CHAPTER XLVIII.

[Contents]CHAPTER XLVIII.The Departure from the Castle of Tarnawa—The Alarm of War.The morning had not yet dawned when the court-yard of the Castle re-echoed to the tramp of the mettled steeds of the Lord Welles and the English knights, and their numerous retinue. The gay caparisons of the men and horses, and the gaudily embroidered banners they carried, flaunted and fluttered in vain amid the raw, grey, and chilling light that quenched their glittering lustre, and left them but meagrely visible. A body of Scottish lances, commanded by several trusty officers, stood ready to march with them as a guard, and the troop was of such strength as might overawe any undue curiosity they might display, as well as do them honour, or protect them from injury or insolence during their march through Scotland. The Earl of Moray was on foot to do them the parting civilities of a host.“Forget not London Bridge,” cried a loud voice from the window of a high turret that overlooked the court-yard.The Lord Welles and his knights were already in their saddles. They twisted their necks with some difficulty, so as to have a view upwards, and there they beheld the hairy bosom and sternly-comic features of Sir William de Dalzell, who, in his chemise and bonnet de nuit, had thrust his head and shoulders forth from a window.“Fear not,” cried the Lord Welles; “the meeting shall not fail on the side of England.“Nor of Scotland neither,” replied Dalzell, “if so be that fourfooted beasts can be had to carry our bodies to the muddy banks of thy stinking Thames. I bid thee bon voyage, my Lord, though, by St. Andrew, I envy thee not thine early morning’s march; and so I’ll to my couch, and court the gentle influence of Morpheus for some hour or twain, for contraire to all due course of nature, I see it threatens to snow.”With these words he threw into the air two large handfuls[334]of feather-downs, and instantly drew himself in. The Lord Welles was half disposed to take the matter up as an insult; but the Earl of Moray, laughing good-humouredly as the artificial snow descended on the group, soon pacified his excited indignation.“Nay, mind him not, my Lord,” said he—“no one among us minds the jest of Sir William de Dalzell; and if we did, perdie, we should gain little by the trial, for we should only bring more of his humorous conceits on our heads. His wit, how rude soever it may seem, hath no meaning of harm or insult in it.”The Earl allowed the Lord Welles and his knights to be some time gone ere he began to summon his people about him, and to issue his orders for an immediate march. Sir William de Dalzell was the first of the Scottish knights, his guests, who appeared armed cap-a-pie in the court-yard, where the bustle of the foregoing morning was soon more than renewed. Two or three hundred good men of the Earl’s followers began to assemble, with their horses and arms, in obedience to the summons which had been secretly sent through the population of the district during the night. The rumour of the approaching war spread from mouth to mouth, and rude jokes and laughter followed its propagation, until the joyous clamour, becoming louder and louder, began at last to swell till the welkin was rent with the bursting shouts of the men-at-arms and soldiery, who rejoiced at the prospect of having something more serious than a tourney to do with.Sir Patrick Hepborne sprang from his couch, and began to busy himself for his departure. As he moved across the floor, his naked foot struck against something that felt like the head of a nail, and was slightly wounded by it. He stooped to ascertain what it was, when, much to his surprise, he discovered a ring, with a beautiful emerald set in it, that had slipped into a crevice between the planks, so as to leave the stone sticking up. He immediately recognized it as having been worn by the page Maurice de Grey. It was of beautifully wrought gold, and, after a more minute examination, he discovered some Gothic characters within its circle, which he read thus—Change never,But love everThine Eleanore de Selby.At the very name of Eleanore de Selby, Sir Patrick’s heart beat quicker. He had no doubt that the jewel had dropped[335]from the finger of the page, probably the morning he left Tarnawa. He had already resolved to keep it carefully, in remembrance of the boy; but the legend seemed to prove it to have been a gift to Maurice de Grey from his cousin the Lady Eleanore de Selby; and the conviction that it had once been hers, all unworthy as she was, imparted to it a tenfold value, which he in vain attempted to struggle against. It seemed to have appeared miraculously to warn him never to forget her, and he resolved to treasure it as a relic of one who could never be his.Meanwhile the court-yard resounded with the neighing of steeds and the din of arms, and the trumpets and bugles were heard to strike shrilly on the Castle walls, till its very turrets seemed to thrill with their hoarse clangour. It was chiefly thronged by some of the same knights, and some of the same esquires, pages, lacqueys, and steeds, whose painted surcoats of a thousand dies, whose armour glittering with gold and gems, and whose gorgeous attire and furniture, had reflected the rays of the sunrise of the previous morning. But the new-born orb of this day looked upon them in another guise. Though by no means devoid of splendour, what they now wore was more adapted for use than for ornament, and their very countenances displayed more of the fury of joy, and had put on an air of greater sternness, that sorted strangely with their uncouth jeers and laughter. The number of spearmen, bowmen, pole-axe-men, and men-at-arms of all descriptions, was now much larger; and in addition to this variety of the motley crowd, there were several horse litters in attendance, and numerous batt and sumpter horses loading with the lighter baggage, whilst at the Castle gate appeared a small train of wains and wainmen, who were receiving the heavier articles that were to be transported.One of the most active men in the midst of the bustle was Rory Spears, who, with a morion on his head, and a back and breast-plate donned instead of his fisherman’s coat, was busily occupied assisting in and superintending the loading of the baggage.“Father,” said his daughter Katherine to him, as she at last obtained an opportunity of addressing him, whilst at the same time her eyes wandered to the adjacent spot, where Squire Sang was engaged in getting Sir Patrick Hepborne’s party in order; “would I could wend with thee, father!”“Hey!” exclaimed Rory, turning suddenly round upon her, and at the same time poising a large package on his broad[336]shoulder, and keeping it there with one hand, whilst with the other he brandished his gaud-clip, with singular energy of action; “what ails thee, lass? Is the wench wud, think ye? Wouldst thou to the wars, sayest thou? Na, na, Kate; the camp be nae fit place for sike like as thee, I trow. What, expose thee, with all thy leddy learning and madame ’haviour, to be the hourly butt for the ribald jests of the guards, and the boozing companions of the sultering huts! By my fackins, that would be it indeed. Na, na! stay thee at home, lassie, and look to the Countess, and thy new young leddy; ay, and thy mother Alice, and the auld woman in theBurghalswa; and when I come back, my winsome grouse-pout, I’ll bring thee some bonny-waully frae the wars. We shall ha’ spulzie to pick and choose amang, I rauckon.” So saying, he threw his right arm, gaud-clip and all, around his daughter’s waist, and kissing her heartily and with much affection, hastened off with his burden.He was no sooner gone, than Mortimer Sang, seizing one moment from the bustle of his occupation, strode across to where Katherine was standing, gazing in silent, abstracted, and melancholy guise, towards the pile of baggage heaped up on the ground, which her father’s powerful arms had been rapidly diminishing. With the corner of her eye she marked the squire’s approach; but the fulness of her heart told her that she dared not look up, lest it should run over. Sang stood for some moments absorbed in contemplation of her, his eyes rapidly feeding his passion, and his passion slowly filling his eyes.“Mrs. Katherine,” said he at length, “ahem! Mrs. Katherine. Of a truth, it is a bitter and ill-favoured thing to be compelled to part with those with whom we have been happy. Verily, ’twas but yestre’en that you and I were right blithe together, and by this e’en there will be many miles atween us—ay, and who can tell, for a matter of that, whether it may ever again please Heaven to bring us together for even one such jolly evening—Heigho!”Katherine could stand this no longer, but giving way to a burst of grief, hid her eyes in her apron, and being too much agitated to speak, and too much shocked at this her involuntary disclosure of her attachment to the squire, she ran off and disappeared into the Castle.Sang brushed the mists from his eye-lids with the back of his hand, that his eyes might follow the fair vision as it flew. A Gothic doorway received it. He heaved up a sigh, that rose from the bottom of his heart, and again sunk heavily to the[337]abyss whence it was raised, and stood for some moments gazing at the black void that no longer possessed her figure. Again his eyes were dimmed with moisture, again he cleared them, and again he sighed; and casting one look towards his men, who were standing idle in consequence of his absence, and another to the doorway, he seemed to stand fixed between the equal attractions of duty on the one hand and love on the other. A confused and half-smothered laugh roused him from his dream. It proceeded from the troopers and lacqueys of his party, who were all regarding him, and nodding and winking to each other. Stung with an immediate sense of the ludicrous appearance he must have presented his men, the balance of his will was overthrown at once, and he sprang off to rate them for their idleness.“What ho, my masters, meseems as if ye had lost your main-spring, that ye stand so idle. By the bones of the blessed St. Baldrid, but I will baste your lazy ribs with my lance-shaft, an ye stand staring in that fashion; by all that is good I will make kettle-drums of yere bodies. Ha! I’ll warrant me I shall alter your music, ay, and change these jokes and that laughter of yours into grinnings that shall make your fortunes at e’er a fair in Christendom. Go to, bestir yourselves, knaves.” And following up this with a few well-directed hints of a more substantial description, laid across the shoulders and backs of those whom he conceived to be most deserving of his chastisement, they were all as busy as ants in a moment.“Master Spears,” said Sang to Rory, as he passed him accidentally, “it erketh me to learn that thou goest not with us.”