inhabitant in these ruins? For my part, I should rather suppose that
you are taking me to the charnel-house of the dead."
"Maybe you are right," said the old woman, with a ghastly laugh;
"carles and carlines agree weel with funeral vaults and charnel-houses,
and when an auld bedral dwells near the dead, he is living, ye ken,
among his customers - Halloo! Powheid! Lazarus Powheid! there is a
gentleman would speak with you;" and she added, with some sort of
emphasis, "an. English noble gentleman - -one of the honourable
garrison."
An old man's step was now heard advancing, so slowly that the
glimmering light which he held in his hand was visible on the ruined
walls of the vault some time before it showed the person who bore it.
The shadow of the old man was also projected upon the illuminated wall
ere his person came in view; his dress was in considerable confusion,
owing to his having been roused from his bed; and since artificial
light was forbidden by the regulations of the garrison, the natives of
Douglas Dale spent in sleep the time that they could not very well get
rid of by any other means. The sexton was a tall thin man, emaciated by
years and by privations; his body was bent habitually by his occupation
of grave-digging, and his eye naturally inclined downward to the scene
of his labours. His hand sustained the cruise or little lamp, which he
held so as to throw light upon his visitant; at the same time it
displayed to the young knight the features of the person with whom he
was now confronted, which, though neither handsome nor pleasing, were
strongly marked, sagacious, and venerable, indicating, at the same time,
a certain air of dignity, which age, even mere poverty, may be found
occasionally to bestow, as conferring that last melancholy species of
independence proper to those whose situation can hardly by any
imaginable means, be rendered much worse than years and fortune have
already made it. The habit of a lay brother added somewhat of religious
importance to his appearance.
"What would you with me, young man?" said the sexton. "Your youthful
features, and your gay dress, bespeak one who stands in need of my
ministry neither for himself nor for others."
"I am indeed," replied the knight, "a living man, and therefore need
not either shovel or pick-axe for my own behoof. I am not, as you see,
attired in mourning, and therefore need not your offices in behalf of
any friend; I would only ask you a few questions."
"What you would have done must needs be done, you being at present one
of our rulers, and, as I think, a man of authority," replied the
sexton; "follow me this way into my poor habitation; I have had a
better in my day; and yet, Heaven knows, it is good enough for me, when
many men of much greater consequence must perforce content themselves
with worse."
He opened a lowly door, which was fitted, though irregularly, to serve
as the entrance of a vaulted apartment, where it appeared that the old
man held, apart from the living world, his wretched and solitary
dwelling. [Footnote: [This is a most graphic and accurate description
of the present state of the ruin. Its being occupied by the sexton as a
dwelling-place, and the whole scene of the old man's interview with De
Valence, may be classed with our illustrious author's most felicitous
imaginings._ - Note by the Rev. Mr. Stewart of Douglas._]] The
floor, composed of paving stones, laid together with some accuracy, and
here and there inscribed with letters and hieroglyphics, as if they had
once upon a time served to distinguish sepulchres, was indifferently
well swept, and a fire at the upper end directed its smoke into a hole
which served for a chimney. The spade and pick-axe, (with other tools,)
which the chamberlain of mortality makes use of, lay scattered about
the apartment, and, with a rude stool or two, and a table, where some
inexperienced hand had unquestionably supplied the labours of the
joiner, were nearly the only furniture, if we include the old man's bed
of straw, lying in a corner, and discomposed, as if he had been just
raised from it. At the lower end of the apartment, the wall was almost
entirely covered by a large escutcheon, such as is usually hung over
the graves of men of very high rank, having the appropriate quarters,
to the number of sixteen, each properly blazoned and distinct, placed
as ornaments around the principal armorial coat itself.
"Let us sit," said the old man; "the posture will better enable my
failing ears to apprehend your meaning, and the asthma will deal with
me more mercifully in permitting me to make you understand mine."
A peal of short asthmatic coughs attested the violence of the disorder
which he had last named, and the young knight followed his host's
example, in sitting down on one of the rickety stools by the side of
the fire. The old man brought from one corner of the apartment an apron,
which he occasionally wore, full of broken boards in irregular pieces,
some of which were covered with black cloth, or driven full of nails,
black, as it might happen, or gilded.
