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

cottages, and with the prosperity of her palaces—and the babe unborn shall curse the name of the man who gave inlet to the disorder which will follow the war betwixt the mother and the son.”

“I know of no such plan, reverend sir,” answered the page, “and therefore can aid none such.—My duty towards the Queen has been simply that of an attendant; it is a task, of which, at times, I would willingly have been freed; nevertheless—”

“It is to prepare thee for the enjoyment of something more of liberty,” said the preacher, “that I have endeavoured to impress upon you the deep responsibility under which your office must be discharged. George Douglas hath told the Lady Lochleven that you are weary of this service, and my intercession hath partly determined her good ladyship, that, as your discharge cannot be granted, you shall, instead, be employed in certain commissions on the mainland, which have hitherto been discharged by other persons of confidence. Wherefore, come with me to the lady, for even to-day such duty will be imposed on you.”

“I trust you will hold me excused, reverend sir,” said the page, who felt that an increase of confidence on the part of the Lady of the Castle and her family would render his situation in a moral view doubly embarrassing, “one cannot serve two masters—and I much fear that my mistress will not hold me excused for taking employment under another.”

“Fear not that,” said the preacher; “her consent shall be asked and obtained. I fear she will yield it but too easily, as hoping to avail herself of your agency to maintain correspondence with her friends, as those falsely call themselves, who would make her name the watchword for civil war.”

“And thus,” said the page, “I shall be exposed to suspicion on all sides; for my mistress will consider me as a spy placed on her by her enemies, seeing me so far trusted by them; and the Lady Lochleven will never cease to suspect the possibility of my betraying her, because circumstances put it into my power to do so—I would rather remain as I am.”

There followed a pause of one or two minutes, during which Henderson looked steadily in Roland's countenance, as if desirous to ascertain whether there was not more in the answer than the precise words seemed to imply. He failed in this point, however; for Roland, bred a page from childhood, knew how to assume a sullen pettish cast of countenance, well enough calculated to hide all internal emotions.

“I understand thee not, Roland,” said the preacher, “or rather thou thinkest on this matter more deeply than I apprehended to be in thy nature. Methought, the delight of going on shore with thy bow, or thy gun, or thy angling-rod, would have borne away all other feelings.”

“And so it would,” replied Roland, who perceived the danger of suffering Henderson's half-raised suspicions to become fully awake,—“I would have thought of nothing but the gun and the oar, and the wild water-fowl that tempt me by sailing among the sedges yonder so far out of flight-shot, had you not spoken of my going on shore as what was to occasion burning of town and tower, the downfall of the evangele, and the upsetting of the mass.”

“Follow me, then,” said Henderson, “and we will seek the Lady Lochleven.”

They found her at breakfast with her grandson George Douglas.—“Peace be with your ladyship!” said the preacher, bowing to his patroness; “Roland Graeme awaits your order.”

“Young man,” said the lady, “our chaplain hath warranted for thy fidelity, and we are determined to give you certain errands to do for us in our town of Kinross.”

“Not by my advice,” said Douglas, coldly.

“I said not that it was,” answered the lady, something sharply. “The mother of thy father may, I should think, be old enough to judge for herself in a matter so simple.—Thou wilt take the skiff, Roland, and two of my people, whom Dryfesdale or Randal will order out, and fetch off certain stuff of plate and hangings, which should last night be lodged at Kinross by the wains from Edinburgh.”

“And give this packet,” said George Douglas, “to a servant of ours, whom you will find in waiting there.—It is the report to my father,” he added, looking towards his grandmother, who acquiesced by bending her head.

“I have already mentioned to Master Henderson,” said Roland Graeme, “that as my duty requires my attendance on the Queen, her Grace's permission for my journey ought to be obtained before I can undertake your commission.”

“Look to it, my son,” said the old lady, “the scruple of the youth is honourable.”

“Craving your pardon, madam, I have no wish to force myself on her presence thus early,” said. Douglas, in an indifferent tone; “it might displease her, and were no way agreeable to me.”

“And I,” said the Lady Lochleven, “although her temper hath been more gentle of late, have no will to undergo, without necessity, the rancour of her wit.”

“Under your permission, madam,” said the chaplain, “I will myself render your request to the Queen. During my long residence in this house she hath not deigned to see me in private, or to hear my doctrine; yet so may Heaven prosper my labours, as love for her soul, and desire to bring her into the right path, was my chief desire for coming hither.”

“Take care, Master Henderson,” said Douglas, in a tone which seemed almost sarcastic, “lest you rush hastily on an adventure to which you have no vocation—you are learned, and know the adage, Ne accesseris in consilium nisi vocatus.—Who hath required this at your hand?”

“The Master to whose service I am called,” answered the preacher, looking upward,—“He who hath commanded me to be earnest in season and out of season.”

“Your acquaintance hath not been much, I think, with courts or princes,” continued the young Esquire.

“No, sir,” replied Henderson, “but like my Master Knox, I see nothing frightful in the fair face of a pretty lady.”

“My son,” said the Lady of Lochleven, “quench not the good man's zeal—let him do the errand to this unhappy Princess.”

“With more willingness than I would do it myself,” said George Douglas. Yet something in his manner appeared to contradict his words.

The minister went accordingly, followed by Roland Graeme, and, demanding an audience of the imprisoned Princess, was admitted. He found her with her ladies engaged in the daily task of embroidery. The Queen received him with that courtesy, which, in ordinary cases, she used towards all who approached her, and the clergyman, in opening his commission, was obviously somewhat more embarrassed than he had expected to be.—“The good Lady of Lochleven—may it please your Grace—”

He made a short pause, during which Mary said, with a smile, “My Grace would, in truth, be well pleased, were the Lady Lochleven our good lady—But go on—what is the will of the good Lady of Lochleven?”

“She desires, madam,” said the chaplain, “that your Grace will permit this young gentleman, your page, Roland Graeme, to pass to Kinross, to look