter my wife's?”

“I wish her good ladyship that shall soon be, and your good lordship, the blessings of as good a servant as myself, in heaven's good time,” said Richie; “but fate hath so ordained it, that I can henceforth only be your servant in the way of friendly courtesy.”

“Well, Richie,” said the young lord, “if you are tired of service, we will seek some better provision for you; but you will wait on me to the church, and partake of the bridal dinner?”

“Under favour, my lord,” answered Richie; “I must remind you of our covenant, having presently some pressing business of mine own, whilk will detain me during the ceremony; but I will not fail to prie Master George's good cheer, in respect he has made very costly fare, whilk it would be unthankful not to partake of.”

“Do as you list,” answered Lord Glenvarloch; and having bestowed a passing thought on the whimsical and pragmatical disposition of his follower, he dismissed the subject for others better suited to the day.

The reader must fancy the scattered flowers which strewed the path of the happy couple to church—the loud music which accompanied the procession—the marriage service performed by a bishop—the king, who met them at Saint Paul's, giving away the bride,—to the great relief of her father, who had thus time, during the ceremony, to calculate the just quotient to be laid on the pinion of report in a timepiece which he was then putting together.

When the ceremony was finished, the company were transported in the royal carriages to George Heriot's, where a splendid collation was provided for the marriage-guests in the Foljambe apartments. The king no sooner found himself in this snug retreat, than, casting from him his sword and belt with such haste as if they burnt his fingers, and flinging his plumed hat on the table, as who should say, Lie there, authority! he swallowed a hearty cup of wine to the happiness of the married couple, and began to amble about the room, mumping, laughing, and cracking jests, neither the wittiest nor the most delicate, but accompanied and applauded by shouts of his own mirth, in order to encourage that of the company. Whilst his Majesty was in the midst of this gay humour, and a call to the banquet was anxiously expected, a servant whispered Master Heriot forth of the apartment. When he re-entered, he walked up to the king, and, in his turn whispered something, at which James started.

“He is not wanting his siller?” said the king, shortly and sharply.

“By no means, my liege,” answered Heriot. “It is a subject he states himself as quite indifferent about, so long as it can pleasure your Majesty.”

“Body of us, man!” said the king, “it is the speech of a true man and a loving subject, and we will grace him accordingly—what though he be but a carle—a twopenny cat may look at a king. Swith, man! have him—pundite fores.—Moniplies?—They should have called the chield Monypennies, though I sall warrant you English think we have not such a name in Scotland.”

“It is an ancient and honourable stock, the Monypennies,” said Sir Mungo Malagrowther; “the only loss is, there are sae few of the name.”

“The family seems to increase among your countrymen, Sir Mungo,” said Master Lowestoffe, whom Lord Glenvarloch had invited to be present, “since his Majesty's happy accession brought so many of you here.”

“Right, sir—right,” said Sir Mungo, nodding and looking at George Heriot; “there have some of ourselves been the better of that great blessing to the English nation.”

As he spoke, the door flew open, and in entered, to the astonishment of Lord Glenvarloch, his late serving-man Richie Moniplies, now sumptuously, nay, gorgeously, attired in a superb brocaded suit, and leading in his hand the tall, thin, withered, somewhat distorted form of Martha Trapbois, arrayed in a complete dress of black velvet, which suited so strangely with the pallid and severe melancholy of her countenance, that the king himself exclaimed, in some perturbation, “What the deil has the fallow brought us here? Body of our regal selves! it is a corpse that has run off with the mort-cloth!”

“May I sifflicate your Majesty to be gracious unto her?” said Richie; “being that she is, in respect of this morning's wark, my ain wedded wife, Mrs. Martha Moniplies by name.”

“Saul of our body, man! but she looks wondrous grim,” answered King James. “Art thou sure she has not been in her time maid of honour to Queen Mary, our kinswoman, of redhot memory?”

“I am sure, an it like your Majesty, that she has brought me fifty thousand pounds of good siller, and better; and that has enabled me to pleasure your Majesty, and other folk.”

“Ye need have said naething about that, man,” said the king; “we ken our obligations in that sma' matter, and we are glad this rudas spouse of thine hath bestowed her treasure on ane wha kens to put it to the profit of his king and country.—But how the deil did ye come by her, man?”

“In the auld Scottish fashion, my liege. She is the captive of my bow and my spear,” answered Moniplies. “There was a convention that she should wed me when I avenged her father's death—so I slew, and took possession.”

“It is the daughter of Old Trapbois, who has been missed so long,” said Lowestoffe.—“Where the devil could you mew her up so closely, friend Richie?”

“Master Richard, if it be your will,” answered Richie; “or Master Richard Moniplies, if you like it better. For mewing of her up, I found her a shelter, in all honour and safety, under the roof of an honest countryman of my own—and for secrecy, it was a point of prudence, when wantons like you were abroad, Master Lowestoffe.”

There was a laugh at Richie's magnanimous reply, on the part of every one but his bride, who made to him a signal of impatience, and said, with her usual brevity and sternness,—“Peace—peace, I pray you, peace. Let us do that which we came for.” So saying, she took out a bundle of parchments, and delivering them to Lord Glenvarloch, she said aloud,—“I take this royal presence, and all here, to witness, that I restore the ransomed lordship of Glenvarloch to the right owner, as free as ever it was held by any of his ancestors.”

“I witnessed the redemption of the mortgage,” said Lowestoffe; “but I little dreamt by whom it had been redeemed.”

“No need ye should,” said Richie; “there would have been small wisdom in crying roast-meat.”

“Peace,” said his bride, “once more.—This paper,” she continued, delivering another to Lord Glenvarloch, “is also your property—take it, but spare me the question how it came into my custody.”

The king had bustled forward beside Lord Glenvarloch, and fixing an eager