[Contents]CHAPTER XXXI.The Lady Mariota and the Page—The Fury of the Wolfe.The Wolfe and Sir Patrick Hepborne had no sooner entered the banquet-hall than they were surprised by the appearance of the Lady Mariota, who approached them from a room beyond it, drowned in tears.“Eh!” cried the Wolfe, setting his teeth against each other; “ha!mort de ma vie, what is this I behold? Mariota in tears? Say, speak, why art thou thus bywoxen? What, in the fiend’s name, is the matter? Who hath caused these tears? Speak, and by all the infernal demons, I will have him flayed alive.”“My Lord,” replied the Lady Mariota, hiding her face in her kerchief, “I can hardly speak it—the page—the page Maurice de Grey———”“Say, lady, what of him? I beseech thee, what of him?” cried Sir Patrick anxiously. “Hath any ill befallen him?”“Nay,” said the lady; “would that had been all I had to tell!—Oh, how shall I speak it?—the wretch, taking advantage of my being left alone, dared to insult me. I fled forth from the apartment where I had unconsciously received him, and, having called the attendants, I had him secured, and he is now a prisoner in the dungeon.”Hepborne was petrified with horror and amazement at this accusation against Maurice de Grey.“Ha!” cried the Wolfe, “by my beard, thou didst bravely indeed, my girl.—The red fiend catch me, but he shall forthwith swing for it. A gallows and a halter there in the court-yard! By all the grim powers of hell, he shall dangle ere we dine.”“Nay, nay, my Lord,” said Hepborne, sternly yet calmly, “that may not be without a trial. The youth is mine, and I am thy guest. I demand a fair trial for him; if he be guilty, then let him suffer for his coulpe; but until his guilt be proved, depardieux, I shall stand forth his defender.”“By the holy Rood, but thou speakest boldly, Sir Knight,” cried the Wolfe, gnashing his teeth in ire. “Art thou then prepared to fight at outrance for thy minion?”“My Lord,” said Hepborne coolly, “I am here as thy guest. Whilst I am under thy roof I trust the common rules of hospitality will bind us both; but shouldst thou rid thyself of their salutary shackles, I must prepare myself to do my best to resist[232]oppression, as a good and true knight ought to do. I ask but fair trial for the boy, which, in justice thou canst not and wilt not refuse me.”The Wolfe paced the room backwards and forwards for some time with a hurried step, whilst the Lady Mariota sat sobbing in a chair.“Mariota,” said he at length, “thou wert alone when the page came to thee?”“I was, my good Lord,” replied the lady; “My damsels had gone forth at the time he entered my chamber.”“Now, Sir Patrick Hepborne,” exclaimed the Wolfe, “now thou must of needscost see that all proof here is out of the question. Where can proof be had where there hath been no witnesses?”“Yea, my Lord,” said Hepborne temperately, “what thou sayest is true, in good faith; and it is also true that without proof there can be no just condemnation.”The Wolfe began again to pace the room, hastily, his eyes flashing fire.“What, Sir Knight,” exclaimed he, “dost thou go so far as to doubt the word of the Lady Mariota? By the devil’s mass, but thou art bold indeed.”“I say not that I doubt the word of the Lady Mariota,” replied Hepborne; “but were the Lady Mariota my sister, and the page Maurice de Grey my greatest enemy, I would not condemn him capitally on her simple saying.”“Mariota,” cried the Wolfe in a rage, “leave the apartment; get thee to thy chamber. By the martyrdom of St. Andrew, but thou dost beard me, Sir Knight. Thou presumest on my old dotard father’s introduction of thee, and on the frail laws of hospitality, which may indeed bind me to a certain point; but beware thou dost push me beyond it, or, by my beard, neither he nor they shall protect thee.”“Most noble Earl of Buchan,” replied Hepborne, with perfect temper andsang froid, “again I say, that all I ask is justice. To that point only do I wish to push thee, nor do I fear but thou wilt go so far. I do confess, it seemeth somewhat strange to me to hear so foul a charge against a boy who hath ever sought to fly the Lady Mariota’s advances. Nay, ’twas but yesternight that she came herself to seek him on the rampart, where the youth held idle parlance with me; and though he tried to shun her, verily these eyes beheld her as she did court him to go with her, the which the boy did most unwillingly.”The Wolfe of Badenoch knit his brows, and strode two or[233]three times through the long hall, the arched roof ringing again to the clang of his heel as he moved. He seemed to be pondering within himself what to resolve, an operation to the fatigue of which he rarely ever subjected his mind, his general practice being to act first, and then, if ever he thought at all, to think afterwards. At length he stopped short in his career, opposite to where Hepborne was standing, with his arms calmly folded across his breast; and, stretching out his hand to him—“Sir Patrick,” said he, “thou art right. I have perhaps been a little hasty here. There is much in what thou hast said; and I honour thee for thy cool and determined courage and temper. Listen to me then. If the page Maurice de Grey confesseth the coulpe of which he is charged, thou wilt not call it injustice if he be instantly ordered for execution. If he denies it, then let him, or some one for him, do duel with me to-morrow, as soon as light may serve us; and may God and the Blessed Virgin defend the right, and make his innocence clear if he be sans coulpe.”“Agreed,” said Hepborne. “I stand forth the boy’s defender, and will cheerfully appeal to wager of single combat in his behalf. Let him straightway be sent for, then, and let him be questioned with regard to his guilt or innocence; all I ask for him is full and free speech.”