"You will find this fresh fuel necessary," said the old man, "to keep
some degree of heat within this waste apartment; nor are the vapours of
mortality, with which this vault is apt to be filled, if the fire is
permitted to become extinct, indifferent to the lungs of the dainty and
the healthy, like your worship, though to me they are become habitual.
The wood will catch fire, although it is some time ere the damps of the
grave are overcome by the drier air, and the warmth of the chimney."
Accordingly, the relics of mortality with which the old man had heaped
his fireplace, began by degrees to send forth a thick unctuous vapour,
which at length leaped to light, and blazing up the aperture, gave a
degree of liveliness to the gloomy scene. The blazonry of the huge
escutcheon met and returned the rays with as brilliant a reflection as
that lugubrious object was capable of, and the whole apartment looked
with a fantastic gaiety, strangely mingled with the gloomy ideas which
its ornaments were calculated to impress upon the imagination.
"You are astonished," said the old man, "and perhaps, Sir Knight, you
have never before seen these relics of the dead applied to the purpose
of rendering the living, in some degree, more comfortable than their
condition would otherwise admit of."
"Comfortable!" returned the Knight of Valence, shrugging his shoulders;
"I should be sorry, old man, to know that I had a dog that was as
indifferently quartered as thou art, whose grey hairs have certainly
seen better days."
"It may be," answered the sexton, "and it may be otherwise; but it was
not, I presume, concerning my own history that your worship seemed
disposed to ask me some questions; and I would venture to enquire,
therefore, to whom they have relation?"
"I will speak plainly to you," replied Sir Aymer, "and you will at once
acknowledge the necessity of giving a short and distinct reply. I have
even now met in the streets of this village a person only shown to me
by a single flash of light, who had the audacity to display the
armorial insignia and utter the war-cry of the Douglasses; nay, if I
could trust a transient glance, this daring cavalier had the features
and the dark complexion proper to the Douglas. I am referred to thee as
to one who possesses means of explaining this extraordinary
circumstance, which, as an English knight, and one holding a charge
under King Edward, I am particularly called upon to make enquiry into."
"Let me make a distinction," said the old man. "The Douglasses of
former generations are my near neighbours, and, according to my
superstitious townsmen, my acquaintances and visitors; I can take it
upon my conscience to be answerable for their good behaviour, and to
become bound that none of the old barons, to whom the roots of that
mighty tree may, it is said, be traced, will again disturb with their
war-cry the towns or villages of their native country - not one will
parade in moonshine the black armour which has long rusted upon their
tombs.
'The knights are dust.
And their good swords are rust;
Their souls are with the saints, we trust.' [Footnote: [The author
has somewhat altered part of a beautiful unpublished fragment of
Coleridge: -
"Where is the grave of Sir Arthur Orellan, -
Where may the grave of that good knight be?
By the marge of a brook, on the slope of Helvellyn,
Under the boughs of a young birch tree.
The Oak that in summer was pleasant to hear,
That rustled in Autumn all withered and sear,
That whistled and groan'd thro' the Winter alone,
He hath gone, and a birch in his place is grown.
The knight's bones are dust,
His good sword is rust;
His spirit is with, the saints, we trust." _Edit_.]]
Look around, Sir Knight, you have above and around you the men of whom
we speak. Beneath us, in a little aisle, (which hath not been opened
since these thin grey locks were thick and brown,) there lies the first
man whom I can name as memorable among those of this mighty line. It is
he whom the Thane of Athol pointed out to the King of Scotland as
Sholto Dhuglass, or the dark iron-coloured man, whose exertions had
gained the battle for his native prince; and who, according to this
legend, bequeathed his name to our dale and town, though others say
that the race assumed the name of Douglass from the stream so called in
unrecorded times, before they had their fastness on its banks. Others,
his descendants, called Eachain, or Hector the first, and Orodh, or
Hugh, William, the first of that name, and Gilmour, the theme of many a
minstrel song, commemorating achievements done under the oriflamme of
Charles the Great, Emperor of France, have all consigned themselves to
their last sleep, nor has their memory been sufficiently preserved from
the waste of time. Something we know concerning their great deeds,
their great power, and, alas! their great crimes. Something we also
know of a Lord of Douglas who sat in a parliament at Forfar, held by
King Malcolm the First, and we are aware that from his attachment to
hunting the wild hart, he built himself a tower called Blackhouse, in
the forest of Ettrick, which perhaps still exists."