“Not ganging with thee!” exclaimed Rory, with an expression of countenance partaking partly of surprise at the question, partly of doubt whether it was put seriously or in joke, and partly of the pleased anticipation of the proud triumph he was about to enjoy when he should have breath to pour forth his answer; “not ganging with thee, Master Sang! By St. Lowry, but I am at a loss to fortake thy meaning. What wouldst thou be at? Dost thou mean to say that I wend not with my Lord the Yearl? If thou dost, by’r lackins, but thou art as sore wide o’ the mark as if thou hadst shot blindfold. I’d have thee to know, Sir Squire,” continued Rory, raising himself up to his full height, sticking his left arm akimbo, and thrusting out his right to its utmost horizontal extent, his hand at the same time resting on the hook of his gaud-clip, the shaft of which was pointed to the earth, “I’d have thee to know, my[338]most worthy friend, Master Mortimer, and be it known to thee, with all the due submission and respect the which I do bear thee, that thy master, Sir Patrick, mought no more take the field withouten thee, than my master, the noble Yearl of Moray, would get into his saddle till he saw me at his back. Trust me, though I cannot ride tilting as thou dost, nor loup barriers, nor gallop after runaway Gogs, Magogs, and Goliaths of Gath, in armour, as thou mayest, I can push as good a thrust with a lance, when I take a grup o’t in real yearnest, against a chield that may be ettling to do me the like favour, as I can yerk out this same gaud-clip i’ my hand here, again a rae or ane otter beast. Na, na—the Yearl gang to the wars withouten me! No possible.”“Nay, as to its being possible, Master Spears,” replied Sang, folding his arms across his breast with a waggish air, “trust me, I can assure thee of the fact, seeing I did hear the Earl say to his esquire that thou wert to tarry at Tarnawa, to wait on a young English damsel, who might lack thy protection for a certain journey she hath in contemplation.”“Ha!” exclaimed Spears, who had stood in utter dismay as Sang was speaking; “art thou sickerly assured of what thou sayest, Squire Mortimer? My faith, things be come to ane queer pass indeed, sin’ they are gawin to transmew rough Rory Spears into a squire of dames. They will, nae doot, make a tire-woman of him ere it be lang. But, by my troth, I ken mair aboot mewing of hawks than mutching of maidens, and there is no sweet essence, oil, or unguent to me like the guff o’ a wolf, a tod, or a brock. Aweel-aweel, the Yearl’s wull sail be my wull; but this I will say, though it may be I should not, that if ever it gaed contraire to the grain wi’ me to do his bidding, by St. Lowry, now is the very time. But what maun be maun be—that’s a’ I can say till’t.” So shouldering his gaud-clip, he slowly and sullenly retired into the Castle, his utter disappointment and mortification being but ill concealed by his drooping head, and his hair that hung loose about his face from under his morion.Rory sought his Lord, and, notwithstanding the bustle of business in which the Earl was immersed, he succeeded in obtaining an interview with him, when, to his indescribable horror, he discovered that all that Sang had told him was correct. His grudge at his daughter’s present service now grew into a dislike to her whom she served, who, besides her crime of being an Englishwoman, no light one in his eyes, had also to answer for his present humiliation. The Earl paid him some[339]handsome compliments on his fidelity, his good conduct, and his valour, the possession of which qualities had occasioned his selection as the person to be left at Tarnawa, to be in readiness for the honourable and delicate piece of duty which might be perchance required of him. But even these high commendations from the quarter most valued by him were insufficient to make amends for the mortification he felt at his disappointment, nor could they season the proposed duty so as to make it palatable to him.“Aweel-aweel, my Lord Yearl of Moray, thy wull sall be my wull,” was all that his Lordship could extract from Rory Spears.After Mortimer Sang had arranged everything about the baggage of his party, and got the men and horses in proper order for the march, he took the opportunity of stealing away from them for a few moments, with the hope of obtaining a sight of Katherine Spears, whom he now discovered to be, even more than he had ever supposed, the ruling magnet of his heart. He found her drowned in tears.“Fair Katherine,” said he as he approached her with the utmost delicacy and tenderness, “why art thou thus grief-by-woxen? Knowest thou not that thy father tarrieth with thee at Tarnawa? Dost thou not already know that he goeth not with the host?”“Yea, Sir Squire,” sobbed Katherine, hastily drying her eyes at the sound of his voice, and vainly endeavouring to wipe away all traces of her sorrow; “yea, I did so learn this morning from my lady.”“For whom grievest thou, then, fair maiden?” demanded Sang. “Surely thou canst not be so oppressed at thoughts of the Earl’s departure?”“Nay, as to that, no,” replied the artless girl. “It may be I shall partake in the woe of my Lady Countess. But I weep not for him. Nay, I weep not for any one now.”Mrs. Katherine spoke the truth. She certainly did not weep at that particular moment, but the exertion it cost her to restrain her tears becoming much more than she was equal to, their accumulation was too powerful to be withstood, and, overwhelming every dam and barrier that maidenly prudence and propriety had raised to confine them, they burst forth more violently than ever, and poor Katherine sobbed aloud as if her heart would have broken. If there were still any remains of resolution about that of the squire, it melted at once like the snow-wreath that lies in the direct course of some wide and resistless deluge of[340]waters, which, as it is dissolved, mingles itself with and swells the very flood that creates its dissolution. He blubbered like an infant.“Lovely Katherine,” said he, sitting down beside her, and taking her hand with the utmost respect and tenderness—“most beauteous Mrs. Spears—my loveliest of all damsels, be composed, be comforted, I beseech thee; my dearest Katherine, my love, my only love, be composed and tell me—ah, tell, I entreat thee, whether I have any share in these precious drops? Tell me thou weepest for my departure, and those liquid diamonds that fall on my hand will be more prized by me than the purest gems that ever came from the East. Tell me but that I shall carry thy heart with me when I go, and I will leave thee mine in exchange for it, and swear on the honour and faith of a trusty esquire, to be thine, and thine only, for ever. What is glory, what is renown, what is the exalted rank of knighthood itself, without the possession of her we love? Say but thou wilt love me, sweet Katherine, and, when the war is at an end, I will return to claim thy hand, were it from the uttermost part of the earth. Say, do my hopes deceive me, or am I in very truth happy in being beloved by thee?”Katherine’s paroxysm of grief had been partially arrested, almost from the moment that Squire Mortimer had taken her hand so kindly, and begun to speak. She quickly became more composed as he went on; her cheeks became suffused with blushes, and showed beneath her tears like roses after a shower; smiles soon afterwards came to play over them like the sunbeams over the fresh and fragrant flowers; and, by the time that Mr. Sang had finished, the maiden’s confusion, rather than her indistinct murmurs, gave the esquire all the satisfaction he could have wished. They swore eternal fidelity to each other, and, after a short and sweet conversation, and an exchange of some little love-tokens had taken place between them, they separated, to attend to their respective avocations.By this time all was in order for the march. Already had several of the nobles and knights departed independently from the Castle; and those who remained, being of the Earl’s kinsmen or connexions, were to guide their motions by his. He resolved to begin his journey immediately, being anxious to accomplish several miles of way ere the sun was yet risen to the height of his fury. The trumpets sounded; the clangour stirred up the hearts of both men and steeds, and they expressed their joy by stunning shouts and repeated neighings. But their shrill brazen voices were a death-knell to the departing joy of many[341]a soft bosom that sighed within the Castle, and to none more than to that of Katherine Spears. Her nerves were subjected to no fresh trial of resolution, for the esquire’s absence from his party, at the moment of starting, would have been inadmissible.The trumpet brayed aloud, for the third time, its harsh summons, and the court-yard rang as the mailed horsemen leaped into their steel-cased saddles. The Countess of Moray was on the terrace with her maidens, waving many a sighing farewell to her gallant lord. The Earl gave the word, and, in company with his brothers-in-law the Earls of Fife and Caithness, his brother the Earl of Dunbar, the Earl of Douglas, Sir David Lindsay, Sir John Halyburton, the Lord of Dirleton, Sir Patrick Hepborne, and others, he rode forth at the Castle gate, followed by the whole column of march.The troops which he headed were but a small portion of those whose attendance he could command as vassals, being only such horsemen as were ever ready to assemble at a moment’s notice, to attend him on any sudden emergency. They now served him as a guard of honour in his journey to the King, and the charge of summoning and mustering the great body of his feudal force, and of despatching them under their proper officers, to join him where he might afterwards direct, was left to his Countess to carry into effect. The cavalcade filed off with a noise like thunder through the gateway, and part of them forming upon the natural glacis beyond, halted until the train of baggage wains had fallen into the line immediately in rear of the horse litters, in which the ladies travelled, and then they closed into the rear of the line of march. The whole moved on slowly through the little hamlet, now silent and deserted, except by its weeping women, its old men, and its children, and then wound into the depth of the forest. An opening among the trees gave them again a view of Tarnawa, and many was the head that turned involuntarily round to look once more at its grey walls, some of them, perhaps, though they little thought so, for the last time.Sir Patrick lifted up his eyes, raised his beaver, and turned them towards the Castle. He beheld a bevy of white figures grouped together on a bartizan, and white scarfs or handkerchiefs were waving. He smiled in secret as the imagination crossed him that the motion of these was like that which had flashed upon his eyes from the keep of Norham. But his fancy had dreamt so, and the vision having been once engendered, continued to haunt him as he rode at the head of his small troop.[342]