“He shall have it,” cried the Wolfe; “I swear by my beard, he shall have full power to speak as he lists. Pardieux, ’tis well we determined this matter one way or other forthwith, for I long to dine.”“What is this I hear?” cried Sir Alexander Stewart, entering in a fury; “what is this I hear? My mother insulted by a minion page! By the ghost of my grandfather, the miscreant shall die ere I eat a morsel. Why doth he not swing even now? What hath delayed his execution?”“Silence, Sandy,” cried the Wolfe angrily; “the matter is already arranged without thine interference. The youth comes anon to be questioned. If he confesses, the popinjay shall straightway grace the gallows in the court-yard; if he denies, then is Sir Patrick Hepborne prepared to do battle in his cause against me, by to-morrow’s sun.”“Let that glory be mine, then, I beseech thee, my noble father,” cried Sir Alexander eagerly; “I claim the right of doing battle in defence in my mother’s cause.”“Well, Alexander,” said the Wolfe gruffly, “if it so please Sir Patrick Hepborne, I scruple not to yield him to thee.”“My appeal,” said Sir Patrick, “is against one and all who[234]may singly choose to challenge mine arm, and who may be pleased to succeed one another in the single combat I am willing to wage in defence of the youth Maurice de Grey.”“Hey day!” cried the Wolfe; “gramercy, Sir Knight, then, by mine honest and trusty burly-brand, thou shall have thy bellyful of it, and I shall not resign the first place to my son Alexander. We shall tilt it first, so please thee. At sunrise we shall bestir ourselves, and on the open lawnde beyond the land sconce we shall try the metal of our armour and lance heads. If thou escapest mine arm, Sandy may have thee, if he likes; but the red fiend’s curse upon it if it fail me. Ha! here comes the prisoner.”The page Maurice de Grey now entered, wearing his chains about his wrists. His countenance was placid and composed, and he advanced with a firm step and undisturbed manner.“Knowest thou, Sir Page, of what coulpe thou art accused?” demanded the Wolfe sternly.“I do,” replied the youth calmly.“Dost thou admit or deny the charge the Lady Mariota hath made against thee?”“I most solemnly deny it,” replied the page.“Ha!” cried the Wolfe, “then is there no more to be said. Let him be removed; and let everything be prepared for a single combat to-morrow between Sir Patrick Hepborne and me—the place to be the lawnde beyond the land sconce; and the time, the moment the welkin sees the sun. ’Tis well ’tis so soon settled. Now let us dine, Sir Patrick, We may be merry companions to-night, though we be to fight like fiends i’ the morning. The banquet, I say—the banquet. Why dost thou tarry with thy prisoner?”“One word, I pray,” said Maurice de Grey, now thrown into extreme agitation by hearing that his master’s life was to be put in jeopardy for him—“I crave one word ere I go.”“My Lord,” said Sir Patrick to the Wolfe, “I claim thy solemn behote; thou didst promise free and ample speech for the youth; hear him, then, I beseech thee.”“Well, youth, well,” cried the Wolfe, very impatiently, “what hast thou to say? Be quick, for time wears, and hunger galls me; be quick, I say.”“I demand a private conference, noble Earl,” said the page. “I have something to unfold that will altogether change the complexion of this case. If I do not make the Lady Mariota clear me of all guilt, I hereby agree to hold myself as condemned[235]to instant death, and shall patiently submit to whatever fate thou mayest award me.”“Nay, nay, dear Maurice,” cried Hepborne anxiously, and putting more faith in his own prowess than in anything the page could urge to convince the Lady Mariota, of whose villainous falsehood in the foul charge she had brought against the youth he had been fully convinced from the first—“nay, nay, dear Maurice, rather leave the matter as it is; rather——”“By the bloody hide of St. Bartholomew,” cried the Wolfe, with evident joy, “but the boy shall have his way. We shall thus have this mysterious affair cleared up, and settled forthwith, instead of delaying till to-morrow. By the mass, but he hath excited queer thoughts in my mind. But we shall see anon. Come then, let him along with me, that I may show him to the Lady Mariota’s apartment. I swear by the Holy Rood, Sir Patrick, that the youth shall have justice—justice to the fullest extent of what he hath demanded. Clear the way, then, I say; come, Sir Page, come along; thou shalt dance hither anon at freedom, or thou shalt dangle it and dance it on the gallows-tree below, where many as brave and stout a youth as thou hath figured before thee. Come on, I say.”After the Earl and the page were gone, Sir Alexander Stewart paced the hall in gloomy silence, his fiery soul boiling within him, so that he could with difficulty restrain his rage. Every now and then a stamp on the pavement louder than the rest proclaimed the excess of his internal agitation. The cool Sir Andrew sat him quietly down, without uttering a word, or appearing to be much interested in the matter at issue. The three boys had not yet come in, but a crowd of the retainers, who were usually admitted to sit below the salt, stood in groups whispering at the lower end of the hall. Sir Patrick Hepborne had been rendered so unhappy by the turn the affair had taken, and was so oppressed with distress, anxiety, and dread as to the result, that he thrust himself into the deep recess of one of the windows, to hide those emotions he felt it impossible to repress. Not a word passed between the chief persons of the scene. The time, which was in reality not in itself long, appeared to Hepborne like an age; and yet, when at length he did hear steps and voices approaching along the passage, leading from the Lady Mariota’s apartment into the banqueting-hall, brave as he was, he trembled like a coward, lest the moment should have come too soon for the unhappy page.The door opened, and the Wolfe entered, frowning and gnashing his teeth. Then came the page, freed from his fetters.