dogged and surly than otherwise, "methinks it were but fair to let me
know what accusation is brought against me. I need not tell you that
chivalry prescribes that a knight should not attack an enemy undefied."
"When you are a knight," answered Sir Aymer de Valence, "it will be
time enough for me to reckon with you upon the points of form due to
you by the laws of chivalry. Meanwhile, you had best let me know what
share you have had in playing off the martial phantom which sounded the
rebellious slogan of Douglas in the town of that name?"
"I know nothing of what you speak," answered the goodman of Hazelside.
"See then," said the knight, "that you do not engage yourself in the
affairs of other people, even if your conscience warrants that you are
in no danger from your own."
So saying, he rode off, not waiting any answer. The ideas which filled
his head were to the following purpose.
"I know not how it is, but one mist seems no sooner to clear away than.
we find ourselves engaged in another. I take it for granted that the
disguised damsel is no other than the goddess of Walton's private
idolatry, who has cost him and me so much trouble, and some certain,
degree of misunderstanding during these last weeks. By my honour! this
fair lady is right lavish in the pardon which she has so frankly
bestowed upon me, and if she is willing to be less complaisant to Sir
John de Walton, why then - And what then? - It surely does not infer that
she would receive me into that place in her affections, from which she
has just expelled De Walton? Nor, if she did, could I avail myself of a
change in favour of myself, at the expense of my friend and companion
in arms. It were a folly even to dream of a thing so improbable. But
with respect to the other business, it is worth serious consideration.
Yon sexton seems to have kept company with dead bodies, until he is
unfit for the society of the living; and as to that Dickson of
Hazelside, as they call him, there is no attempt against the English
during these endless wars, in which that man has not been concerned;
had my life depended upon it, I could not have prevented myself from
intimating my suspicions of him, let him take it as he lists." So
saying, the knight spurred his horse, and arriving at Douglas Castle
without farther adventure, demanded in a tone of greater cordiality
than he had of late used, whether he could be admitted to Sir John de
Walton, having something of consequence to report to him. He was
immediately ushered into an apartment, in which the governor was seated
at his solitary breakfast. Considering the terms upon which they had
lately stood, the governor of Douglas Dale was somewhat surprised at
the easy familiarity with which De Valence now approached him.
"Some uncommon news," said Sir John, rather gravely, "have brought me
the honour of Sir Aymer de Valence's company."
"It is," answered Sir Aymer, "what seems of high importance to your
interest, Sir John de Walton, and therefore I were to blame if I lost a
moment in communicating it."
"I shall be proud to profit by your intelligence," said Sir John de
Walton.
"And I too," said the young knight, "am both to lose the credit of
having penetrated a mystery which blinded Sir John de Walton. At the
same time, I do not wish to be thought capable of jesting with you,
which might be the case were I, from misapprehension, to give a false
key to this matter. With your permission, then, we will proceed thus:
We go together to the place of Bertram the minstrel's confinement. I
have in my possession a scroll from the young person who was intrusted
to the care of the Abbot Jerome; it is written in a delicate female
hand, and gives authority to the minstrel to declare the purpose which
brought them to this vale of Douglas."
"It must be as you say," said Sir John de Walton, "although can scarce
see occasion for adding so much form to a mystery which can be
expressed in such small compass."
Accordingly the two knights, the warder leading the way, proceeded to
the dungeon to which the minstrel had been removed.
CHAPTER THE THIRTEENTH.
The doors of the stronghold being undone, displayed a dungeon such as
in those days held victims hopeless of escape, but in which the
ingenious knave of modern times would scarcely have deigned to remain
many hours. The huge rings by which the fetters were soldered together,
and attached to the human body, were, when examined minutely, found to
be clenched together by riveting so very thin, that when rubbed with
corrosive acid, or patiently ground with a bit of sandstone, the hold
of the fetters upon each other might easily be forced asunder, and the
purpose of them entirely frustrated. The locks also, large, and
apparently very strong, were so coarsely made, that an artist of small
ingenuity could easily contrive to get the better of their fastenings
upon the same principle. The daylight found its way to the subterranean
dungeon only at noon, and through a passage which was purposely made
tortuous, so as to exclude the rays of the sun, while it presented no
obstacle to wind or rain. The doctrine that a prisoner was to be
esteemed innocent until he should be found guilty by his peers, was not
understood in those days of brute force, and he was only accommodated
with a lamp or other alleviation of his misery, if his demeanour was
quiet, and he appeared disposed to give his jailor no trouble by
attempting to make his escape. Such a cell of confinement was that of
Bertram, whose moderation of temper and patience had nevertheless
procured for him such mitigations of his fate as the warder could grant.