[Contents]CHAPTER XLVIII.The Departure from the Castle of Tarnawa—The Alarm of War.The morning had not yet dawned when the court-yard of the Castle re-echoed to the tramp of the mettled steeds of the Lord Welles and the English knights, and their numerous retinue. The gay caparisons of the men and horses, and the gaudily embroidered banners they carried, flaunted and fluttered in vain amid the raw, grey, and chilling light that quenched their glittering lustre, and left them but meagrely visible. A body of Scottish lances, commanded by several trusty officers, stood ready to march with them as a guard, and the troop was of such strength as might overawe any undue curiosity they might display, as well as do them honour, or protect them from injury or insolence during their march through Scotland. The Earl of Moray was on foot to do them the parting civilities of a host.“Forget not London Bridge,” cried a loud voice from the window of a high turret that overlooked the court-yard.The Lord Welles and his knights were already in their saddles. They twisted their necks with some difficulty, so as to have a view upwards, and there they beheld the hairy bosom and sternly-comic features of Sir William de Dalzell, who, in his chemise and bonnet de nuit, had thrust his head and shoulders forth from a window.“Fear not,” cried the Lord Welles; “the meeting shall not fail on the side of England.“Nor of Scotland neither,” replied Dalzell, “if so be that fourfooted beasts can be had to carry our bodies to the muddy banks of thy stinking Thames. I bid thee bon voyage, my Lord, though, by St. Andrew, I envy thee not thine early morning’s march; and so I’ll to my couch, and court the gentle influence of Morpheus for some hour or twain, for contraire to all due course of nature, I see it threatens to snow.”With these words he threw into the air two large handfuls[334]of feather-downs, and instantly drew himself in. The Lord Welles was half disposed to take the matter up as an insult; but the Earl of Moray, laughing good-humouredly as the artificial snow descended on the group, soon pacified his excited indignation.“Nay, mind him not, my Lord,” said he—“no one among us minds the jest of Sir William de Dalzell; and if we did, perdie, we should gain little by the trial, for we should only bring more of his humorous conceits on our heads. His wit, how rude soever it may seem, hath no meaning of harm or insult in it.”The Earl allowed the Lord Welles and his knights to be some time gone ere he began to summon his people about him, and to issue his orders for an immediate march. Sir William de Dalzell was the first of the Scottish knights, his guests, who appeared armed cap-a-pie in the court-yard, where the bustle of the foregoing morning was soon more than renewed. Two or three hundred good men of the Earl’s followers began to assemble, with their horses and arms, in obedience to the summons which had been secretly sent through the population of the district during the night. The rumour of the approaching war spread from mouth to mouth, and rude jokes and laughter followed its propagation, until the joyous clamour, becoming louder and louder, began at last to swell till the welkin was rent with the bursting shouts of the men-at-arms and soldiery, who rejoiced at the prospect of having something more serious than a tourney to do with.Sir Patrick Hepborne sprang from his couch, and began to busy himself for his departure. As he moved across the floor, his naked foot struck against something that felt like the head of a nail, and was slightly wounded by it. He stooped to ascertain what it was, when, much to his surprise, he discovered a ring, with a beautiful emerald set in it, that had slipped into a crevice between the planks, so as to leave the stone sticking up. He immediately recognized it as having been worn by the page Maurice de Grey. It was of beautifully wrought gold, and, after a more minute examination, he discovered some Gothic characters within its circle, which he read thus—Change never,But love everThine Eleanore de Selby.At the very name of Eleanore de Selby, Sir Patrick’s heart beat quicker. He had no doubt that the jewel had dropped[335]from the finger of the page, probably the morning he left Tarnawa. He had already resolved to keep it carefully, in remembrance of the boy; but the legend seemed to prove it to have been a gift to Maurice de Grey from his cousin the Lady Eleanore de Selby; and the conviction that it had once been hers, all unworthy as she was, imparted to it a tenfold value, which he in vain attempted to struggle against. It seemed to have appeared miraculously to warn him never to forget her, and he resolved to treasure it as a relic of one who could never be his.Meanwhile the court-yard resounded with the neighing of steeds and the din of arms, and the trumpets and bugles were heard to strike shrilly on the Castle walls, till its very turrets seemed to thrill with their hoarse clangour. It was chiefly thronged by some of the same knights, and some of the same esquires, pages, lacqueys, and steeds, whose painted surcoats of a thousand dies, whose armour glittering with gold and gems, and whose gorgeous attire and furniture, had reflected the rays of the sunrise of the previous morning. But the new-born orb of this day looked upon them in another guise. Though by no means devoid of splendour, what they now wore was more adapted for use than for ornament, and their very countenances displayed more of the fury of joy, and had put on an air of greater sternness, that sorted strangely with their uncouth jeers and laughter. The number of spearmen, bowmen, pole-axe-men, and men-at-arms of all descriptions, was now much larger; and in addition to this variety of the motley crowd, there were several horse litters in attendance, and numerous batt and sumpter horses loading with the lighter baggage, whilst at the Castle gate appeared a small train of wains and wainmen, who were receiving the heavier articles that were to be transported.One of the most active men in the midst of the bustle was Rory Spears, who, with a morion on his head, and a back and breast-plate donned instead of his fisherman’s coat, was busily occupied assisting in and superintending the loading of the baggage.“Father,” said his daughter Katherine to him, as she at last obtained an opportunity of addressing him, whilst at the same time her eyes wandered to the adjacent spot, where Squire Sang was engaged in getting Sir Patrick Hepborne’s party in order; “would I could wend with thee, father!”“Hey!” exclaimed Rory, turning suddenly round upon her, and at the same time poising a large package on his broad[336]shoulder, and keeping it there with one hand, whilst with the other he brandished his gaud-clip, with singular energy of action; “what ails thee, lass? Is the wench wud, think ye? Wouldst thou to the wars, sayest thou? Na, na, Kate; the camp be nae fit place for sike like as thee, I trow. What, expose thee, with all thy leddy learning and madame ’haviour, to be the hourly butt for the ribald jests of the guards, and the boozing companions of the sultering huts! By my fackins, that would be it indeed. Na, na! stay thee at home, lassie, and look to the Countess, and thy new young leddy; ay, and thy mother Alice, and the auld woman in theBurghalswa; and when I come back, my winsome grouse-pout, I’ll bring thee some bonny-waully frae the wars. We shall ha’ spulzie to pick and choose amang, I rauckon.” So saying, he threw his right arm, gaud-clip and all, around his daughter’s waist, and kissing her heartily and with much affection, hastened off with his burden.He was no sooner gone, than Mortimer Sang, seizing one moment from the bustle of his occupation, strode across to where Katherine was standing, gazing in silent, abstracted, and melancholy guise, towards the pile of baggage heaped up on the ground, which her father’s powerful arms had been rapidly diminishing. With the corner of her eye she marked the squire’s approach; but the fulness of her heart told her that she dared not look up, lest it should run over. Sang stood for some moments absorbed in contemplation of her, his eyes rapidly feeding his passion, and his passion slowly filling his eyes.“Mrs. Katherine,” said he at length, “ahem! Mrs. Katherine. Of a truth, it is a bitter and ill-favoured thing to be compelled to part with those with whom we have been happy. Verily, ’twas but yestre’en that you and I were right blithe together, and by this e’en there will be many miles atween us—ay, and who can tell, for a matter of that, whether it may ever again please Heaven to bring us together for even one such jolly evening—Heigho!”Katherine could stand this no longer, but giving way to a burst of grief, hid her eyes in her apron, and being too much agitated to speak, and too much shocked at this her involuntary disclosure of her attachment to the squire, she ran off and disappeared into the Castle.Sang brushed the mists from his eye-lids with the back of his hand, that his eyes might follow the fair vision as it flew. A Gothic doorway received it. He heaved up a sigh, that rose from the bottom of his heart, and again sunk heavily to the[337]abyss whence it was raised, and stood for some moments gazing at the black void that no longer possessed her figure. Again his eyes were dimmed with moisture, again he cleared them, and again he sighed; and casting one look towards his men, who were standing idle in consequence of his absence, and another to the doorway, he seemed to stand fixed between the equal attractions of duty on the one hand and love on the other. A confused and half-smothered laugh roused him from his dream. It proceeded from the troopers and lacqueys of his party, who were all regarding him, and nodding and winking to each other. Stung with an immediate sense of the ludicrous appearance he must have presented his men, the balance of his will was overthrown at once, and he sprang off to rate them for their idleness.“What ho, my masters, meseems as if ye had lost your main-spring, that ye stand so idle. By the bones of the blessed St. Baldrid, but I will baste your lazy ribs with my lance-shaft, an ye stand staring in that fashion; by all that is good I will make kettle-drums of yere bodies. Ha! I’ll warrant me I shall alter your music, ay, and change these jokes and that laughter of yours into grinnings that shall make your fortunes at e’er a fair in Christendom. Go to, bestir yourselves, knaves.” And following up this with a few well-directed hints of a more substantial description, laid across the shoulders and backs of those whom he conceived to be most deserving of his chastisement, they were all as busy as ants in a moment.“Master Spears,” said Sang to Rory, as he passed him accidentally, “it erketh me to learn that thou goest not with us.”