[236]The Wolfe of Badenoch’s red eye was disturbed from recent ire, which he seemed even yet to keep down with difficulty; yet he laughed horribly from time to time as he spoke.“Ha! well,” said he, “the page Maurice de Grey hath proved his innocence beyond further question. By the blood of the Bruce—ha! ha! ha!—but it is ridiculous after all. The red fiend catch me if I—but pshaw!—let us have the banquet,” cried he, hastily interrupting himself in something he was going to say—“the banquet, I tell thee. Give me thy hand, Sir Patrick. Thou wert afraid to trust thy beauteous page with me, wert thou?—ha! ha! ha! Thou wouldst rather have fought me at outrance. By’r Lady, but thou art a burly knight; but I like thee not the worse. Depardieux, but thou art safe enow in my hands; trust me, thou shalt hear no more on’t. Ha! ha! ha! I confess that thy page is as innocent—I hereby free him from guilt. The banquet, knaves—the banquet. Ha! the curse of the devil’s dam on me, if I could have looked for this.”“What strange mystery is here?” said Sir Alexander Stewart impatiently. “Where is the Lady Mariota, my mother?”The Wolfe had all this time been reining in his wrath with his utmost power; it was all he could do to curb it; and it was ready to burst all bounds at the first provocation that offered.“Better hold thy peace, Sir Alexander,” cried he, darting an angry glance at him. “By the infernal flames, I am in no humour to listen to thy folly. I have pledged my sacred word as a knight to secrecy, and thou nor no one else shall know aught of this mystery, as thou callest it. Be contented to know that the boy Maurice is innocent.”“And am I to be satisfied with this?” cried Sir Alexander, his wrath kindling more and more as he spoke; “am I to remain satisfied with this, without my mother’s word for it?”“Nay,” said the Wolfe, hastily, “by the holy Rood, thou shalt have no word from thy mother to-night.”“No word from my mother!” exclaimed Sir Alexander. “What! dost thou treat me as a child? By all the fiends, but I shall see her, though. Where is she? Why doth she not appear? By the holy mass, I must see her, and that instantly.”“By the martyrdom of St. Andrew, then,” cried the Wolfe, gnashing his teeth, and foaming at the mouth from very ire—“by the martyrdom of St. Andrew, but thou shalt not see her. I have sent her to cool her passions in the dungeon to which she consigned the page; and hark ye, son Alexander, if thou darest to prate any more about her, by all the fiery fiends of[237]Erebus, but thou shalt occupy the next chamber to that assigned her, there to remain during my pleasure. Ha! what sayest thou to that, Sir Alexander?”“I say thou art a tyrant and a beast,” exclaimed his son, boiling with rage; “and if thou dost not instantly liberate my mother, by all the powers of darkness, I will choke thee in thine armour;” and he strode across the banquet-hall in a frenzy, to put his threat into immediate execution.“Halt!” cried Sir Patrick Hepborne, in a voice like thunder, as he stepped before the Earl, and planted himself directly in the assailant’s way—“halt. Sir Alexander Stewart—halt, I say. Let reason come to thine aid, and let not ungovernable passion lead thee to lay impious hands on him to whom thou owest thine existence.”“Nay, let him come on,” cried the Wolfe, his eyes glaring ferociously.“Stand aside, Sir Patrick Hepborne,” cried Sir Alexander, “or, by all the fiends of perdition, thou shalt suffer for thine interference; stand back, I say, and leave us to——”“Nay,” cried Hepborne, firmly, “I will not back; and by St. Baldrid I swear, that thou shalt do no injury to thy sire until thou shalt have stepped over my body.”“Sayest thou so?” cried Sir Alexander, his eyes flashing like firebrands—“then have at thee, Sir Knight;” and, catching up a truncheon that lay near, he wielded it with both hands, and aimed a blow at Sir Patrick’s head, that would have speedily levelled a patent way for his fury over the prostrate body of the knight, had he not dodged alertly aside, so that it fell harmless to the ground; and then, with one tremendous blow of his fist, he laid the raging maniac senseless on the floor of the hall.“Bind him,” cried the Wolfe, “bind him instantly, I say, and carry him to the dungeon under the northern tower; he is a prisoner until our pleasure shall pronounce him free.”His orders were instantly and implicitly obeyed, and Sir Alexander was carried off, without sense or motion, under the charge of his jailors. Sir Patrick was shocked at the outrageous scene he had witnessed, in which he had been driven to interfere. Though satisfied of the justice of the Earl’s sentence against his son, yet he was concerned to think that he had been instrumental in effecting it, and he conceived he was bound to endeavour to mediate in his behalf.“Nay, nay,” said the Wolfe hastily, “I thank thee heartily for the chastisement thou hast given the whelp. To loose him now, were to deprive him of all its salutary effects. By the[238]blessed Rood, he shall lie in his dungeon until he comes so far to his senses as to make a humble submission both to thee and to me.—What! am I to be bearded at every turning by my boys?—The red fiend catch me, but they and the callet that whelped them shall down to the deepest abyss of Lochyndorbe, ere I shall suffer myself to be so disgraced by her, and snarled at by her litter.”Sir Patrick looked towards Sir Andrew Stewart for aid in his attempt to soften the Earl; but, cool and cautious, he had never stirred from his seat during the fray, and still sat there unmoved, turning a deaf ear to his father’s stormy threats, and averting his eye from Hepborne’s silent appeal.“Come, come, the banquet, knaves,” cried the Wolfe. “Why stand ye all staring like gaze-hounds? The red fiend catch me, but I will hang up half-a-dozen of ye like a string of beads, an we have not our meal in the twinkling of an eye!”The lacqueys and attendants had hitherto been standing in silence and horror, but they were all put instantly in motion. The banquet appeared. The Wolfe ate more voraciously than usual, and swallowed deeper draughts of wine also than he ordinarily did; but it was evidently rather to wash down some vexation that oppressed him than from anything like jollity. His conversation was hasty and abrupt, and after drinking double his wonted quantity in half the usual time, he broke up the feast and retired to his apartment.