"I crave your forgiveness, old man," said the knight, "but I have no
time at present to bestow upon the recitation of the pedigree of the
House of Douglas. A less matter would hold a well-breathed minstrel in
subject for recitation for a calendar month, Sundays and holidays
included."
"What other information can you expect from me," said the sexton, "than
that respecting those heroes, some of whom it has been my lot to
consign to that eternal rest, which will for ever divide the dead from
the duties of this world? I have told you where the race sleep, down to
the reign of the royal Malcolm. I can tell you also of another vault,
in which lie Sir John of Douglas-burn, with his son Lord Archibald, and
a third William, known by an indenture with Lord Abernethy. Lastly, I
can tell you of him to whom that escutcheon, with its appurtenances of
splendour and dignity, justly belong. Do you envy that nobleman, whom,
if death were in the sound, I would not hesitate to term my honourable
patron? and have you any design of dishonouring his remains? It will be
a poor victory! nor does it become a knight and nobleman to come in
person to enjoy such a triumph over the dead, against whom, when he
lived, there were few knights dared spur their horses. He fought in
defence of his country, but he had not the good fortune of most of his
ancestors, to die on the field of battle. Captivity, sickness, and
regret for the misfortunes of his native land, brought his head to the
grave in his prison-house, in the land of the stranger."
The old man's voice here became interrupted by emotion, and the English
knight found it difficult to continue his examination in the stern
fashion which his duty required.
"Old man," he said, "I do not require from thee this detail, which must
be useless to me, as well as painful to thyself. Thou dost but thy duty
in rendering justice to thy ancient lord; but thou hast not yet
explained to me why I have met in this town, this very night, and not
half an hour since, a person in the arms, and bearing the complexion,
of one of the Black Douglasses, who cried his war-cry as if in contempt
of his conquerors."
"Surely," replied the sexton, "it is not my business to explain such a
fancy, otherwise than by supposing that the natural fears of the
Southron will raise the spectre of a Douglas at any time, when he is
within sight of their sepulchre. Methinks, in such a night as this, the
fairest cavalier would wear the complexion of this swarthy race, nor
can I hold it wonderful that the war-cry which was once in the throats
of so many thousands in this country, should issue upon occasion from
the mouth of a single champion."
"You are bold, old man," returned the English knight; "do you consider
that your life is in my power, and that it may, in certain cases, be my
duty to inflict death with that degree of pain at which humanity
shudders?"
The old man rose up slowly in the light of the blazing fire, displaying
his emaciated features, which resembled those ascribed by artists to
Saint Anthony of the desert; and pointing to the feeble lamp, which he
placed upon the coarse table, thus addressed his interrogator, with an
appearance of perfect firmness, and something even resembling dignity: -
"Young knight of England, you see that utensil constructed for the
purpose of dispensing light amid these fatal vaults, - it is as frail as
any thing can well be, whose flame is supplied by living element,
contained in a frame composed of iron. It is doubtless in your power
entirely to end its service, by destroying the frame, or extinguishing
the light. Threaten it with such annihilation, Sir Knight, and see
whether your menace will impress any sense of fear either on the
element or the iron. Know that you have no more power over the frail
mortal whom you threaten with similar annihilation. You may tear from
my body the skin in which it is now swathed, but although my nerves
might glow with agony during the inhuman operation, it would produce no
more impression on me than flaying on the stag which an arrow has
previously pierced through the heart. My age sets me beyond your
cruelty: if you think otherwise, call your agents, and commence your
operations; neither threats nor inflictions will enable you to extort
from me any thing that I am not ready to tell you of my own accord."