“Not ganging with thee!” exclaimed Rory, with an expression of countenance partaking partly of surprise at the question, partly of doubt whether it was put seriously or in joke, and partly of the pleased anticipation of the proud triumph he was about to enjoy when he should have breath to pour forth his answer; “not ganging with thee, Master Sang! By St. Lowry, but I am at a loss to fortake thy meaning. What wouldst thou be at? Dost thou mean to say that I wend not with my Lord the Yearl? If thou dost, by’r lackins, but thou art as sore wide o’ the mark as if thou hadst shot blindfold. I’d have thee to know, Sir Squire,” continued Rory, raising himself up to his full height, sticking his left arm akimbo, and thrusting out his right to its utmost horizontal extent, his hand at the same time resting on the hook of his gaud-clip, the shaft of which was pointed to the earth, “I’d have thee to know, my[338]most worthy friend, Master Mortimer, and be it known to thee, with all the due submission and respect the which I do bear thee, that thy master, Sir Patrick, mought no more take the field withouten thee, than my master, the noble Yearl of Moray, would get into his saddle till he saw me at his back. Trust me, though I cannot ride tilting as thou dost, nor loup barriers, nor gallop after runaway Gogs, Magogs, and Goliaths of Gath, in armour, as thou mayest, I can push as good a thrust with a lance, when I take a grup o’t in real yearnest, against a chield that may be ettling to do me the like favour, as I can yerk out this same gaud-clip i’ my hand here, again a rae or ane otter beast. Na, na—the Yearl gang to the wars withouten me! No possible.”“Nay, as to its being possible, Master Spears,” replied Sang, folding his arms across his breast with a waggish air, “trust me, I can assure thee of the fact, seeing I did hear the Earl say to his esquire that thou wert to tarry at Tarnawa, to wait on a young English damsel, who might lack thy protection for a certain journey she hath in contemplation.”“Ha!” exclaimed Spears, who had stood in utter dismay as Sang was speaking; “art thou sickerly assured of what thou sayest, Squire Mortimer? My faith, things be come to ane queer pass indeed, sin’ they are gawin to transmew rough Rory Spears into a squire of dames. They will, nae doot, make a tire-woman of him ere it be lang. But, by my troth, I ken mair aboot mewing of hawks than mutching of maidens, and there is no sweet essence, oil, or unguent to me like the guff o’ a wolf, a tod, or a brock. Aweel-aweel, the Yearl’s wull sail be my wull; but this I will say, though it may be I should not, that if ever it gaed contraire to the grain wi’ me to do his bidding, by St. Lowry, now is the very time. But what maun be maun be—that’s a’ I can say till’t.” So shouldering his gaud-clip, he slowly and sullenly retired into the Castle, his utter disappointment and mortification being but ill concealed by his drooping head, and his hair that hung loose about his face from under his morion.Rory sought his Lord, and, notwithstanding the bustle of business in which the Earl was immersed, he succeeded in obtaining an interview with him, when, to his indescribable horror, he discovered that all that Sang had told him was correct. His grudge at his daughter’s present service now grew into a dislike to her whom she served, who, besides her crime of being an Englishwoman, no light one in his eyes, had also to answer for his present humiliation. The Earl paid him some[339]handsome compliments on his fidelity, his good conduct, and his valour, the possession of which qualities had occasioned his selection as the person to be left at Tarnawa, to be in readiness for the honourable and delicate piece of duty which might be perchance required of him. But even these high commendations from the quarter most valued by him were insufficient to make amends for the mortification he felt at his disappointment, nor could they season the proposed duty so as to make it palatable to him.“Aweel-aweel, my Lord Yearl of Moray, thy wull sall be my wull,” was all that his Lordship could extract from Rory Spears.After Mortimer Sang had arranged everything about the baggage of his party, and got the men and horses in proper order for the march, he took the opportunity of stealing away from them for a few moments, with the hope of obtaining a sight of Katherine Spears, whom he now discovered to be, even more than he had ever supposed, the ruling magnet of his heart. He found her drowned in tears.“Fair Katherine,” said he as he approached her with the utmost delicacy and tenderness, “why art thou thus grief-by-woxen? Knowest thou not that thy father tarrieth with thee at Tarnawa? Dost thou not already know that he goeth not with the host?”“Yea, Sir Squire,” sobbed Katherine, hastily drying her eyes at the sound of his voice, and vainly endeavouring to wipe away all traces of her sorrow; “yea, I did so learn this morning from my lady.”“For whom grievest thou, then, fair maiden?” demanded Sang. “Surely thou canst not be so oppressed at thoughts of the Earl’s departure?”“Nay, as to that, no,” replied the artless girl. “It may be I shall partake in the woe of my Lady Countess. But I weep not for him. Nay, I weep not for any one now.”Mrs. Katherine spoke the truth. She certainly did not weep at that particular moment, but the exertion it cost her to restrain her tears becoming much more than she was equal to, their accumulation was too powerful to be withstood, and, overwhelming every dam and barrier that maidenly prudence and propriety had raised to confine them, they burst forth more violently than ever, and poor Katherine sobbed aloud as if her heart would have broken. If there were still any remains of resolution about that of the squire, it melted at once like the snow-wreath that lies in the direct course of some wide and resistless deluge of[340]waters, which, as it is dissolved, mingles itself with and swells the very flood that creates its dissolution. He blubbered like an infant.“Lovely Katherine,” said he, sitting down beside her, and taking her hand with the utmost respect and tenderness—“most beauteous Mrs. Spears—my loveliest of all damsels, be composed, be comforted, I beseech thee; my dearest Katherine, my love, my only love, be composed and tell me—ah, tell, I entreat thee, whether I have any share in these precious drops? Tell me thou weepest for my departure, and those liquid diamonds that fall on my hand will be more prized by me than the purest gems that ever came from the East. Tell me but that I shall carry thy heart with me when I go, and I will leave thee mine in exchange for it, and swear on the honour and faith of a trusty esquire, to be thine, and thine only, for ever. What is glory, what is renown, what is the exalted rank of knighthood itself, without the possession of her we love? Say but thou wilt love me, sweet Katherine, and, when the war is at an end, I will return to claim thy hand, were it from the uttermost part of the earth. Say, do my hopes deceive me, or am I in very truth happy in being beloved by thee?”Katherine’s paroxysm of grief had been partially arrested, almost from the moment that Squire Mortimer had taken her hand so kindly, and begun to speak. She quickly became more composed as he went on; her cheeks became suffused with blushes, and showed beneath her tears like roses after a shower; smiles soon afterwards came to play over them like the sunbeams over the fresh and fragrant flowers; and, by the time that Mr. Sang had finished, the maiden’s confusion, rather than her indistinct murmurs, gave the esquire all the satisfaction he could have wished. They swore eternal fidelity to each other, and, after a short and sweet conversation, and an exchange of some little love-tokens had taken place between them, they separated, to attend to their respective avocations.By this time all was in order for the march. Already had several of the nobles and knights departed independently from the Castle; and those who remained, being of the Earl’s kinsmen or connexions, were to guide their motions by his. He resolved to begin his journey immediately, being anxious to accomplish several miles of way ere the sun was yet risen to the height of his fury. The trumpets sounded; the clangour stirred up the hearts of both men and steeds, and they expressed their joy by stunning shouts and repeated neighings. But their shrill brazen voices were a death-knell to the departing joy of many[341]a soft bosom that sighed within the Castle, and to none more than to that of Katherine Spears. Her nerves were subjected to no fresh trial of resolution, for the esquire’s absence from his party, at the moment of starting, would have been inadmissible.The trumpet brayed aloud, for the third time, its harsh summons, and the court-yard rang as the mailed horsemen leaped into their steel-cased saddles. The Countess of Moray was on the terrace with her maidens, waving many a sighing farewell to her gallant lord. The Earl gave the word, and, in company with his brothers-in-law the Earls of Fife and Caithness, his brother the Earl of Dunbar, the Earl of Douglas, Sir David Lindsay, Sir John Halyburton, the Lord of Dirleton, Sir Patrick Hepborne, and others, he rode forth at the Castle gate, followed by the whole column of march.The troops which he headed were but a small portion of those whose attendance he could command as vassals, being only such horsemen as were ever ready to assemble at a moment’s notice, to attend him on any sudden emergency. They now served him as a guard of honour in his journey to the King, and the charge of summoning and mustering the great body of his feudal force, and of despatching them under their proper officers, to join him where he might afterwards direct, was left to his Countess to carry into effect. The cavalcade filed off with a noise like thunder through the gateway, and part of them forming upon the natural glacis beyond, halted until the train of baggage wains had fallen into the line immediately in rear of the horse litters, in which the ladies travelled, and then they closed into the rear of the line of march. The whole moved on slowly through the little hamlet, now silent and deserted, except by its weeping women, its old men, and its children, and then wound into the depth of the forest. An opening among the trees gave them again a view of Tarnawa, and many was the head that turned involuntarily round to look once more at its grey walls, some of them, perhaps, though they little thought so, for the last time.Sir Patrick lifted up his eyes, raised his beaver, and turned them towards the Castle. He beheld a bevy of white figures grouped together on a bartizan, and white scarfs or handkerchiefs were waving. He smiled in secret as the imagination crossed him that the motion of these was like that which had flashed upon his eyes from the keep of Norham. But his fancy had dreamt so, and the vision having been once engendered, continued to haunt him as he rode at the head of his small troop.[342]