[Contents]CHAPTER XXXI.The Lady Mariota and the Page—The Fury of the Wolfe.The Wolfe and Sir Patrick Hepborne had no sooner entered the banquet-hall than they were surprised by the appearance of the Lady Mariota, who approached them from a room beyond it, drowned in tears.“Eh!” cried the Wolfe, setting his teeth against each other; “ha!mort de ma vie, what is this I behold? Mariota in tears? Say, speak, why art thou thus bywoxen? What, in the fiend’s name, is the matter? Who hath caused these tears? Speak, and by all the infernal demons, I will have him flayed alive.”“My Lord,” replied the Lady Mariota, hiding her face in her kerchief, “I can hardly speak it—the page—the page Maurice de Grey———”“Say, lady, what of him? I beseech thee, what of him?” cried Sir Patrick anxiously. “Hath any ill befallen him?”“Nay,” said the lady; “would that had been all I had to tell!—Oh, how shall I speak it?—the wretch, taking advantage of my being left alone, dared to insult me. I fled forth from the apartment where I had unconsciously received him, and, having called the attendants, I had him secured, and he is now a prisoner in the dungeon.”Hepborne was petrified with horror and amazement at this accusation against Maurice de Grey.“Ha!” cried the Wolfe, “by my beard, thou didst bravely indeed, my girl.—The red fiend catch me, but he shall forthwith swing for it. A gallows and a halter there in the court-yard! By all the grim powers of hell, he shall dangle ere we dine.”“Nay, nay, my Lord,” said Hepborne, sternly yet calmly, “that may not be without a trial. The youth is mine, and I am thy guest. I demand a fair trial for him; if he be guilty, then let him suffer for his coulpe; but until his guilt be proved, depardieux, I shall stand forth his defender.”“By the holy Rood, but thou speakest boldly, Sir Knight,” cried the Wolfe, gnashing his teeth in ire. “Art thou then prepared to fight at outrance for thy minion?”“My Lord,” said Hepborne coolly, “I am here as thy guest. Whilst I am under thy roof I trust the common rules of hospitality will bind us both; but shouldst thou rid thyself of their salutary shackles, I must prepare myself to do my best to resist[232]oppression, as a good and true knight ought to do. I ask but fair trial for the boy, which, in justice thou canst not and wilt not refuse me.”The Wolfe paced the room backwards and forwards for some time with a hurried step, whilst the Lady Mariota sat sobbing in a chair.“Mariota,” said he at length, “thou wert alone when the page came to thee?”“I was, my good Lord,” replied the lady; “My damsels had gone forth at the time he entered my chamber.”“Now, Sir Patrick Hepborne,” exclaimed the Wolfe, “now thou must of needscost see that all proof here is out of the question. Where can proof be had where there hath been no witnesses?”“Yea, my Lord,” said Hepborne temperately, “what thou sayest is true, in good faith; and it is also true that without proof there can be no just condemnation.”The Wolfe began again to pace the room, hastily, his eyes flashing fire.“What, Sir Knight,” exclaimed he, “dost thou go so far as to doubt the word of the Lady Mariota? By the devil’s mass, but thou art bold indeed.”“I say not that I doubt the word of the Lady Mariota,” replied Hepborne; “but were the Lady Mariota my sister, and the page Maurice de Grey my greatest enemy, I would not condemn him capitally on her simple saying.”“Mariota,” cried the Wolfe in a rage, “leave the apartment; get thee to thy chamber. By the martyrdom of St. Andrew, but thou dost beard me, Sir Knight. Thou presumest on my old dotard father’s introduction of thee, and on the frail laws of hospitality, which may indeed bind me to a certain point; but beware thou dost push me beyond it, or, by my beard, neither he nor they shall protect thee.”“Most noble Earl of Buchan,” replied Hepborne, with perfect temper andsang froid, “again I say, that all I ask is justice. To that point only do I wish to push thee, nor do I fear but thou wilt go so far. I do confess, it seemeth somewhat strange to me to hear so foul a charge against a boy who hath ever sought to fly the Lady Mariota’s advances. Nay, ’twas but yesternight that she came herself to seek him on the rampart, where the youth held idle parlance with me; and though he tried to shun her, verily these eyes beheld her as she did court him to go with her, the which the boy did most unwillingly.”The Wolfe of Badenoch knit his brows, and strode two or[233]three times through the long hall, the arched roof ringing again to the clang of his heel as he moved. He seemed to be pondering within himself what to resolve, an operation to the fatigue of which he rarely ever subjected his mind, his general practice being to act first, and then, if ever he thought at all, to think afterwards. At length he stopped short in his career, opposite to where Hepborne was standing, with his arms calmly folded across his breast; and, stretching out his hand to him—“Sir Patrick,” said he, “thou art right. I have perhaps been a little hasty here. There is much in what thou hast said; and I honour thee for thy cool and determined courage and temper. Listen to me then. If the page Maurice de Grey confesseth the coulpe of which he is charged, thou wilt not call it injustice if he be instantly ordered for execution. If he denies it, then let him, or some one for him, do duel with me to-morrow, as soon as light may serve us; and may God and the Blessed Virgin defend the right, and make his innocence clear if he be sans coulpe.”