He was permitted to carry into his cell the old book, in the perusal of
which he found an amusement of his solitude, together with writing
materials, and such other helps towards spending his time as were
consistent with his abode in the bosom of the rock, and the degree of
information with which his minstrel craft had possessed him. He raised
his head from the table as the knights entered, while the governor
observed to the young knight: -
"As you seem to think yourself possessed of the secret of this prisoner,
I leave it to you, Sir Aymer de Valence, to bring it to light in the
manner which you shall judge most expedient. If the man or his son have
suffered unnecessary hardship, it shall be my duty to make amends -
which, I suppose, can be no very important matter."
Bertram looked up, and fixed his eyes full upon the governor, but read
nothing in his looks which indicated his being better acquainted than
before with the secret of his imprisonment. Yet, upon turning his eye
towards Sir Aymer, his countenance evidently lighted up, and the glance
which passed between them was one of intelligence.
"You have my secret, then," said he, "and you know who it is that
passes under the name of Augustine?"
Sir Aymer exchanged with him a look of acquiescence; while the eyes of
the governor glancing wildly from the prisoner to the knight of Valence,
exclaimed, -
"Sir Aymer de Valence, as you are belted knight and Christian man, as
you have honour to preserve on earth, and a soul to rescue after death,
I charge you to tell me the meaning of this mystery! It may be that you
conceive, with truth, that you have subject of complaint against me; -
If so, I will satisfy you as a knight may."
The minstrel spoke at the same moment.
"I charge this knight," he said, "by his vow of chivalry, that he do
not divulge any secret belonging to a person of honour and of character,
unless he has positive assurance that it is done entirely by that
person's own consent."
"Let this note remove your scruples," said Sir Aymer, putting the
scroll into the hands of the minstrel; "and for you, Sir John de Walton,
far from retaining the least feeling of any misunderstanding which may
have existed between us, I am disposed entirely to bury it in
forgetfulness, as having arisen out of a series of mistakes which no
mortal could have comprehended. And do not be offended, my dear Sir
John, when I protest, on my knightly faith, that I pity the pain which
I think this scroll is likely to give you, and that if my utmost
efforts can be of the least service to you in unravelling this tangled
skein, I will contribute them with as much earnestness as ever I did
aught in my life. This faithful minstrel will now see that he can have
no difficulty in yielding up a secret, which I doubt not, but for the
writing I have just put into his hands, he would have continued to keep
with unshaken fidelity."
Sir Aymer now placed in De Walton's hand a note, in which he had, ere
he left Saint Bride's convent, signified his own interpretation, of the
mystery; and the governor had scarcely read the name it contained,
before the same name was pronounced aloud by Bertram, who, at the same
moment, handed to the governor the scroll which he had received from
the Knight of Valence.
The white plume which floated over the knight's cap of maintenance,
which was worn as a headpiece within doors, was not more pale in
complexion than was the knight himself at the unexpected and surprising
information, that the lady who was, in chivalrous phrase, empress of
hia thoughts, and commander of his actions, and to whom, even in less
fantastic times, he must have owed the deepest gratitude for the
generous election which she had made in his favour, was the same person
whom he had threatened with personal violence, and subjected to
hardships and affronts which he would not willingly have bestowed even
upon the meanest of her sex.
Yet Sir John de Walton seemed at first scarcely to comprehend the
numerous ill consequences which might probably follow this unhappy
complication of mistakes. He took the paper from the minstrel's hand,
and while his eye, assisted by the lamp, wandered over the characters
without apparently their conveying any distinct impression to his
understanding, De Valence even became alarmed that he was about to lose
his faculties.