CHAPTER XLVIII.The Departure from the Castle of Tarnawa—The Alarm of War.

The Departure from the Castle of Tarnawa—The Alarm of War.

The Departure from the Castle of Tarnawa—The Alarm of War.

The morning had not yet dawned when the court-yard of the Castle re-echoed to the tramp of the mettled steeds of the Lord Welles and the English knights, and their numerous retinue. The gay caparisons of the men and horses, and the gaudily embroidered banners they carried, flaunted and fluttered in vain amid the raw, grey, and chilling light that quenched their glittering lustre, and left them but meagrely visible. A body of Scottish lances, commanded by several trusty officers, stood ready to march with them as a guard, and the troop was of such strength as might overawe any undue curiosity they might display, as well as do them honour, or protect them from injury or insolence during their march through Scotland. The Earl of Moray was on foot to do them the parting civilities of a host.“Forget not London Bridge,” cried a loud voice from the window of a high turret that overlooked the court-yard.The Lord Welles and his knights were already in their saddles. They twisted their necks with some difficulty, so as to have a view upwards, and there they beheld the hairy bosom and sternly-comic features of Sir William de Dalzell, who, in his chemise and bonnet de nuit, had thrust his head and shoulders forth from a window.“Fear not,” cried the Lord Welles; “the meeting shall not fail on the side of England.“Nor of Scotland neither,” replied Dalzell, “if so be that fourfooted beasts can be had to carry our bodies to the muddy banks of thy stinking Thames. I bid thee bon voyage, my Lord, though, by St. Andrew, I envy thee not thine early morning’s march; and so I’ll to my couch, and court the gentle influence of Morpheus for some hour or twain, for contraire to all due course of nature, I see it threatens to snow.”With these words he threw into the air two large handfuls[334]of feather-downs, and instantly drew himself in. The Lord Welles was half disposed to take the matter up as an insult; but the Earl of Moray, laughing good-humouredly as the artificial snow descended on the group, soon pacified his excited indignation.“Nay, mind him not, my Lord,” said he—“no one among us minds the jest of Sir William de Dalzell; and if we did, perdie, we should gain little by the trial, for we should only bring more of his humorous conceits on our heads. His wit, how rude soever it may seem, hath no meaning of harm or insult in it.”The Earl allowed the Lord Welles and his knights to be some time gone ere he began to summon his people about him, and to issue his orders for an immediate march. Sir William de Dalzell was the first of the Scottish knights, his guests, who appeared armed cap-a-pie in the court-yard, where the bustle of the foregoing morning was soon more than renewed. Two or three hundred good men of the Earl’s followers began to assemble, with their horses and arms, in obedience to the summons which had been secretly sent through the population of the district during the night. The rumour of the approaching war spread from mouth to mouth, and rude jokes and laughter followed its propagation, until the joyous clamour, becoming louder and louder, began at last to swell till the welkin was rent with the bursting shouts of the men-at-arms and soldiery, who rejoiced at the prospect of having something more serious than a tourney to do with.Sir Patrick Hepborne sprang from his couch, and began to busy himself for his departure. As he moved across the floor, his naked foot struck against something that felt like the head of a nail, and was slightly wounded by it. He stooped to ascertain what it was, when, much to his surprise, he discovered a ring, with a beautiful emerald set in it, that had slipped into a crevice between the planks, so as to leave the stone sticking up. He immediately recognized it as having been worn by the page Maurice de Grey. It was of beautifully wrought gold, and, after a more minute examination, he discovered some Gothic characters within its circle, which he read thus—Change never,But love everThine Eleanore de Selby.At the very name of Eleanore de Selby, Sir Patrick’s heart beat quicker. He had no doubt that the jewel had dropped[335]from the finger of the page, probably the morning he left Tarnawa. He had already resolved to keep it carefully, in remembrance of the boy; but the legend seemed to prove it to have been a gift to Maurice de Grey from his cousin the Lady Eleanore de Selby; and the conviction that it had once been hers, all unworthy as she was, imparted to it a tenfold value, which he in vain attempted to struggle against. It seemed to have appeared miraculously to warn him never to forget her, and he resolved to treasure it as a relic of one who could never be his.Meanwhile the court-yard resounded with the neighing of steeds and the din of arms, and the trumpets and bugles were heard to strike shrilly on the Castle walls, till its very turrets seemed to thrill with their hoarse clangour. It was chiefly thronged by some of the same knights, and some of the same esquires, pages, lacqueys, and steeds, whose painted surcoats of a thousand dies, whose armour glittering with gold and gems, and whose gorgeous attire and furniture, had reflected the rays of the sunrise of the previous morning. But the new-born orb of this day looked upon them in another guise. Though by no means devoid of splendour, what they now wore was more adapted for use than for ornament, and their very countenances displayed more of the fury of joy, and had put on an air of greater sternness, that sorted strangely with their uncouth jeers and laughter. The number of spearmen, bowmen, pole-axe-men, and men-at-arms of all descriptions, was now much larger; and in addition to this variety of the motley crowd, there were several horse litters in attendance, and numerous batt and sumpter horses loading with the lighter baggage, whilst at the Castle gate appeared a small train of wains and wainmen, who were receiving the heavier articles that were to be transported.One of the most active men in the midst of the bustle was Rory Spears, who, with a morion on his head, and a back and breast-plate donned instead of his fisherman’s coat, was busily occupied assisting in and superintending the loading of the baggage.“Father,” said his daughter Katherine to him, as she at last obtained an opportunity of addressing him, whilst at the same time her eyes wandered to the adjacent spot, where Squire Sang was engaged in getting Sir Patrick Hepborne’s party in order; “would I could wend with thee, father!”“Hey!” exclaimed Rory, turning suddenly round upon her, and at the same time poising a large package on his broad[336]shoulder, and keeping it there with one hand, whilst with the other he brandished his gaud-clip, with singular energy of action; “what ails thee, lass? Is the wench wud, think ye? Wouldst thou to the wars, sayest thou? Na, na, Kate; the camp be nae fit place for sike like as thee, I trow. What, expose thee, with all thy leddy learning and madame ’haviour, to be the hourly butt for the ribald jests of the guards, and the boozing companions of the sultering huts! By my fackins, that would be it indeed. Na, na! stay thee at home, lassie, and look to the Countess, and thy new young leddy; ay, and thy mother Alice, and the auld woman in theBurghalswa; and when I come back, my winsome grouse-pout, I’ll bring thee some bonny-waully frae the wars. We shall ha’ spulzie to pick and choose amang, I rauckon.” So saying, he threw his right arm, gaud-clip and all, around his daughter’s waist, and kissing her heartily and with much affection, hastened off with his burden.He was no sooner gone, than Mortimer Sang, seizing one moment from the bustle of his occupation, strode across to where Katherine was standing, gazing in silent, abstracted, and melancholy guise, towards the pile of baggage heaped up on the ground, which her father’s powerful arms had been rapidly diminishing. With the corner of her eye she marked the squire’s approach; but the fulness of her heart told her that she dared not look up, lest it should run over. Sang stood for some moments absorbed in contemplation of her, his eyes rapidly feeding his passion, and his passion slowly filling his eyes.“Mrs. Katherine,” said he at length, “ahem! Mrs. Katherine. Of a truth, it is a bitter and ill-favoured thing to be compelled to part with those with whom we have been happy. Verily, ’twas but yestre’en that you and I were right blithe together, and by this e’en there will be many miles atween us—ay, and who can tell, for a matter of that, whether it may ever again please Heaven to bring us together for even one such jolly evening—Heigho!”Katherine could stand this no longer, but giving way to a burst of grief, hid her eyes in her apron, and being too much agitated to speak, and too much shocked at this her involuntary disclosure of her attachment to the squire, she ran off and disappeared into the Castle.Sang brushed the mists from his eye-lids with the back of his hand, that his eyes might follow the fair vision as it flew. A Gothic doorway received it. He heaved up a sigh, that rose from the bottom of his heart, and again sunk heavily to the[337]abyss whence it was raised, and stood for some moments gazing at the black void that no longer possessed her figure. Again his eyes were dimmed with moisture, again he cleared them, and again he sighed; and casting one look towards his men, who were standing idle in consequence of his absence, and another to the doorway, he seemed to stand fixed between the equal attractions of duty on the one hand and love on the other. A confused and half-smothered laugh roused him from his dream. It proceeded from the troopers and lacqueys of his party, who were all regarding him, and nodding and winking to each other. Stung with an immediate sense of the ludicrous appearance he must have presented his men, the balance of his will was overthrown at once, and he sprang off to rate them for their idleness.“What ho, my masters, meseems as if ye had lost your main-spring, that ye stand so idle. By the bones of the blessed St. Baldrid, but I will baste your lazy ribs with my lance-shaft, an ye stand staring in that fashion; by all that is good I will make kettle-drums of yere bodies. Ha! I’ll warrant me I shall alter your music, ay, and change these jokes and that laughter of yours into grinnings that shall make your fortunes at e’er a fair in Christendom. Go to, bestir yourselves, knaves.” And following up this with a few well-directed hints of a more substantial description, laid across the shoulders and backs of those whom he conceived to be most deserving of his chastisement, they were all as busy as ants in a moment.“Master Spears,” said Sang to Rory, as he passed him accidentally, “it erketh me to learn that thou goest not with us.”