"You trifle with me, old man," said De Valence; "you talk as if you
possessed some secret respecting the motions of these Douglasses, who
are to you as gods, yet you communicate no intelligence to me
whatever."
"You may soon know," replied the old man, "all that a poor sexton has
to communicate; and it will not increase your knowledge respecting the
living, though it may throw some light upon my proper domains, which
are those of the dead. The spirits of the deceased Douglasses do not
rest in their graves during the dishonour of their monuments, and the
downfall of their house. That, upon death, the greater part of any line
are consigned to the regions of eternal bliss, or of never-ending
misery, religion will not suffer us to believe, and amidst a race who
had so great a share of worldly triumph and prosperity, we must suppose
there have existed many who have been justly subjected to the doom of
an intermediate space of punishment. You have destroyed the temples -
which were built by their posterity to propitiate Heaven for the
welfare of their souls; you have silenced the prayers and stopt the
choirs, by the mediation of which the piety of children had sought to
appease the wrath of Heaven in behalf of their ancestors, subjected to
expiatory fires. Can you wonder that the tormented spirits, thus
deprived of the relief which had been proposed to them, should not,
according to the common phrase, rest in their graves? Can you wonder
they should show themselves like discontented loiterers near to the
places which, but for the manner in which you have prosecuted your
remorseless warfare, might have ere now afforded them rest? Or do you
marvel that these fleshless warriors should interrupt your marches, and
do what else their airy nature may permit to disturb your councils, and
meet as far as they may the hostilities which you make it your boast to
carry on, as well against those who are deceased, as against any who
may yet survive your cruelty?"
"Old man," replied Aymer de Valence, "you cannot expect that I am to
take for answer a story like this, being a fiction too gross to charm
to sleep a schoolboy tormented with the toothache; nevertheless, I
thank God that thy doom does not remain in my hands. My squire and two
archers shall carry thee captive to the worshipful Sir John de Walton,
Governor of the Castle and Valley, that he may deal with thee as seems
meet; nor is he a person to believe in your apparitions and ghosts from
purgatory. - What ho! Fabian! Come hither, and bring with thee two
archers of the guard."
Fabian accordingly, who had waited at the entrance of the ruined
building, now found his way, by the light of the old sexton's lamp, and
the sound of his master's voice, into the singular apartment of the old
man, the strange decorations of which struck the youth with great
surprise, and some horror.
"Take the two archers with thee, Fabian," said the Knight of Valence,
"and, with their assistance, convey this old man, on horseback, or in a
litter, to the presence of the worshipful Sir John de Walton. Tell him
what we have seen, which thou didst witness as well as I; and tell him
that this old sexton, whom I send to be examined by his superior wisdom,
seems to know more than he is willing to disclose respecting our
ghostly cavalier, though he will give us no account of him, except
intimating that he is a spirit of the old Douglasses from purgatory, to
which Sir John de Walton will give what faith he pleases. You may say,
that, for my part, my belief is, either that the sexton is crazed by
age, want, and enthusiasm, or that he is connected with some plot which
the country people are hatching. You may also say that I shall not use
much ceremony with the youth under the care of the Abbot of St. Bride;
there is something suspicious in all the occurrences that are now
passing around us."
Fabian promised obedience; and the knight, pulling him aside, gave him
an additional caution, to behave with attention in this business,
seeing he must recollect that neither the judgment of himself, nor that
of his master, were apparently held in very much esteem by the
governor; and that it would ill become them to make any mistake in a
matter where the safety of the Castle was perhaps concerned.
"Fear me not, worshipful sir," replied the youth; "I am returning to
pure air in the first place, and a good fire in the second, both
acceptable exchanges for this dungeon of suffocating vapours and
execrable smells. You may trust to my making no delay; a very short
time will carry me back to Castle Douglas, even moving with suitable
attention to this old man's bones."
"Use him humanely," answered the knight. "And thou, old man, if thou
art insensible to threats of personal danger in this matter, remember,
that if thou art found paltering with us, thy punishment will perhaps
be more severe than any we can inflict upon thy person."
"Can you administer the torture to the soul?" said the sexton.