"For Heaven's sake, sir," he said, "be a man, and support with manly
steadiness these unexpected occurrences - I would fain think they will
reach to nothing else - which the wit of man could not have prevented.
This fair lady, I would fain hope, cannot be much hurt or deeply
offended by a train of circumstances, the natural consequence of your
anxiety to discharge perfectly a duty upon which must depend the
accomplishment of all the hopes she had permitted you to entertain. In
God's name, rouse up, sir; let it not be said, that an apprehended
frown of a fair lady hath damped to such a degree the courage of the
boldest knight in England; be what men have called you, 'Walton the
Unwavering;' in Heaven's name, let us at least see that the lady is
indeed offended, before we conclude that she is irreconcilably so. To
whose fault are we to ascribe the source of all these errors? Surely,
with all due respect, to the caprice of the lady herself, which has
engendered such a nest of mistakes. Think of it as a man, and as a
soldier. Suppose that you yourself, or I, desirous of proving the
fidelity of our sentinels, or for any other reason, good or bad,
attempted to enter this Dangerous Castle of Douglas without giving the
password to the warders, would we be entitled to blame those upon duty,
if, not knowing our persons, they manfully refused us entrance, made us
prisoners, and mishandled us while resisting our attempt, in terms of
the orders which we ourselves had imposed upon them? What is there that
makes a difference between such a sentinel and yourself, John de Walton,
in this curious affair, which, by Heaven! would rather form a gay
subject for the minstrelsy of this excellent bard, than the theme of a
tragic lay? Come! look not thus, Sir John de Walton; be angry, if you
will, with the lady who has committed such a piece of folly, or with me
who have rode up and down nearly all night on a fool's errand, and
spoiled my best horse, in absolute uncertainty how I shall get another
till my uncle of Pembroke and I shall be reconciled; or, lastly, if you
desire to be totally absurd in your wrath, direct it against this
worthy minstrel on account of his rare fidelity, and punish him for
that for which he better deserves a chain of gold. Let passion out, if
you will; but chase this desponding gloom from the brow of a man and a
belted knight."
Sir John de Walton made an effort to speak, and succeeded with some
difficulty.
"Aymer de Valence," he said, "in irritating a madman you do but sport
with your own life;" and then remained silent.
"I am glad you can say so much," replied his friend; "for I was not
jesting when I said I would rather that you were at variance with me,
than that you laid the whole blame on yourself. It would be courteous,
I think, to set this minstrel instantly at liberty. Meantime, for his
lady's sake, I will entreat him, in all honour, to be our guest till
the Lady Augusta de Berkely shall do us the same honour, and to assist
us in our search after her place of retirement. - Good minstrel," he
continued, "you hear what I say, and you will not, I suppose, be
surprised, that in all honour and kind usage, you find yourself
detained for a short space in this Castle of Douglas?"
"You seem, Sir Knight," replied the minstrel, "not so much to keep your
eye upon the right of doing what you should, as to possess the might of
doing what you would. I must necessarily be guided by your advice,
since you have the power to make it a command."
"And I trust," continued De Valence, "that when your mistress and you
again meet, we shall have the benefit of your intercession for any
thing which we may have done to displeasure her, considering that the
purpose of our action was exactly the reverse."
"Let me," said Sir John de Walton, "say a single word. I will offer
thee a chain of gold, heavy enough to bear down the weight of these
shackles, as a sign of regret for having condemned thee to suffer so
many indignities."
"Enough said, Sir John," said De Valence; "let us promise no more till
this good minstrel shall see some sign of performance. Follow me this
way, and I will tell thee in private of other tidings, which it is
important that you should know."
So saying, he withdrew De Walton from the dungeon, and sending for the
old knight, Sir Philip de Montenay, already mentioned, who acted as
seneschal of the castle, he commanded that the minstrel should be
enlarged from the dungeon, well looked to in other respects, yet
prohibited, though with every mark of civility, from leaving the castle
without a trusty attendant.
"And now, Sir John de Walton," he said, "methinks you are a little
churlish in not ordering me some breakfast, after I have been all night
engaged in your affairs; and a cup of muscadel would, I think, be no
bad induction to a full consideration of this perplexed matter."