“Agreed,” said Hepborne. “I stand forth the boy’s defender, and will cheerfully appeal to wager of single combat in his behalf. Let him straightway be sent for, then, and let him be questioned with regard to his guilt or innocence; all I ask for him is full and free speech.”“He shall have it,” cried the Wolfe; “I swear by my beard, he shall have full power to speak as he lists. Pardieux, ’tis well we determined this matter one way or other forthwith, for I long to dine.”“What is this I hear?” cried Sir Alexander Stewart, entering in a fury; “what is this I hear? My mother insulted by a minion page! By the ghost of my grandfather, the miscreant shall die ere I eat a morsel. Why doth he not swing even now? What hath delayed his execution?”“Silence, Sandy,” cried the Wolfe angrily; “the matter is already arranged without thine interference. The youth comes anon to be questioned. If he confesses, the popinjay shall straightway grace the gallows in the court-yard; if he denies, then is Sir Patrick Hepborne prepared to do battle in his cause against me, by to-morrow’s sun.”“Let that glory be mine, then, I beseech thee, my noble father,” cried Sir Alexander eagerly; “I claim the right of doing battle in defence in my mother’s cause.”“Well, Alexander,” said the Wolfe gruffly, “if it so please Sir Patrick Hepborne, I scruple not to yield him to thee.”“My appeal,” said Sir Patrick, “is against one and all who[234]may singly choose to challenge mine arm, and who may be pleased to succeed one another in the single combat I am willing to wage in defence of the youth Maurice de Grey.”“Hey day!” cried the Wolfe; “gramercy, Sir Knight, then, by mine honest and trusty burly-brand, thou shall have thy bellyful of it, and I shall not resign the first place to my son Alexander. We shall tilt it first, so please thee. At sunrise we shall bestir ourselves, and on the open lawnde beyond the land sconce we shall try the metal of our armour and lance heads. If thou escapest mine arm, Sandy may have thee, if he likes; but the red fiend’s curse upon it if it fail me. Ha! here comes the prisoner.”The page Maurice de Grey now entered, wearing his chains about his wrists. His countenance was placid and composed, and he advanced with a firm step and undisturbed manner.“Knowest thou, Sir Page, of what coulpe thou art accused?” demanded the Wolfe sternly.“I do,” replied the youth calmly.“Dost thou admit or deny the charge the Lady Mariota hath made against thee?”“I most solemnly deny it,” replied the page.“Ha!” cried the Wolfe, “then is there no more to be said. Let him be removed; and let everything be prepared for a single combat to-morrow between Sir Patrick Hepborne and me—the place to be the lawnde beyond the land sconce; and the time, the moment the welkin sees the sun. ’Tis well ’tis so soon settled. Now let us dine, Sir Patrick, We may be merry companions to-night, though we be to fight like fiends i’ the morning. The banquet, I say—the banquet. Why dost thou tarry with thy prisoner?”“One word, I pray,” said Maurice de Grey, now thrown into extreme agitation by hearing that his master’s life was to be put in jeopardy for him—“I crave one word ere I go.”“My Lord,” said Sir Patrick to the Wolfe, “I claim thy solemn behote; thou didst promise free and ample speech for the youth; hear him, then, I beseech thee.”“Well, youth, well,” cried the Wolfe, very impatiently, “what hast thou to say? Be quick, for time wears, and hunger galls me; be quick, I say.”“I demand a private conference, noble Earl,” said the page. “I have something to unfold that will altogether change the complexion of this case. If I do not make the Lady Mariota clear me of all guilt, I hereby agree to hold myself as condemned[235]to instant death, and shall patiently submit to whatever fate thou mayest award me.”“Nay, nay, dear Maurice,” cried Hepborne anxiously, and putting more faith in his own prowess than in anything the page could urge to convince the Lady Mariota, of whose villainous falsehood in the foul charge she had brought against the youth he had been fully convinced from the first—“nay, nay, dear Maurice, rather leave the matter as it is; rather——”“By the bloody hide of St. Bartholomew,” cried the Wolfe, with evident joy, “but the boy shall have his way. We shall thus have this mysterious affair cleared up, and settled forthwith, instead of delaying till to-morrow. By the mass, but he hath excited queer thoughts in my mind. But we shall see anon. Come then, let him along with me, that I may show him to the Lady Mariota’s apartment. I swear by the Holy Rood, Sir Patrick, that the youth shall have justice—justice to the fullest extent of what he hath demanded. Clear the way, then, I say; come, Sir Page, come along; thou shalt dance hither anon at freedom, or thou shalt dangle it and dance it on the gallows-tree below, where many as brave and stout a youth as thou hath figured before thee. Come on, I say.”After the Earl and the page were gone, Sir Alexander Stewart paced the hall in gloomy silence, his fiery soul boiling within him, so that he could with difficulty restrain his rage. Every now and then a stamp on the pavement louder than the rest proclaimed the excess of his internal agitation. The cool Sir Andrew sat him quietly down, without uttering a word, or appearing to be much interested in the matter at issue. The three boys had not yet come in, but a crowd of the retainers, who were usually admitted to sit below the salt, stood in groups whispering at the lower end of the hall. Sir Patrick Hepborne had been rendered so unhappy by the turn the affair had taken, and was so oppressed with distress, anxiety, and dread as to the result, that he thrust himself into the deep recess of one of the windows, to hide those emotions he felt it impossible to repress. Not a word passed between the chief persons of the scene. The time, which was in reality not in itself long, appeared to Hepborne like an age; and yet, when at length he did hear steps and voices approaching along the passage, leading from the Lady Mariota’s apartment into the banqueting-hall, brave as he was, he trembled like a coward, lest the moment should have come too soon for the unhappy page.The door opened, and the Wolfe entered, frowning and gnashing his teeth. Then came the page, freed from his fetters.