"As to thee," answered the knight, "we have that power; - we will
dissolve every monastery or religious establishment held for the souls
of these Douglasses, and will only allow the religious people to hold
their residence there upon condition of their praying for the soul of
King Edward the First of glorious memory, the _malleus Scotorum_;
and if the Douglasses are deprived of the ghostly benefit of the
prayers and services of such shrines, they may term thy obstinacy the
cause."
"Such a species of vengeance," answered the old man, in the same bold
unsubdued tone which he had hitherto used, "were more worthy of the
infernal fiends than of Christian men."
The squire raised his hand. The knight interposed: "Forbear him," he
said, "Fabian, he is very old, and perhaps insane. - And you, sexton,
remember that the vengeance threatened is lawfully directed towards a
family which have been the obstinate supporters of the excommunicated
rebel, who murdered the Red Comyn at the High Church in Dumfries."
So saying, Aymer strode out of the ruins, picking his way with much
difficulty - took his horse, which he found at the entrance - repeated a
caution to Fabian, to conduct himself with prudence - and, passing on to
the south-western gate, gave the strongest injunctions concerning the
necessity of keeping a vigilant watch, both by patrols and by sentinels,
intimating, at the same time, that it must have been neglected during
the preceding part of the evening. The men murmured an apology, the
confusion of which seemed to express that there had existed some
occasion for the reprimand.
Sir Aymer then proceeded on his journey to Hazelside, his train
diminished by the absence of Fabian and his assistants. After a hasty,
but not a short journey, the knight alighted at Thomas Dickson's, where
he found the detachment from Ayr had arrived before him, and were
snugly housed for the night. He sent one of the archers to announce his
approach to the Abbot of Saint Bride and his young guest, intimating at
the same time, that the archer must keep sight of the latter until he
himself arrived at the chapel, which would be instantly.
CHAPTER THE TENTH.
When the nightengale singes, the wodes waxes grene,
Lef, and gras, and blosme, springeth in April I wene,
And love is to myne herte gone with one speare so kene.
Night and day my blood hyt drynkes, mine herte deth me fane.
_MSS. Hail. Quoted by Warton._
Sir Aymer De Valance had no sooner followed his archer to the convent
of Saint Bride, than he summoned the abbot to his presence, who came
with the air of a man who loves his ease, and who is suddenly called
from the couch where he has consigned himself to a comfortable repose,
at the summons of one whom he does not think it safe to disobey, and to
whom he would not disguise his sense of peevishness, if he durst.
"It is a late ride," he said, "which has brought your worthy honour
hither from the castle. May I be informed of the cause, after the
arrangement so recently gone into with the governor?"
"It is my hope," replied the knight, "that you, Father Abbot, are not
already conscious of it; suspicions are afloat, and I myself have this
night seen something to confirm them, that some of the obstinate rebels
of this country are again setting afoot dangerous practices, to the
peril of the garrison; and I come, father, to see whether, in requital
of many favours received from the English monarch, you will not merit
his bounty and protection, by contributing to the discovery of the
designs of his enemies."
"Assuredly so," answered Father Jerome, in an agitated voice. "Most
unquestionably my information should stand at your command; that is, if
I knew any thing the communication of which could be of advantage to
you."
"Father Abbot," replied the English knight, "although it is rash to
make myself responsible for a North-country man in these times, yet I
own I do consider you as one who has ever been faithfully subject to
the King of England, and I willingly hope that you will still continue
so."
"And a fine encouragement I have!" said the abbot; "to be called out of
my bed at midnight, in this raw weather, to undergo the examination of
a knight, who is the youngest, perhaps, of his own honourable rank, and
who will not tell me the subject of the interrogatories, but detains me
on this cold pavement, till, according to the opinion of Celsus, the
podagra which lurks in my feet may be driven into my stomach, and then
good-night to abbacy and examinations from henceforward."
"Good father," said the young man, "the spirit of the times must teach
thee patience; recollect that I can feel no pleasure in this duty, and
that if an insurrection should take place, the rebels, who are
sufficiently displeased with thee for acknowledging the English monarch,
would hang thee from thine own steeple to feed the crows; or that, if
thou hast secured thy peace by some private compact with the insurgents,
the English governor, who will sooner or later gain the advantage, will
not fail to treat thee as a rebel to his sovereign."