"Thou knowest," answered De Walton, "that thou mayest call for what
thou wilt, provided always thou tellest me, without loss of time, what
else thou knowest respecting the will of the lady, against whom we have
all sinned so grievously - and I, alas, beyond hope of forgiveness!"
"Trust me, I hope," said the Knight of Valence, "the good lady bears me
no malice, as indeed she has expressly renounced any ill-will against
me. The words, you see, are as plain as you yourself may read - 'The
lady pardons poor Aymer de Valence, and willingly, for having been
involved in a mistake, to which she herself led the way; she herself will
at all times be happy to meet with him as an acquaintance, and never to
think farther of these few days' history, except as matter of mirth and
ridicule.' So it is expressly written and set down."
"Yes," replied Sir John de Walton, "but see you not that her offending
lover is expressly excluded from the amnesty granted to the lesser
offender? Mark you not the concluding paragraph?" He took the scroll
with a trembling hand, and read with a discomposed voice its closing
words. "It is even so: 'All former connexion must henceforth be at an
end between him and the supposed Augustine.' Explain to me how the
reading of these words is reconcilable to anything but their plain
sense of condemnation and forfeiture of contract, implying destruction
of the hopes of Sir John de Walton?"
"You are somewhat an older man than I, Sir Knight," answered De Valence,
"and I will grant, by far the wiser and more experienced; yet I will
uphold that there is no adopting the interpretation which you seem to
have affixed in your mind to this letter, without supposing the
preliminary, that the fair writer was distracted in her understanding,
- nay, never start, look wildly, or lay your hand on your sword, I do
not affirm this is the case. I say again, that no woman in her senses
would have pardoned a common acquaintance for his behaving to her with
unintentional disrespect and unkindness, during the currency of a
certain masquerade, and, at the same time, sternly and irrevocably
broke off with the lover to whom her troth was plighted, although his
error in joining in the offence was neither grosser nor more protracted
than that of the person indifferent to her love."
"Do not blaspheme," said Sir John do Walton; "and forgive me, if, in
justice to truth and to the angel whom I fear I have forfeited for ever,
I point out to you the difference which a maiden of dignity and of
feeling must make between an offence towards her, committed by an
ordinary acquaintance, and one of precisely the same kind offered by a
person who is bound by the most undeserved preference, by the most
generous benefits, and by every thing which can bind human feeling, to
think and reflect ere he becomes an actor in any case in which it is
possible for her to be concerned."
"Now, by mine honour," said Aymer de Valence, "I am glad to hear thee
make some attempt at reason, although it is but an unreasonable kind of
reason too, since its object is to destroy thine own hopes, and argue
away thine own chance of happiness; but if I have, in the progress of
this affair, borne me sometimes towards thee, as to give not only the
governor, but even the friend, some cause of displeasure, I will make
it up to thee now, John de Walton, by trying to convince thee in spite
of thine own perverse logic. But here comes the muscadel and the
breakfast; wilt thou take some refreshment; - or shall we go on without
the spirit of muscadel?"
"For Heaven's sake," replied De Walton, "do as thou wilt, so thou make
me clear of thy well-intended babble."
"Nay, thou shalt not brawl me out of my powers of argument," said De
Valence, laughing, and helping himself to a brimming cup of wine; "if
thou acknowledgest thyself conquered, I am contented to give the
victory to the inspiring strength of the jovial liquor."
"Do as thou listest," said De Walton, "but make an end of an argument
which thou canst not comprehend."