[236]The Wolfe of Badenoch’s red eye was disturbed from recent ire, which he seemed even yet to keep down with difficulty; yet he laughed horribly from time to time as he spoke.“Ha! well,” said he, “the page Maurice de Grey hath proved his innocence beyond further question. By the blood of the Bruce—ha! ha! ha!—but it is ridiculous after all. The red fiend catch me if I—but pshaw!—let us have the banquet,” cried he, hastily interrupting himself in something he was going to say—“the banquet, I tell thee. Give me thy hand, Sir Patrick. Thou wert afraid to trust thy beauteous page with me, wert thou?—ha! ha! ha! Thou wouldst rather have fought me at outrance. By’r Lady, but thou art a burly knight; but I like thee not the worse. Depardieux, but thou art safe enow in my hands; trust me, thou shalt hear no more on’t. Ha! ha! ha! I confess that thy page is as innocent—I hereby free him from guilt. The banquet, knaves—the banquet. Ha! the curse of the devil’s dam on me, if I could have looked for this.”“What strange mystery is here?” said Sir Alexander Stewart impatiently. “Where is the Lady Mariota, my mother?”The Wolfe had all this time been reining in his wrath with his utmost power; it was all he could do to curb it; and it was ready to burst all bounds at the first provocation that offered.“Better hold thy peace, Sir Alexander,” cried he, darting an angry glance at him. “By the infernal flames, I am in no humour to listen to thy folly. I have pledged my sacred word as a knight to secrecy, and thou nor no one else shall know aught of this mystery, as thou callest it. Be contented to know that the boy Maurice is innocent.”“And am I to be satisfied with this?” cried Sir Alexander, his wrath kindling more and more as he spoke; “am I to remain satisfied with this, without my mother’s word for it?”“Nay,” said the Wolfe, hastily, “by the holy Rood, thou shalt have no word from thy mother to-night.”“No word from my mother!” exclaimed Sir Alexander. “What! dost thou treat me as a child? By all the fiends, but I shall see her, though. Where is she? Why doth she not appear? By the holy mass, I must see her, and that instantly.”“By the martyrdom of St. Andrew, then,” cried the Wolfe, gnashing his teeth, and foaming at the mouth from very ire—“by the martyrdom of St. Andrew, but thou shalt not see her. I have sent her to cool her passions in the dungeon to which she consigned the page; and hark ye, son Alexander, if thou darest to prate any more about her, by all the fiery fiends of[237]Erebus, but thou shalt occupy the next chamber to that assigned her, there to remain during my pleasure. Ha! what sayest thou to that, Sir Alexander?”“I say thou art a tyrant and a beast,” exclaimed his son, boiling with rage; “and if thou dost not instantly liberate my mother, by all the powers of darkness, I will choke thee in thine armour;” and he strode across the banquet-hall in a frenzy, to put his threat into immediate execution.“Halt!” cried Sir Patrick Hepborne, in a voice like thunder, as he stepped before the Earl, and planted himself directly in the assailant’s way—“halt. Sir Alexander Stewart—halt, I say. Let reason come to thine aid, and let not ungovernable passion lead thee to lay impious hands on him to whom thou owest thine existence.”“Nay, let him come on,” cried the Wolfe, his eyes glaring ferociously.“Stand aside, Sir Patrick Hepborne,” cried Sir Alexander, “or, by all the fiends of perdition, thou shalt suffer for thine interference; stand back, I say, and leave us to——”“Nay,” cried Hepborne, firmly, “I will not back; and by St. Baldrid I swear, that thou shalt do no injury to thy sire until thou shalt have stepped over my body.”“Sayest thou so?” cried Sir Alexander, his eyes flashing like firebrands—“then have at thee, Sir Knight;” and, catching up a truncheon that lay near, he wielded it with both hands, and aimed a blow at Sir Patrick’s head, that would have speedily levelled a patent way for his fury over the prostrate body of the knight, had he not dodged alertly aside, so that it fell harmless to the ground; and then, with one tremendous blow of his fist, he laid the raging maniac senseless on the floor of the hall.“Bind him,” cried the Wolfe, “bind him instantly, I say, and carry him to the dungeon under the northern tower; he is a prisoner until our pleasure shall pronounce him free.”His orders were instantly and implicitly obeyed, and Sir Alexander was carried off, without sense or motion, under the charge of his jailors. Sir Patrick was shocked at the outrageous scene he had witnessed, in which he had been driven to interfere. Though satisfied of the justice of the Earl’s sentence against his son, yet he was concerned to think that he had been instrumental in effecting it, and he conceived he was bound to endeavour to mediate in his behalf.“Nay, nay,” said the Wolfe hastily, “I thank thee heartily for the chastisement thou hast given the whelp. To loose him now, were to deprive him of all its salutary effects. By the[238]blessed Rood, he shall lie in his dungeon until he comes so far to his senses as to make a humble submission both to thee and to me.