“Not ganging with thee!” exclaimed Rory, with an expression of countenance partaking partly of surprise at the question, partly of doubt whether it was put seriously or in joke, and partly of the pleased anticipation of the proud triumph he was about to enjoy when he should have breath to pour forth his answer; “not ganging with thee, Master Sang! By St. Lowry, but I am at a loss to fortake thy meaning. What wouldst thou be at? Dost thou mean to say that I wend not with my Lord the Yearl? If thou dost, by’r lackins, but thou art as sore wide o’ the mark as if thou hadst shot blindfold. I’d have thee to know, Sir Squire,” continued Rory, raising himself up to his full height, sticking his left arm akimbo, and thrusting out his right to its utmost horizontal extent, his hand at the same time resting on the hook of his gaud-clip, the shaft of which was pointed to the earth, “I’d have thee to know, my[338]most worthy friend, Master Mortimer, and be it known to thee, with all the due submission and respect the which I do bear thee, that thy master, Sir Patrick, mought no more take the field withouten thee, than my master, the noble Yearl of Moray, would get into his saddle till he saw me at his back. Trust me, though I cannot ride tilting as thou dost, nor loup barriers, nor gallop after runaway Gogs, Magogs, and Goliaths of Gath, in armour, as thou mayest, I can push as good a thrust with a lance, when I take a grup o’t in real yearnest, against a chield that may be ettling to do me the like favour, as I can yerk out this same gaud-clip i’ my hand here, again a rae or ane otter beast. Na, na—the Yearl gang to the wars withouten me! No possible.”“Nay, as to its being possible, Master Spears,” replied Sang, folding his arms across his breast with a waggish air, “trust me, I can assure thee of the fact, seeing I did hear the Earl say to his esquire that thou wert to tarry at Tarnawa, to wait on a young English damsel, who might lack thy protection for a certain journey she hath in contemplation.”“Ha!” exclaimed Spears, who had stood in utter dismay as Sang was speaking; “art thou sickerly assured of what thou sayest, Squire Mortimer? My faith, things be come to ane queer pass indeed, sin’ they are gawin to transmew rough Rory Spears into a squire of dames. They will, nae doot, make a tire-woman of him ere it be lang. But, by my troth, I ken mair aboot mewing of hawks than mutching of maidens, and there is no sweet essence, oil, or unguent to me like the guff o’ a wolf, a tod, or a brock. Aweel-aweel, the Yearl’s wull sail be my wull; but this I will say, though it may be I should not, that if ever it gaed contraire to the grain wi’ me to do his bidding, by St. Lowry, now is the very time. But what maun be maun be—that’s a’ I can say till’t.” So shouldering his gaud-clip, he slowly and sullenly retired into the Castle, his utter disappointment and mortification being but ill concealed by his drooping head, and his hair that hung loose about his face from under his morion.Rory sought his Lord, and, notwithstanding the bustle of business in which the Earl was immersed, he succeeded in obtaining an interview with him, when, to his indescribable horror, he discovered that all that Sang had told him was correct. His grudge at his daughter’s present service now grew into a dislike to her whom she served, who, besides her crime of being an Englishwoman, no light one in his eyes, had also to answer for his present humiliation. The Earl paid him some[339]handsome compliments on his fidelity, his good conduct, and his valour, the possession of which qualities had occasioned his selection as the person to be left at Tarnawa, to be in readiness for the honourable and delicate piece of duty which might be perchance required of him. But even these high commendations from the quarter most valued by him were insufficient to make amends for the mortification he felt at his disappointment, nor could they season the proposed duty so as to make it palatable to him.“Aweel-aweel, my Lord Yearl of Moray, thy wull sall be my wull,” was all that his Lordship could extract from Rory Spears.After Mortimer Sang had arranged everything about the baggage of his party, and got the men and horses in proper order for the march, he took the opportunity of stealing away from them for a few moments, with the hope of obtaining a sight of Katherine Spears, whom he now discovered to be, even more than he had ever supposed, the ruling magnet of his heart. He found her drowned in tears.“Fair Katherine,” said he as he approached her with the utmost delicacy and tenderness, “why art thou thus grief-by-woxen? Knowest thou not that thy father tarrieth with thee at Tarnawa? Dost thou not already know that he goeth not with the host?”“Yea, Sir Squire,” sobbed Katherine, hastily drying her eyes at the sound of his voice, and vainly endeavouring to wipe away all traces of her sorrow; “yea, I did so learn this morning from my lady.”“For whom grievest thou, then, fair maiden?” demanded Sang. “Surely thou canst not be so oppressed at thoughts of the Earl’s departure?”“Nay, as to that, no,” replied the artless girl. “It may be I shall partake in the woe of my Lady Countess. But I weep not for him. Nay, I weep not for any one now.”Mrs. Katherine spoke the truth. She certainly did not weep at that particular moment, but the exertion it cost her to restrain her tears becoming much more than she was equal to, their accumulation was too powerful to be withstood, and, overwhelming every dam and barrier that maidenly prudence and propriety had raised to confine them, they burst forth more violently than ever, and poor Katherine sobbed aloud as if her heart would have broken. If there were still any remains of resolution about that of the squire, it melted at once like the snow-wreath that lies in the direct course of some wide and resistless deluge of[340]waters, which, as it is dissolved, mingles itself with and swells the very flood that creates its dissolution. He blubbered like an infant.“Lovely Katherine,” said he, sitting down beside her, and taking her hand with the utmost respect and tenderness—“most beauteous Mrs. Spears—my loveliest of all damsels, be composed, be comforted, I beseech thee; my dearest Katherine, my love, my only love, be composed and tell me—ah, tell, I entreat thee, whether I have any share in these precious drops? Tell me thou weepest for my departure, and those liquid diamonds that fall on my hand will be more prized by me than the purest gems that ever came from the East. Tell me but that I shall carry thy heart with me when I go, and I will leave thee mine in exchange for it, and swear on the honour and faith of a trusty esquire, to be thine, and thine only, for ever. What is glory, what is renown, what is the exalted rank of knighthood itself, without the possession of her we love? Say but thou wilt love me, sweet Katherine, and, when the war is at an end, I will return to claim thy hand, were it from the uttermost part of the earth. Say, do my hopes deceive me, or am I in very truth happy in being beloved by thee?”Katherine’s paroxysm of grief had been partially arrested, almost from the moment that Squire Mortimer had taken her hand so kindly, and begun to speak. She quickly became more composed as he went on; her cheeks became suffused with blushes, and showed beneath her tears like roses after a shower; smiles soon afterwards came to play over them like the sunbeams over the fresh and fragrant flowers; and, by the time that Mr. Sang had finished, the maiden’s confusion, rather than her indistinct murmurs, gave the esquire all the satisfaction he could have wished. They swore eternal fidelity to each other, and, after a short and sweet conversation, and an exchange of some little love-tokens had taken place between them, they separated, to attend to their respective avocations.By this time all was in order for the march. Already had several of the nobles and knights departed independently from the Castle; and those who remained, being of the Earl’s kinsmen or connexions, were to guide their motions by his. He resolved to begin his journey immediately, being anxious to accomplish several miles of way ere the sun was yet risen to the height of his fury. The trumpets sounded; the clangour stirred up the hearts of both men and steeds, and they expressed their joy by stunning shouts and repeated neighings. But their shrill brazen voices were a death-knell to the departing joy of many[341]a soft bosom that sighed within the Castle, and to none more than to that of Katherine Spears. Her nerves were subjected to no fresh trial of resolution, for the esquire’s absence from his party, at the moment of starting, would have been inadmissible.The trumpet brayed aloud, for the third time, its harsh summons, and the court-yard rang as the mailed horsemen leaped into their steel-cased saddles. The Countess of Moray was on the terrace with her maidens, waving many a sighing farewell to her gallant lord. The Earl gave the word, and, in company with his brothers-in-law the Earls of Fife and Caithness, his brother the Earl of Dunbar, the Earl of Douglas, Sir David Lindsay, Sir John Halyburton, the Lord of Dirleton, Sir Patrick Hepborne, and others, he rode forth at the Castle gate, followed by the whole column of march.The troops which he headed were but a small portion of those whose attendance he could command as vassals, being only such horsemen as were ever ready to assemble at a moment’s notice, to attend him on any sudden emergency. They now served him as a guard of honour in his journey to the King, and the charge of summoning and mustering the great body of his feudal force, and of despatching them under their proper officers, to join him where he might afterwards direct, was left to his Countess to carry into effect. The cavalcade filed off with a noise like thunder through the gateway, and part of them forming upon the natural glacis beyond, halted until the train of baggage wains had fallen into the line immediately in rear of the horse litters, in which the ladies travelled, and then they closed into the rear of the line of march. The whole moved on slowly through the little hamlet, now silent and deserted, except by its weeping women, its old men, and its children, and then wound into the depth of the forest. An opening among the trees gave them again a view of Tarnawa, and many was the head that turned involuntarily round to look once more at its grey walls, some of them, perhaps, though they little thought so, for the last time.Sir Patrick lifted up his eyes, raised his beaver, and turned them towards the Castle. He beheld a bevy of white figures grouped together on a bartizan, and white scarfs or handkerchiefs were waving. He smiled in secret as the imagination crossed him that the motion of these was like that which had flashed upon his eyes from the keep of Norham. But his fancy had dreamt so, and the vision having been once engendered, continued to haunt him as he rode at the head of his small troop.[342]

The morning had not yet dawned when the court-yard of the Castle re-echoed to the tramp of the mettled steeds of the Lord Welles and the English knights, and their numerous retinue. The gay caparisons of the men and horses, and the gaudily embroidered banners they carried, flaunted and fluttered in vain amid the raw, grey, and chilling light that quenched their glittering lustre, and left them but meagrely visible. A body of Scottish lances, commanded by several trusty officers, stood ready to march with them as a guard, and the troop was of such strength as might overawe any undue curiosity they might display, as well as do them honour, or protect them from injury or insolence during their march through Scotland. The Earl of Moray was on foot to do them the parting civilities of a host.