"It may appear to you, my noble son," answered the abbot, obviously
discomposed, "that I am hung up, in this case, on the horns of the
dilemma which you have stated; nevertheless, I protest to you, that if
any one accuses me of conspiring with the rebels against the King of
England, I am ready, provided you give me time to swallow a potion
recommended by Celsus in my perilous case, to answer with the most
perfect sincerity every question which you can put to me upon that
subject." So saying, he called upon a monk who had attended at his
levee, and giving him a large key, whispered something in his ear. The
cup which the monk brought was of such capacity as proved Celsus's
draught required to be administered in considerable quantity, and a
strong smell which it spread through the apartment, accredited the
knight's suspicion that the medicine chiefly consisted of what were
then termed distilled waters, a preparation known in the monasteries
for some time before that comfortable secret had reached the laity in
general. The abbot, neither overawed by the strength nor by the
quantity of the potion, took it off with what he himself would have
called a feeling of solace and pleasance, and his voice became much
more composed; he signified himself as comforted extraordinarily by the
medicine, and willing to proceed to answer any questions which could be
put to him by his gallant young friend.
"At present," said the knight, "you are aware, father, that strangers
travelling through this country, must be the first objects of our
suspicions and enquiries. What is, for example, your own opinion of the
youth termed Augustine, the son, or calling himself so, of a person
called Bertram the minstrel, who has resided for some days in your
convent?"
The abbot heard the question with eyes expressive of surprise at the
quarter from which it came.
"Assuredly," said he, "I think of him as a youth who, from any thing I
have seen, is of that excellent disposition, both with respect to
loyalty and religion, which I should have expected, were I to judge
from the estimable person who committed him to my care."
With this the abbot bowed to the knight, as if he had conceived that
this repartee gave him a silencing advantage in any question which
could follow upon that subject; and he was probably, therefore,
surprised when Sir Aymer replied as follows:
"It is very true, Father Abbot, that I myself did recommend this
stripling to you as a youth of a harmless disposition, and with respect
to whom it would be unnecessary to exercise the strict vigilance
extended to others in similar circumstances; but the evidence which
seemed to me to vouch for this young man's innocence, has not appeared
so satisfactory to my superior and commander; and it is by his orders
that I now make farther enquiries of you. You must think they are of
consequence, since we again trouble you, and at so unwonted an hour."
"I can only protest by my order, and by the veil of Saint Bride,"
replied the abbot, the spirit of Celsus appearing to fail his pupil,
"that whatever evil may be in this matter, is totally unknown to me -
nor could it be extorted from me by racks or implements of torture.
Whatever signs of disloyalty may have been evinced by this young man, I
have witnessed none of them, although I have been strictly attentive to
his behaviour."
"In what respect?" said the knight - "and what is the result of your
observation?"
"My answer," said the abbot of Saint Bride, "shall be sincere and
downright. The youth condescended upon payment of a certain number of
gold crowns, not by any means to repay the hospitality of the church of
Saint Bride, but merely" -
"Nay, father," interrupted the knight, "you may cut that short, since
the governor and I well understand the terms upon which the monks of
Saint Bride exercise their hospitality. In what manner, it is more
necessary to ask, was it received by this boy?"
"With the utmost gentleness and moderation, noble sir," answered the
abbot; "indeed it appeared to me, at first, that he might be a
troublesome guest, since the amount of his benevolence to the convent
was such as to encourage, and, in some degree, to authorise, his
demanding accommodation of a kind superior to what we had to bestow."
"In which case," said Sir Aymer, "you would have had the discomfort of
returning some part of the money you have received?"
"That," replied the abbot, "would have been a mode of settlement
contrary to our vows. What is paid to the treasury of Saint Bridget,
cannot, agreeably to our rule, be on any account restored. But, noble
knight, there was no occasion for this; a crust of white bread and a
draught of milk were diet sufficient to nourish this poor youth for a
day, and it was my own anxiety for his health that dictated the
furnishing of his cell with a softer bed and coverlet than are quite
consistent with the rules of our order."