—What! am I to be bearded at every turning by my boys?—The red fiend catch me, but they and the callet that whelped them shall down to the deepest abyss of Lochyndorbe, ere I shall suffer myself to be so disgraced by her, and snarled at by her litter.”Sir Patrick looked towards Sir Andrew Stewart for aid in his attempt to soften the Earl; but, cool and cautious, he had never stirred from his seat during the fray, and still sat there unmoved, turning a deaf ear to his father’s stormy threats, and averting his eye from Hepborne’s silent appeal.“Come, come, the banquet, knaves,” cried the Wolfe. “Why stand ye all staring like gaze-hounds? The red fiend catch me, but I will hang up half-a-dozen of ye like a string of beads, an we have not our meal in the twinkling of an eye!”The lacqueys and attendants had hitherto been standing in silence and horror, but they were all put instantly in motion. The banquet appeared. The Wolfe ate more voraciously than usual, and swallowed deeper draughts of wine also than he ordinarily did; but it was evidently rather to wash down some vexation that oppressed him than from anything like jollity. His conversation was hasty and abrupt, and after drinking double his wonted quantity in half the usual time, he broke up the feast and retired to his apartment.
CHAPTER XXXI.The Lady Mariota and the Page—The Fury of the Wolfe.
The Lady Mariota and the Page—The Fury of the Wolfe.
The Lady Mariota and the Page—The Fury of the Wolfe.
The Wolfe and Sir Patrick Hepborne had no sooner entered the banquet-hall than they were surprised by the appearance of the Lady Mariota, who approached them from a room beyond it, drowned in tears.“Eh!” cried the Wolfe, setting his teeth against each other; “ha!mort de ma vie, what is this I behold? Mariota in tears? Say, speak, why art thou thus bywoxen? What, in the fiend’s name, is the matter? Who hath caused these tears? Speak, and by all the infernal demons, I will have him flayed alive.”“My Lord,” replied the Lady Mariota, hiding her face in her kerchief, “I can hardly speak it—the page—the page Maurice de Grey———”“Say, lady, what of him? I beseech thee, what of him?” cried Sir Patrick anxiously. “Hath any ill befallen him?”“Nay,” said the lady; “would that had been all I had to tell!—Oh, how shall I speak it?—the wretch, taking advantage of my being left alone, dared to insult me. I fled forth from the apartment where I had unconsciously received him, and, having called the attendants, I had him secured, and he is now a prisoner in the dungeon.”Hepborne was petrified with horror and amazement at this accusation against Maurice de Grey.“Ha!” cried the Wolfe, “by my beard, thou didst bravely indeed, my girl.—The red fiend catch me, but he shall forthwith swing for it. A gallows and a halter there in the court-yard! By all the grim powers of hell, he shall dangle ere we dine.”“Nay, nay, my Lord,” said Hepborne, sternly yet calmly, “that may not be without a trial. The youth is mine, and I am thy guest. I demand a fair trial for him; if he be guilty, then let him suffer for his coulpe; but until his guilt be proved, depardieux, I shall stand forth his defender.”“By the holy Rood, but thou speakest boldly, Sir Knight,” cried the Wolfe, gnashing his teeth in ire. “Art thou then prepared to fight at outrance for thy minion?”“My Lord,” said Hepborne coolly, “I am here as thy guest. Whilst I am under thy roof I trust the common rules of hospitality will bind us both; but shouldst thou rid thyself of their salutary shackles, I must prepare myself to do my best to resist[232]oppression, as a good and true knight ought to do. I ask but fair trial for the boy, which, in justice thou canst not and wilt not refuse me.”The Wolfe paced the room backwards and forwards for some time with a hurried step, whilst the Lady Mariota sat sobbing in a chair.“Mariota,” said he at length, “thou wert alone when the page came to thee?”“I was, my good Lord,” replied the lady; “My damsels had gone forth at the time he entered my chamber.”“Now, Sir Patrick Hepborne,” exclaimed the Wolfe, “now thou must of needscost see that all proof here is out of the question. Where can proof be had where there hath been no witnesses?”“Yea, my Lord,” said Hepborne temperately, “what thou sayest is true, in good faith; and it is also true that without proof there can be no just condemnation.”The Wolfe began again to pace the room, hastily, his eyes flashing fire.“What, Sir Knight,” exclaimed he, “dost thou go so far as to doubt the word of the Lady Mariota? By the devil’s mass, but thou art bold indeed.”“I say not that I doubt the word of the Lady Mariota,” replied Hepborne; “but were the Lady Mariota my sister, and the page Maurice de Grey my greatest enemy, I would not condemn him capitally on her simple saying.”“Mariota,” cried the Wolfe in a rage, “leave the apartment; get thee to thy chamber. By the martyrdom of St. Andrew, but thou dost beard me, Sir Knight. Thou presumest on my old dotard father’s introduction of thee, and on the frail laws of hospitality, which may indeed bind me to a certain point; but beware thou dost push me beyond it, or, by my beard, neither he nor they shall protect thee.”