"I deny the charge," answered the younger knight, wiping his lips,
after having finished his draught; "and listen, Walton the Warlike, to
a chapter in the history of woman, in which thou art more unskilled
than I would wish thee to be. Thou canst not deny that, be it right or
wrong, the lady Augusta hath ventured more forward with you than is
usual upon the sea of affection; she boldly made thee her choice, while
thou wert as yet known to her only as a flower of English chivalry, -
faith, and I respect her for her frankness - but it was a choice, which
the more cold of her own sex might perhaps claim occasion to term rash
and precipitate. - Nay, be not, I pray thee, offended - I am far from
thinking or saying so; on the contrary, I will uphold with my lance,
her selection of John de Walton against the minions of a court, to be a
wise and generous choice, and her own behaviour as alike candid and
noble. But she herself is not unlikely to dread unjust misconstruction;
a fear of which may not improbably induce her, upon any occasion, to
seize some opportunity of showing an unwonted and unusual rigour
towards her lover, in order to balance her having extended towards him,
in the beginning of their intercourse, somewhat of an unusual degree of
frank encouragement. Nay, it might be easy for her lover so far to take
part against himself, by arguing as thou dost, when out of thy senses,
as to make it difficult for her to withdraw from an argument which he
himself was foolish enough to strengthen; and thus, like a maiden too
soon taken at her first nay-say, she shall perhaps be allowed no
opportunity of bearing herself according to her real feelings, or
retracting a sentence issued with consent of the party whose hopes it
destroys."
"I have heard thee, De Valence," answered the governor of Douglas Dale;
"nor is it difficult for me to admit, that these thy lessons may serve
as a chart to many a female heart, but not to that of Augusta de
Berkely. By my life, I say I would much sooner be deprived of the merit
of those few deeds of chivalry which thou sayest have procured for me
such enviable distinction, than I would act upon them with the
insolence, as if I said that my place in the lady's bosom was too
firmly fixed to be shaken even by the success of a worthier man, or by
my own gross failure in respect to the object of my attachment. No,
herself alone shall have power to persuade me that even goodness equal
to that of an interceding saint will restore me to the place in her
affections which I have most unworthily forfeited, by a stupidity only
to be compared to that of brutes."
"If you are so minded," said Aymer De Valence, "I have only one word
more - forgive me if I speak it peremptorily - the lady, as you say, and
say truly, must be the final arbitress in this question. My arguments
do not extend to insisting that you should claim her hand, whether she
herself will or no; but, to learn her determination, it is necessary
that you should find out where she is, of which I am unfortunately not
able to inform you."
"How! what mean you!" exclaimed the governor, who now only began to
comprehend the extent of his misfortune; "whither hath she fled? or
with whom?"
"She is fled, for what I know," said De Valence, "in search of a more
enterprising lover than one who is so willing to interpret every air of
frost as a killing blight to his hopes; perhaps she seeks the Black
Douglas, or some such hero of the Thistle, to reward with her lands,
her lordships, and beauty, those virtues of enterprise and courage, of
which John de Walton was at one time thought possessed. But, seriously,
events are passing around us of strange import. I saw enough last night,
on my way to Saint Bride's, to make me suspicious of every one. I sent
to you as a prisoner the old sexton of the church of Douglas. I found
him contumacious as to some enquiries which I thought it proper to
prosecute; but of this more at another time. The escape of this lady
adds greatly to the difficulties which encircle this devoted castle."
"Aymer de Valence," replied De Walton, in a solemn and animated tone,
"Douglas Castle shall be defended, as we have hitherto been able, with
the aid of heaven, to spread from its battlements the broad banner of
St. George. Come of me what lists during my life, I will die the
faithful lover of Augusta de Berkely, even although I no longer live as
her chosen knight. There are cloisters and hermitages" -
"Ay, marry are there," replied Sir Aymer; "and girdles of hemp,
moreover, and beads of oak; but all these we omit in our reckonings,
till we discover where the Lady Augusta is, and what she purposes to do
in this matter."
"You say well," replied De Walton; "let us hold counsel together by
what means we shall, if possible, discover the lady's too hasty retreat,
by which she has done me great wrong; I mean, if she supposed her
commands would not have been fully obeyed, had she honoured with them
the governor of Douglas Dale, or any who are under his command."
"Now," replied De Valence, "you again speak like a true son of chivalry.
With your permission I would summon this minstrel to our presence. His
fidelity to his mistress has been remarkable; and, as matters stand now,
we must take instant measures for tracing the place of her retreat."
CHAPTER THE FOURTEENTH.
The way is long, my children, long and rough
The moors are dreary, and the woods are dark;
But he that creeps from cradle on to grave,
Unskill'd save in the velvet course of fortune,
Hath miss'd the discipline of noble hearts.
