The Abbot by Walter Scott (the little red hen ebook .txt) 📖

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 knight and true noble, what a difference betwixt thee and those counsellors of evil, who now threaten my life for having fallen into the snares they spread for me!”

“Madam,” said Ruthven, “we know that you are an orator; and perhaps for that reason the Council has sent hither men, whose converse 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 assurance 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 Ruthven.

“They are too slight and unsolid pledges, my lord,” said the Queen; “add at least a handful of thistle-down to give them weight in the balance.”

“Away, Ruthven,” said Lindesay; “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 Robert Melville, “or rather permit me to have but a few minutes' private audience with her Grace. If my presence with you could avail aught, 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 hour's space; but in despising our words and our pledge of honour, she has touched the honour of my name—let her look herself 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, traversed the vestibule, and descended the winding-stairs, the clash of Lindesay's huge sword being heard as it rang against each step in his descent. George Douglas followed them, after exchanging with Melville a gesture of surprise and sympathy.

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, weeping themselves, endeavoured yet to pray her to be composed, and Sir Robert 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? You have been favoured as well as the rest; why do you continue the empty show of gratitude and thankfulness any longer than they?”

“Madam,” said Sir Robert 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! true to me!” repeated the 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 manhood is required—Oh, Seyton, for thy bold father, who is both wise, true, and valiant!”

Roland Graeme could withstand no longer his earnest desire to offer his services to a princess so distressed and so beautiful. “If one sword,” he said, “madam, can do any thing 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.

As 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 Roland Graeme by the skirt of the cloak, 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 folly?” 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 soldiers in Scotland?”

“In your Grace's cause,” replied the page, “I will venture 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 hand-writing,” she said, “and doubtless conveys his best duteous advice to your Majesty; I know that it was prepared to be sent in this weapon, but I expected another messenger.”

“By my faith, fair one,” thought Roland, “and if you knew not that I had such a secret missive about me, I was yet more ignorant.”

The Queen cast her eye upon the scroll, and remained a few minutes wrapped in deep thought. “Sir Robert Melville,” she at length 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 inspired by the threats of rebels and murderers. You, Sir Robert, 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. Read what my Lord Seyton hath written to us, and give us thy best counsel.”

He glanced over the parchment, and instantly replied,—“Oh! 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 evil, 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 that which alone can make it valid, the free will of the granter.”

“Ay, so says my Lord Seyton,” replied Mary; “yet methinks, for the