“Forget not London Bridge,” cried a loud voice from the window of a high turret that overlooked the court-yard.

The Lord Welles and his knights were already in their saddles. They twisted their necks with some difficulty, so as to have a view upwards, and there they beheld the hairy bosom and sternly-comic features of Sir William de Dalzell, who, in his chemise and bonnet de nuit, had thrust his head and shoulders forth from a window.

“Fear not,” cried the Lord Welles; “the meeting shall not fail on the side of England.

“Nor of Scotland neither,” replied Dalzell, “if so be that fourfooted beasts can be had to carry our bodies to the muddy banks of thy stinking Thames. I bid thee bon voyage, my Lord, though, by St. Andrew, I envy thee not thine early morning’s march; and so I’ll to my couch, and court the gentle influence of Morpheus for some hour or twain, for contraire to all due course of nature, I see it threatens to snow.”

With these words he threw into the air two large handfuls[334]of feather-downs, and instantly drew himself in. The Lord Welles was half disposed to take the matter up as an insult; but the Earl of Moray, laughing good-humouredly as the artificial snow descended on the group, soon pacified his excited indignation.

“Nay, mind him not, my Lord,” said he—“no one among us minds the jest of Sir William de Dalzell; and if we did, perdie, we should gain little by the trial, for we should only bring more of his humorous conceits on our heads. His wit, how rude soever it may seem, hath no meaning of harm or insult in it.”

The Earl allowed the Lord Welles and his knights to be some time gone ere he began to summon his people about him, and to issue his orders for an immediate march. Sir William de Dalzell was the first of the Scottish knights, his guests, who appeared armed cap-a-pie in the court-yard, where the bustle of the foregoing morning was soon more than renewed. Two or three hundred good men of the Earl’s followers began to assemble, with their horses and arms, in obedience to the summons which had been secretly sent through the population of the district during the night. The rumour of the approaching war spread from mouth to mouth, and rude jokes and laughter followed its propagation, until the joyous clamour, becoming louder and louder, began at last to swell till the welkin was rent with the bursting shouts of the men-at-arms and soldiery, who rejoiced at the prospect of having something more serious than a tourney to do with.

Sir Patrick Hepborne sprang from his couch, and began to busy himself for his departure. As he moved across the floor, his naked foot struck against something that felt like the head of a nail, and was slightly wounded by it. He stooped to ascertain what it was, when, much to his surprise, he discovered a ring, with a beautiful emerald set in it, that had slipped into a crevice between the planks, so as to leave the stone sticking up. He immediately recognized it as having been worn by the page Maurice de Grey. It was of beautifully wrought gold, and, after a more minute examination, he discovered some Gothic characters within its circle, which he read thus—

Change never,But love everThine Eleanore de Selby.

Change never,

But love ever

Thine Eleanore de Selby.

At the very name of Eleanore de Selby, Sir Patrick’s heart beat quicker. He had no doubt that the jewel had dropped[335]from the finger of the page, probably the morning he left Tarnawa. He had already resolved to keep it carefully, in remembrance of the boy; but the legend seemed to prove it to have been a gift to Maurice de Grey from his cousin the Lady Eleanore de Selby; and the conviction that it had once been hers, all unworthy as she was, imparted to it a tenfold value, which he in vain attempted to struggle against. It seemed to have appeared miraculously to warn him never to forget her, and he resolved to treasure it as a relic of one who could never be his.

Meanwhile the court-yard resounded with the neighing of steeds and the din of arms, and the trumpets and bugles were heard to strike shrilly on the Castle walls, till its very turrets seemed to thrill with their hoarse clangour. It was chiefly thronged by some of the same knights, and some of the same esquires, pages, lacqueys, and steeds, whose painted surcoats of a thousand dies, whose armour glittering with gold and gems, and whose gorgeous attire and furniture, had reflected the rays of the sunrise of the previous morning. But the new-born orb of this day looked upon them in another guise. Though by no means devoid of splendour, what they now wore was more adapted for use than for ornament, and their very countenances displayed more of the fury of joy, and had put on an air of greater sternness, that sorted strangely with their uncouth jeers and laughter. The number of spearmen, bowmen, pole-axe-men, and men-at-arms of all descriptions, was now much larger; and in addition to this variety of the motley crowd, there were several horse litters in attendance, and numerous batt and sumpter horses loading with the lighter baggage, whilst at the Castle gate appeared a small train of wains and wainmen, who were receiving the heavier articles that were to be transported.

One of the most active men in the midst of the bustle was Rory Spears, who, with a morion on his head, and a back and breast-plate donned instead of his fisherman’s coat, was busily occupied assisting in and superintending the loading of the baggage.

“Father,” said his daughter Katherine to him, as she at last obtained an opportunity of addressing him, whilst at the same time her eyes wandered to the adjacent spot, where Squire Sang was engaged in getting Sir Patrick Hepborne’s party in order; “would I could wend with thee, father!”

“Hey!” exclaimed Rory, turning suddenly round upon her, and at the same time poising a large package on his broad[336]shoulder, and keeping it there with one hand, whilst with the other he brandished his gaud-clip, with singular energy of action; “what ails thee, lass? Is the wench wud, think ye? Wouldst thou to the wars, sayest thou? Na, na, Kate; the camp be nae fit place for sike like as thee, I trow. What, expose thee, with all thy leddy learning and madame ’haviour, to be the hourly butt for the ribald jests of the guards, and the boozing companions of the sultering huts! By my fackins, that would be it indeed. Na, na! stay thee at home, lassie, and look to the Countess, and thy new young leddy; ay, and thy mother Alice, and the auld woman in theBurghalswa; and when I come back, my winsome grouse-pout, I’ll bring thee some bonny-waully frae the wars. We shall ha’ spulzie to pick and choose amang, I rauckon.” So saying, he threw his right arm, gaud-clip and all, around his daughter’s waist, and kissing her heartily and with much affection, hastened off with his burden.

He was no sooner gone, than Mortimer Sang, seizing one moment from the bustle of his occupation, strode across to where Katherine was standing, gazing in silent, abstracted, and melancholy guise, towards the pile of baggage heaped up on the ground, which her father’s powerful arms had been rapidly diminishing. With the corner of her eye she marked the squire’s approach; but the fulness of her heart told her that she dared not look up, lest it should run over. Sang stood for some moments absorbed in contemplation of her, his eyes rapidly feeding his passion, and his passion slowly filling his eyes.

“Mrs. Katherine,” said he at length, “ahem! Mrs. Katherine. Of a truth, it is a bitter and ill-favoured thing to be compelled to part with those with whom we have been happy. Verily, ’twas but yestre’en that you and I were right blithe together, and by this e’en there will be many miles atween us—ay, and who can tell, for a matter of that, whether it may ever again please Heaven to bring us together for even one such jolly evening—Heigho!”

Katherine could stand this no longer, but giving way to a burst of grief, hid her eyes in her apron, and being too much agitated to speak, and too much shocked at this her involuntary disclosure of her attachment to the squire, she ran off and disappeared into the Castle.

Sang brushed the mists from his eye-lids with the back of his hand, that his eyes might follow the fair vision as it flew. A Gothic doorway received it. He heaved up a sigh, that rose from the bottom of his heart, and again sunk heavily to the[337]abyss whence it was raised, and stood for some moments gazing at the black void that no longer possessed her figure. Again his eyes were dimmed with moisture, again he cleared them, and again he sighed; and casting one look towards his men, who were standing idle in consequence of his absence, and another to the doorway, he seemed to stand fixed between the equal attractions of duty on the one hand and love on the other. A confused and half-smothered laugh roused him from his dream. It proceeded from the troopers and lacqueys of his party, who were all regarding him, and nodding and winking to each other. Stung with an immediate sense of the ludicrous appearance he must have presented his men, the balance of his will was overthrown at once, and he sprang off to rate them for their idleness.

“What ho, my masters, meseems as if ye had lost your main-spring, that ye stand so idle. By the bones of the blessed St. Baldrid, but I will baste your lazy ribs with my lance-shaft, an ye stand staring in that fashion; by all that is good I will make kettle-drums of yere bodies. Ha! I’ll warrant me I shall alter your music, ay, and change these jokes and that laughter of yours into grinnings that shall make your fortunes at e’er a fair in Christendom. Go to, bestir yourselves, knaves.” And following up this with a few well-directed hints of a more substantial description, laid across the shoulders and backs of those whom he conceived to be most deserving of his chastisement, they were all as busy as ants in a moment.

“Master Spears,” said Sang to Rory, as he passed him accidentally, “it erketh me to learn that thou goest not with us.”