OLD PLAY.
It was yet early in the day, when, after the Governor and De Valence
had again summoned Bertram to their councils, the garrison of Douglas
was mustered, and a number of small parties, in addition to those
already despatched by De Valence from Hazelside, were sent out to scour
the woods in pursuit of the fugitives, with strict injunctions to treat
them, if overtaken, with the utmost respect, and to obey their commands,
keeping an eye, however, on the place where they might take refuge. To
facilitate this result, some who were men of discretion were intrusted
with the secret who the supposed pilgrim and the fugitive nun really
were. The whole ground, whether forest or moorland, within many miles
of Douglas Castle, was covered and traversed by parties, whose anxiety
to detect the fugitives was equal to the reward for their safe recovery,
liberally offered by De Walton and De Valence. They spared not,
meantime, to make such enquiries in all directions as might bring to
light any machinations of the Scottish insurgents which might be on
foot in those wild districts, of which, as we have said before, De
Valence, in particular, entertained strong suspicions. Their
instructions were, in case of finding such, to proceed against the
persons engaged, by arrest and otherwise, in the most rigorous manner,
such as had been commanded by De Walton himself at the time when the
Black Douglas and his accomplices had been the principal objects of his
wakeful suspicions. These various detachments had greatly reduced the
strength of the garrison; yet, although numerous, alert, and despatched
in every direction, they had not the fortune either to fall on the
trace of the Lady of Berkely, or to encounter any party whatever of the
insurgent Scottish.
Meanwhile, our fugitives had, as we have seen, set out from the convent
of St. Bride under the guidance of a cavalier, of whom the Lady Augusta
knew nothing, save that he was to guide their steps in a direction
where they would not be exposed to the risk of being overtaken. At
length Margaret de Hautlieu herself spoke upon the subject.
"You have made no enquiry," she said, "Lady Augusta, whither you are
travelling, or under whose charge, although methinks it should much
concern you to know."
"Is it not enough for me to be aware," answered Lady Augusta, "that I
am travelling, kind sister, under the protection of one to whom you
yourself trust as to a friend; and why need I be anxious for any
farther assurance of my safety?"
"Simply," said Margaret, de Hautlieu, "because the persons with whom,
from national as well as personal circumstances, I stand connected, are
perhaps not exactly the protectors to whom you, lady, can with such
perfect safety intrust yourself."
"In what sense," said the Lady Augusta, "do you use these words?"
"Because," replied Margaret de Hautlieu, "the Bruce, the Douglas,
Malcolm Fleming, and others of that party, although they are incapable
of abusing such an advantage to any dishonourable purpose, might
nevertheless, under a strong temptation, consider you as an hostage
thrown into their hands by Providence, through whom they might meditate
the possibility of gaining some benefit to their dispersed and
dispirited party."
"They might make me," answered the Lady Augusta, "the subject of such a
treaty, when I was dead, but, believe me, never while I drew vital
breath. Believe me also that, with whatever pain, shame, or agony, I
would again deliver myself up to the power of De Walton, yes, I would
rather put myself in his hands - what do I say? _his_! - I would
rather surrender myself to the meanest archer of my native country,
than combine with its foes to work mischief to merry England - -my own
England - that country which is the envy of every other country, and the
pride of all who can term themselves her natives!"
"I thought that your choice might prove so," said Lady Margaret; "and
since you have honoured me with your confidence, gladly would I provide
for your liberty by placing you as nearly in the situation which you
yourself desire, as my poor means have the power of accomplishing. In
half an hour we shall be in danger of being taken by the English
parties, which will be instantly dispersed in every direction in quest
of us. Now, take notice, lady, I know a place in which I can take
refuge with my friends and countrymen, those gallant Scots, who have
never even in this dishonoured age bent the knee to Baal. For their
honour, their nicety of honour, I could in other days have answered
with my own; but of late, I am bound to tell you, they have been put to
those trials by which the most generous affections may be soured, and
driven to a species of frenzy, the more wild that it is founded
originally on the noblest feelings. A person who feels himself deprived
of his natural birthright, denounced, exposed to confiscation and death,
because he avouches the rights of his king, the cause of his country,
ceases on his part to be nice or precise in estimating the degree of
retaliation which it is lawful for him to exercise in the requital of
such injuries; and, believe me, bitterly should I lament having guided
you into a situation which you might consider afflicting or degrading."