"Now hearken to what I say, Sir Abbot, and answer me truly," said the
Knight of Valence - "What communication has this youth held with the
inmates of your convent, or with those beyond your house? Search your
memory concerning this, and let me have a distinct answer, for your
guest's safety and your own depend upon it."
"As I am a Christian man," said the abbot, "I have observed nothing
which could give ground for your worship's suspicions. The boy
Augustine, unlike those whom I have observed who have been educated in
the world, showed a marked preference to the company of such sisters as
the house of Saint Bride contains, rather than for that of the monks,
my brethren, although there are among them pleasant and conversible
men."
"Scandal," said the young knight, "might find a reason for that
preference."
"Not in the case of the sisters of Saint Bridget," said the abbot,
"most of whom have been either sorely misused by time, or their
comeliness destroyed by some mishap previously to their being received
into the seclusion of the house."
This observation the good father made with some internal movement of
mirth, which was apparently excited at the idea of the sisterhood of
Saint Bridget becoming attractive to any one by dint of their personal
beauty, in which, as it happened, they were all notably, and almost
ludicrously, deficient. The English knight, to whom the sisterhood were
well known, felt also inclined to smile at this conversation.
"I acquit," he said, "the pious sisterhood of charming, otherwise than
by their kind wishes, and attention to the wants of the suffering
stranger."
"Sister Beatrice," continued the father, resuming his gravity, "is
indeed blessed with a winning gift of making comfits and syllabubs; but,
on minute enquiry, I do not find that the youth has tasted any of them.
Neither is sister Ursula so hard-favoured by nature, as from the
effects of an accident; but your honour knows that when a woman is ugly,
the men do not trouble themselves about the cause of her hard favour. I
will go, with your leave, and see in what state the youth now is, and
summon him, before you."
"I request you to do so, father, for the affair is instant: and I
earnestly advise you to watch, in the closest manner, this Augustine's
behaviour: you cannot be too particular. I will wait your return, and
either carry the boy to the castle, or leave him here, as circumstances
may seem to require."
The abbot bowed, promised his utmost exertions, and hobbled out of the
room to wait on the youth Augustine in his cell, anxious to favour, if
possible, the wishes of De Valence, whom he looked upon as rendered by
circumstances his military patron.
He remained long absent, and Sir Aymer began to be of opinion that the
delay was suspicious, when the abbot returned with perplexity and
discomposure in his countenance.
"I crave your pardon for keeping your worship waiting," said Jerome,
with much anxiety; "but I have myself been detained and vexed by
unnecessary formalities and scruples on the part of this peevish boy.
In the first place, hearing my foot approaching his bedroom, my youth,
instead of undoing the door, which would have been but proper respect
to my place, on the contrary draws a strong bolt on the inside; and
this fastening, forsooth, has been placed on his chamber by Ursula's
command, that his slumbers might be suitably respected. I intimated to
him as I best could, that he must attend you without delay, and prepare
to accompany you to the Castle of Douglas; but he would not answer a
single word, save recommending to me patience, to which I was fain to
have recourse, as well as your archer, whom I found standing sentinel
before the door of the cell, and contenting himself with the assurance
of the sisters that there was no other passage by which Augustine could
make his escape. At length the door opens, and my young master presents
himself fully arrayed for his journey. The truth is, I think some fresh
attack of his malady has affected the youth; he may perhaps be
disturbed with some touch of hypochondria, or black choler, a species
of dotage of the mind, which is sometimes found concomitant with and
symptomatic of this disorder; but he is at present composed, and if
your worship chooses to see him, he is at your command."