“Not ganging with thee!” exclaimed Rory, with an expression of countenance partaking partly of surprise at the question, partly of doubt whether it was put seriously or in joke, and partly of the pleased anticipation of the proud triumph he was about to enjoy when he should have breath to pour forth his answer; “not ganging with thee, Master Sang! By St. Lowry, but I am at a loss to fortake thy meaning. What wouldst thou be at? Dost thou mean to say that I wend not with my Lord the Yearl? If thou dost, by’r lackins, but thou art as sore wide o’ the mark as if thou hadst shot blindfold. I’d have thee to know, Sir Squire,” continued Rory, raising himself up to his full height, sticking his left arm akimbo, and thrusting out his right to its utmost horizontal extent, his hand at the same time resting on the hook of his gaud-clip, the shaft of which was pointed to the earth, “I’d have thee to know, my[338]most worthy friend, Master Mortimer, and be it known to thee, with all the due submission and respect the which I do bear thee, that thy master, Sir Patrick, mought no more take the field withouten thee, than my master, the noble Yearl of Moray, would get into his saddle till he saw me at his back. Trust me, though I cannot ride tilting as thou dost, nor loup barriers, nor gallop after runaway Gogs, Magogs, and Goliaths of Gath, in armour, as thou mayest, I can push as good a thrust with a lance, when I take a grup o’t in real yearnest, against a chield that may be ettling to do me the like favour, as I can yerk out this same gaud-clip i’ my hand here, again a rae or ane otter beast. Na, na—the Yearl gang to the wars withouten me! No possible.”

“Nay, as to its being possible, Master Spears,” replied Sang, folding his arms across his breast with a waggish air, “trust me, I can assure thee of the fact, seeing I did hear the Earl say to his esquire that thou wert to tarry at Tarnawa, to wait on a young English damsel, who might lack thy protection for a certain journey she hath in contemplation.”

“Ha!” exclaimed Spears, who had stood in utter dismay as Sang was speaking; “art thou sickerly assured of what thou sayest, Squire Mortimer? My faith, things be come to ane queer pass indeed, sin’ they are gawin to transmew rough Rory Spears into a squire of dames. They will, nae doot, make a tire-woman of him ere it be lang. But, by my troth, I ken mair aboot mewing of hawks than mutching of maidens, and there is no sweet essence, oil, or unguent to me like the guff o’ a wolf, a tod, or a brock. Aweel-aweel, the Yearl’s wull sail be my wull; but this I will say, though it may be I should not, that if ever it gaed contraire to the grain wi’ me to do his bidding, by St. Lowry, now is the very time. But what maun be maun be—that’s a’ I can say till’t.” So shouldering his gaud-clip, he slowly and sullenly retired into the Castle, his utter disappointment and mortification being but ill concealed by his drooping head, and his hair that hung loose about his face from under his morion.

Rory sought his Lord, and, notwithstanding the bustle of business in which the Earl was immersed, he succeeded in obtaining an interview with him, when, to his indescribable horror, he discovered that all that Sang had told him was correct. His grudge at his daughter’s present service now grew into a dislike to her whom she served, who, besides her crime of being an Englishwoman, no light one in his eyes, had also to answer for his present humiliation. The Earl paid him some[339]handsome compliments on his fidelity, his good conduct, and his valour, the possession of which qualities had occasioned his selection as the person to be left at Tarnawa, to be in readiness for the honourable and delicate piece of duty which might be perchance required of him. But even these high commendations from the quarter most valued by him were insufficient to make amends for the mortification he felt at his disappointment, nor could they season the proposed duty so as to make it palatable to him.

“Aweel-aweel, my Lord Yearl of Moray, thy wull sall be my wull,” was all that his Lordship could extract from Rory Spears.

After Mortimer Sang had arranged everything about the baggage of his party, and got the men and horses in proper order for the march, he took the opportunity of stealing away from them for a few moments, with the hope of obtaining a sight of Katherine Spears, whom he now discovered to be, even more than he had ever supposed, the ruling magnet of his heart. He found her drowned in tears.

“Fair Katherine,” said he as he approached her with the utmost delicacy and tenderness, “why art thou thus grief-by-woxen? Knowest thou not that thy father tarrieth with thee at Tarnawa? Dost thou not already know that he goeth not with the host?”

“Yea, Sir Squire,” sobbed Katherine, hastily drying her eyes at the sound of his voice, and vainly endeavouring to wipe away all traces of her sorrow; “yea, I did so learn this morning from my lady.”

“For whom grievest thou, then, fair maiden?” demanded Sang. “Surely thou canst not be so oppressed at thoughts of the Earl’s departure?”

“Nay, as to that, no,” replied the artless girl. “It may be I shall partake in the woe of my Lady Countess. But I weep not for him. Nay, I weep not for any one now.”

Mrs. Katherine spoke the truth. She certainly did not weep at that particular moment, but the exertion it cost her to restrain her tears becoming much more than she was equal to, their accumulation was too powerful to be withstood, and, overwhelming every dam and barrier that maidenly prudence and propriety had raised to confine them, they burst forth more violently than ever, and poor Katherine sobbed aloud as if her heart would have broken. If there were still any remains of resolution about that of the squire, it melted at once like the snow-wreath that lies in the direct course of some wide and resistless deluge of[340]waters, which, as it is dissolved, mingles itself with and swells the very flood that creates its dissolution. He blubbered like an infant.

“Lovely Katherine,” said he, sitting down beside her, and taking her hand with the utmost respect and tenderness—“most beauteous Mrs. Spears—my loveliest of all damsels, be composed, be comforted, I beseech thee; my dearest Katherine, my love, my only love, be composed and tell me—ah, tell, I entreat thee, whether I have any share in these precious drops? Tell me thou weepest for my departure, and those liquid diamonds that fall on my hand will be more prized by me than the purest gems that ever came from the East. Tell me but that I shall carry thy heart with me when I go, and I will leave thee mine in exchange for it, and swear on the honour and faith of a trusty esquire, to be thine, and thine only, for ever. What is glory, what is renown, what is the exalted rank of knighthood itself, without the possession of her we love? Say but thou wilt love me, sweet Katherine, and, when the war is at an end, I will return to claim thy hand, were it from the uttermost part of the earth. Say, do my hopes deceive me, or am I in very truth happy in being beloved by thee?”

Katherine’s paroxysm of grief had been partially arrested, almost from the moment that Squire Mortimer had taken her hand so kindly, and begun to speak. She quickly became more composed as he went on; her cheeks became suffused with blushes, and showed beneath her tears like roses after a shower; smiles soon afterwards came to play over them like the sunbeams over the fresh and fragrant flowers; and, by the time that Mr. Sang had finished, the maiden’s confusion, rather than her indistinct murmurs, gave the esquire all the satisfaction he could have wished. They swore eternal fidelity to each other, and, after a short and sweet conversation, and an exchange of some little love-tokens had taken place between them, they separated, to attend to their respective avocations.

By this time all was in order for the march. Already had several of the nobles and knights departed independently from the Castle; and those who remained, being of the Earl’s kinsmen or connexions, were to guide their motions by his. He resolved to begin his journey immediately, being anxious to accomplish several miles of way ere the sun was yet risen to the height of his fury. The trumpets sounded; the clangour stirred up the hearts of both men and steeds, and they expressed their joy by stunning shouts and repeated neighings. But their shrill brazen voices were a death-knell to the departing joy of many[341]a soft bosom that sighed within the Castle, and to none more than to that of Katherine Spears. Her nerves were subjected to no fresh trial of resolution, for the esquire’s absence from his party, at the moment of starting, would have been inadmissible.

The trumpet brayed aloud, for the third time, its harsh summons, and the court-yard rang as the mailed horsemen leaped into their steel-cased saddles. The Countess of Moray was on the terrace with her maidens, waving many a sighing farewell to her gallant lord. The Earl gave the word, and, in company with his brothers-in-law the Earls of Fife and Caithness, his brother the Earl of Dunbar, the Earl of Douglas, Sir David Lindsay, Sir John Halyburton, the Lord of Dirleton, Sir Patrick Hepborne, and others, he rode forth at the Castle gate, followed by the whole column of march.

The troops which he headed were but a small portion of those whose attendance he could command as vassals, being only such horsemen as were ever ready to assemble at a moment’s notice, to attend him on any sudden emergency. They now served him as a guard of honour in his journey to the King, and the charge of summoning and mustering the great body of his feudal force, and of despatching them under their proper officers, to join him where he might afterwards direct, was left to his Countess to carry into effect. The cavalcade filed off with a noise like thunder through the gateway, and part of them forming upon the natural glacis beyond, halted until the train of baggage wains had fallen into the line immediately in rear of the horse litters, in which the ladies travelled, and then they closed into the rear of the line of march. The whole moved on slowly through the little hamlet, now silent and deserted, except by its weeping women, its old men, and its children, and then wound into the depth of the forest. An opening among the trees gave them again a view of Tarnawa, and many was the head that turned involuntarily round to look once more at its grey walls, some of them, perhaps, though they little thought so, for the last time.

Sir Patrick lifted up his eyes, raised his beaver, and turned them towards the Castle. He beheld a bevy of white figures grouped together on a bartizan, and white scarfs or handkerchiefs were waving. He smiled in secret as the imagination crossed him that the motion of these was like that which had flashed upon his eyes from the keep of Norham. But his fancy had dreamt so, and the vision having been once engendered, continued to haunt him as he rode at the head of his small troop.[342]

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