"In a word then," said the English lady, "what is it you apprehend I am
like to suffer at the hands of your friends, whom I must be excused for
terming rebels?"
"If," said the sister Ursula, "_your_ friends, whom I should term
oppressors and tyrants, take our land and our lives, seize our castles,
and confiscate our property, you must confess, that the rough laws of
war indulge _mine_ with the privilege of retaliation. There can be
no fear, that such men, under any circumstances, would ever exercise
cruelty or insult upon a lady of your rank; but it is another thing to
calculate that they will abstain from such means of extorting advantage
from your captivity as are common in warfare. You would not, I think,
wish to be delivered up to the English, on consideration of Sir John de
Walton surrendering the Castle of Douglas to its natural lord; yet,
were you in the hands of the Bruce or Douglas, although I can answer
for your being treated with all the respect which they have the means
of showing, yet I own, their putting you at such a ransom might be by
no means unlikely."
"I would sooner die," said the Lady Berkely, "than have my name mixed
up in a treaty so disgraceful; and De Walton's reply to it would, I am
certain, be to strike the head from the messenger, and throw it from
the highest tower of Douglas Castle."
"Where, then, lady, would you now go," said sister Ursula, "were the
choice in your power?"
"To my own castle," answered Lady Augusta, "where, if necessary, I
could be defended even against the king himself, until I could place at
least my person under the protection of the Church."
"In that case," replied Margaret de Hautlieu, "my power of rendering
you assistance is only precarious, yet it comprehends a choice which I
will willingly submit to your decision, notwithstanding I thereby
subject the secrets of my friends to some risk of being discovered and
frustrated. But the confidence which you have placed in me, imposes on
me the necessity of committing to you a like trust. It rests with you,
whether you will proceed with me to the secret rendezvous of the
Douglas and his friends, which I may be blamed for making known, and
there take your chance of the reception which you may encounter, since
I cannot warrant you of any thing save honourable treatment, so far as
your person is concerned; or if you should think this too hazardous,
make the best of your way at once for the Border; in which last case I
will proceed as far as I can with you towards the English line, and
then leave you to pursue your journey, and to obtain a guard and a
conductor among your own countrymen. Meantime, it will be well for me
if I escape being taken, since the abbot would not shrink at inflicting
upon me the death due to an apostate nun."
"Such cruelty, my sister, could hardly be inflicted upon one who had
never taken the religious vows, and who still, according to the laws of
the Church, had a right to make a choice between the world and the
veil."
"Such choice as they gave their gallant victims," said Lady Margaret,
"who have fallen into English hands during these merciless wars, - such
choice as they gave to Wallace, the Champion of Scotland, - such as they
gave to Hay, the gentle and the free, - to Sommerville, the flower of
chivalry, - and to Athol, the blood relation of King Edward himself - all
of whom were as much traitors, under which name they were executed, as
Margaret de Hautlieu is an apostate nun, and subject to the rule of the
cloister."
She spoke with some eagerness, for she felt as if the English lady
imputed to her more coldness than she was, in such doubtful
circumstances, conscious of manifesting.
"And after all," she proceeded, "you, Lady Augusta de Berkely, what do
you venture, if you run the risk of falling into the hands of your
lover? What dreadful risk do you incur? You need not, methinks, fear
being immured between four walls, with a basket of bread and a cruise
of water, which, were I seized, would be the only support allowed to me
for the short space that my life would be prolonged. Nay, even were you
to be betrayed to the rebel Scots, as you call them, a captivity among
the hills, sweetened by the hope of deliverance, and rendered tolerable
by all the alleviations which the circumstances of your captors allowed
them the means of supplying, were not, I think, a lot so very hard to
endure."
"Nevertheless," answered the Lady of Berkely, "frightful enough it must
have appeared to me, since, to fly from such, I threw myself upon your
guidance."