"Call him hither," said the knight. And a considerable space of time
again elapsed ere the eloquence of the abbot, half chiding and half
soothing, prevailed on the lady, in her adopted character, to approach,
the parlour, in which at last she made her appearance, with a
countenance on which the marks of tears might still be discovered, and
a pettish sullenness, like that of a boy, or, with reverence, that of a
girl, who is determined upon taking her own way in any matter, and
equally resolved to give no reason for her doing so. Her hurried levee
had not prevented her attending closely to all the mufflings and
disguisings by which her pilgrim's dress was arranged, so as to alter
her appearance, and effectually disguise her sex. But as civility
prevented her wearing her large slouched hat, she necessarily exposed
her countenance more than in the open air; and though the knight beheld
a most lovely set of features, yet they were not such as were
inconsistent with the character she had adopted, and which she had
resolved upon maintaining to the last. She had, accordingly, mustered
up a degree of courage which was not natural to her, and which she
perhaps supported by hopes which her situation hardly admitted. So soon
as she found herself in the same apartment with De Valence, she assumed
a style of manners, bolder and more determined than she had hitherto
displayed.
"Your worship," she said, addressing him even before he spoke, "is a
knight of England, and possessed, doubtless, of the virtues which
become that noble station. I am an unfortunate lad, obliged, by reasons
which I am under the necessity of keeping secret, to travel in a
dangerous country, where I am suspected, without any just cause, of
becoming accessory to plots and conspiracies which are contrary to my
own interest, and which my very soul abhors; and which I might safely
abjure, by imprecating upon myself all the curses of our religion and
renouncing all its promises, if I were accessory to such designs, in
thought, word, or deed. Nevertheless, you, who will not believe my
solemn protestations, are about to proceed against me as a guilty
person, and in so doing I must warn you, Sir Knight, that you will
commit a great and cruel injustice."
"I shall endeavour to avoid that," said the knight, "by referring the
duty to Sir John de Walton, the governor, who will decide what is to be
done; in this case, my only duty will be to place you in his hands at
Douglas Castle."
"Must you do this?" said Augustine.
"Certainly," replied the knight, "or be answerable for neglecting my
duty."
"But if I become bound to answer your loss with a large sum of money, a
large tract of land" -
"No treasure, no land, - supposing such at your disposal," answered the
knight, "can atone for disgrace; and, besides, boy, how should I trust
to your warrant, were my avarice such as would induce me to listen to
such proposals?"
"I must then prepare to attend you instantly to the Castle of Douglas
and the presence of Sir John de Walton?" replied Augustine.
"Young man," answered De Valence, "there is no remedy, since if you
delay me longer, I must carry you thither by force."
"What will be the consequence to my father?" said the youth.
"That," replied the knight, "will depend exactly on the nature of your
confession and his; something you both have to say, as is evident from
the terms of the letter Sir John de Walton conveyed to you; and I
assure you, you were better to speak it out at once than to risk the
consequences of more delay. I can admit of no more trifling; and,
believe me, that your fate will be entirely ruled by your own frankness
and candour."
"I must prepare, then, to travel at your command," said the youth. "But
this cruel disease still hangs around me, and Abbot Jerome, whose
leech-craft is famous, will himself assure you that I cannot travel
without danger of my life; and that while I was residing in this
convent, I declined every opportunity of exercise which was offered me
by the kindness of the garrison at Hazelside, lest I might by mishap
bring the contagion among your men."
"The youth says right," said the abbot; "the archers and men-at-arms
have more than once sent to invite this lad to join in some of their
military games, or to amuse them, perhaps, with some of his minstrelsy;
but he has uniformly declined doing so; and, according to my belief, it
is the effects of this disorder which have prevented his accepting an
indulgence so natural to his age, and in so dull a place as the convent
of Saint Bride must needs seem to a youth bred up in the world."
"Do you then hold, reverend father," said Sir Aymer, "that there is
real danger in carrying this youth to the castle to-night, as I
proposed?"
"I conceive such danger," replied the abbot, "to exist, not only as it
may occasion the relapse of the poor youth himself, but as particularly
likely, no preparations having been made, to introduce the infection
among your honourable garrison; for it is in these relapses, more than
in the first violence of the malady, that it has been found most
contagious."
"Then," said the knight, "you must be content, my friend, to give a
share of your room to an archer, by way of sentinel."
"I cannot object," said Augustine, "provided my unfortunate vicinity
does not endanger the health of the poor soldier."