"And, whatever you think or suspect," answered the novice, "I am as
true to you as ever was one maiden to another; and as sure as ever
sister Ursula was true to her vows, although they were never completed,
so will I be faithful to your secret, even at the risk of betraying my
own."
"Hearken, lady!" she said, suddenly pausing, "do you hear that?"
The sound to which she alluded was the same imitation of the cry of an
owlet, which the lady had before heard under the walls of the convent.
"These sounds," said Margaret de Hautlieu, "announce that one is near,
more able than I am to direct us in this matter. I must go forward and
speak with him; and this man, our guide, will remain by you for a
little space; nor, when he quits your bridle, need you wait for any
other signal, but ride forward on the woodland path, and obey the
advice and directions which will be given you."
"Stay! stay! sister Ursula!" cried the Lady de Berkely - "abandon me not
in this moment of uncertainty and distress!"
"It must be, for the sake of both," returned Margaret de Hautlieu. "I
also am in uncertainty - I also am in distress - and patience and
obedience are the only virtues which can save us both."
So saying, she struck her horse with the riding rod, and moving briskly
forward, disappeared among the tangled boughs of a thicket. The Lady of
Berkely would have followed her companion, but the cavalier who
attended them laid a strong hand upon the bridle of her palfrey, with a
look which implied that he would not permit her to proceed in that
direction. Terrified, therefore, though she could not exactly state a
reason why, the Lady of Berkely remained with her eyes fixed upon the
thicket, instinctively, as it were, expecting to see a band of English
archers, or rugged Scottish insurgents, issue from its tangled skirts,
and doubtful which she should have most considered as the objects of
her terror. In the distress of her uncertainty, she again attempted to
move forward, but the stern check which her attendant again bestowed
upon her bridle, proved sufficiently that in restraining her wishes,
the stranger was not likely to spare the strength which he certainly
possessed. At length, after some ten minutes had elapsed, the cavalier
withdrew his hand from her bridle, and pointing with his lance towards
the thicket, through which there winded a narrow, scarce visible path,
seemed to intimate to the lady that her road lay in that direction, and
that he would no longer prevent her following it.
"Do you not go with me?" said the lady, who, having been accustomed to
this man's company since they left the convent, had by degrees come to
look upon him as a sort of protector. He, however, gravely shook his
head, as if to excuse complying with a request, which it was not in his
power to grant; and turning his steed in a different direction, retired
at a pace which soon carried him from her sight. She had then no
alternative but to take the path of the thicket, which had been
followed by Margaret de Hautlieu, nor did she pursue it long before
coming in sight of a singular spectacle. The trees grew wider as the
lady advanced, and when she entered the thicket, she perceived that,
though hedged in as it were by an enclosure of copsewood, it was in the
interior altogether occupied by a few of the magnificent trees, such as
seemed to have been the ancestors of the forest, and which, though few
in number, were sufficient to overshade all the unoccupied ground, by
the great extent of their complicated branches. Beneath one of these
lay stretched something of a grey colour, which, as it drew itself
together, exhibited the figure of a man sheathed in armour, but
strangely accoutred, and in a manner so bizarre, as to indicate some of
the wild fancies peculiar to the knights of that period. His armour was
ingeniously painted, so as to represent a skeleton; the ribs being
constituted by the corselet and its back-piece. The shield represented
an owl with its wings spread, a device which was repeated upon the
helmet, which appeared to be completely covered by an image of the same
bird of ill omen. But that which was particularly calculated to excite
surprise in the spectator, was the great height and thinness of the
figure, which, as it arose from the ground, and placed itself in an
erect posture, seemed rather to resemble an apparition in the act of
extricating itself from the grave, than that of an ordinary man rising
upon his feet. The horse, too, upon which the lady rode, started back
and snorted, either at the sudden change of posture of this ghastly
specimen of chivalry, or disagreeably affected by some odour which
accompanied his presence. The lady herself manifested some alarm, for
although she did not utterly believe she was in the presence of a super
natural being, yet, among all the strange half-frantic disguises of
chivalry this was assuredly the most uncouth which she had ever seen;
and, considering how often the knights of the period pushed their