“Most noble Earl of Buchan,” replied Hepborne, with perfect temper andsang froid, “again I say, that all I ask is justice. To that point only do I wish to push thee, nor do I fear but thou wilt go so far. I do confess, it seemeth somewhat strange to me to hear so foul a charge against a boy who hath ever sought to fly the Lady Mariota’s advances. Nay, ’twas but yesternight that she came herself to seek him on the rampart, where the youth held idle parlance with me; and though he tried to shun her, verily these eyes beheld her as she did court him to go with her, the which the boy did most unwillingly.”The Wolfe of Badenoch knit his brows, and strode two or[233]three times through the long hall, the arched roof ringing again to the clang of his heel as he moved. He seemed to be pondering within himself what to resolve, an operation to the fatigue of which he rarely ever subjected his mind, his general practice being to act first, and then, if ever he thought at all, to think afterwards. At length he stopped short in his career, opposite to where Hepborne was standing, with his arms calmly folded across his breast; and, stretching out his hand to him—“Sir Patrick,” said he, “thou art right. I have perhaps been a little hasty here. There is much in what thou hast said; and I honour thee for thy cool and determined courage and temper. Listen to me then. If the page Maurice de Grey confesseth the coulpe of which he is charged, thou wilt not call it injustice if he be instantly ordered for execution. If he denies it, then let him, or some one for him, do duel with me to-morrow, as soon as light may serve us; and may God and the Blessed Virgin defend the right, and make his innocence clear if he be sans coulpe.”“Agreed,” said Hepborne. “I stand forth the boy’s defender, and will cheerfully appeal to wager of single combat in his behalf. Let him straightway be sent for, then, and let him be questioned with regard to his guilt or innocence; all I ask for him is full and free speech.”“He shall have it,” cried the Wolfe; “I swear by my beard, he shall have full power to speak as he lists. Pardieux, ’tis well we determined this matter one way or other forthwith, for I long to dine.”“What is this I hear?” cried Sir Alexander Stewart, entering in a fury; “what is this I hear? My mother insulted by a minion page! By the ghost of my grandfather, the miscreant shall die ere I eat a morsel. Why doth he not swing even now? What hath delayed his execution?”“Silence, Sandy,” cried the Wolfe angrily; “the matter is already arranged without thine interference. The youth comes anon to be questioned. If he confesses, the popinjay shall straightway grace the gallows in the court-yard; if he denies, then is Sir Patrick Hepborne prepared to do battle in his cause against me, by to-morrow’s sun.”“Let that glory be mine, then, I beseech thee, my noble father,” cried Sir Alexander eagerly; “I claim the right of doing battle in defence in my mother’s cause.”“Well, Alexander,” said the Wolfe gruffly, “if it so please Sir Patrick Hepborne, I scruple not to yield him to thee.”“My appeal,” said Sir Patrick, “is against one and all who[234]may singly choose to challenge mine arm, and who may be pleased to succeed one another in the single combat I am willing to wage in defence of the youth Maurice de Grey.”“Hey day!” cried the Wolfe; “gramercy, Sir Knight, then, by mine honest and trusty burly-brand, thou shall have thy bellyful of it, and I shall not resign the first place to my son Alexander. We shall tilt it first, so please thee. At sunrise we shall bestir ourselves, and on the open lawnde beyond the land sconce we shall try the metal of our armour and lance heads. If thou escapest mine arm, Sandy may have thee, if he likes; but the red fiend’s curse upon it if it fail me. Ha! here comes the prisoner.”The page Maurice de Grey now entered, wearing his chains about his wrists. His countenance was placid and composed, and he advanced with a firm step and undisturbed manner.“Knowest thou, Sir Page, of what coulpe thou art accused?” demanded the Wolfe sternly.“I do,” replied the youth calmly.“Dost thou admit or deny the charge the Lady Mariota hath made against thee?”“I most solemnly deny it,” replied the page.“Ha!” cried the Wolfe, “then is there no more to be said. Let him be removed; and let everything be prepared for a single combat to-morrow between Sir Patrick Hepborne and me—the place to be the lawnde beyond the land sconce; and the time, the moment the welkin sees the sun. ’Tis well ’tis so soon settled. Now let us dine, Sir Patrick, We may be merry companions to-night, though we be to fight like fiends i’ the morning. The banquet, I say—the banquet. Why dost thou tarry with thy prisoner?”“One word, I pray,” said Maurice de Grey, now thrown into extreme agitation by hearing that his master’s life was to be put in jeopardy for him—“I crave one word ere I go.”“My Lord,” said Sir Patrick to the Wolfe, “I claim thy solemn behote; thou didst promise free and ample speech for the youth; hear him, then, I beseech thee.”“Well, youth, well,” cried the Wolfe, very impatiently, “what hast thou to say? Be quick, for time wears, and hunger galls me; be quick, I say.”“I demand a private conference, noble Earl,” said the page. “I have something to unfold that will altogether change the complexion of this case. If I do not make the Lady Mariota clear me of all guilt, I hereby agree to hold myself as condemned[235]to instant death, and shall patiently submit to whatever fate thou mayest award me.”“Nay, nay, dear Maurice,” cried Hepborne anxiously, and putting more faith in his own prowess than in anything the page could urge to convince the Lady Mariota, of whose villainous falsehood in the foul charge she had brought against the youth he had been fully convinced from the first—“nay, nay, dear Maurice, rather leave the matter as it is; rather——”“By the bloody hide of St. Bartholomew,” cried the Wolfe, with evident joy, “but the boy shall have his way. We shall thus have this mysterious affair cleared up, and settled forthwith, instead of delaying till to-morrow. By the mass, but he hath excited queer thoughts in my mind. But we shall see anon. Come then, let him along with me, that I may show him to the Lady Mariota’s apartment. I swear by the Holy Rood, Sir Patrick, that the youth shall have justice—justice to the fullest extent of what he hath demanded. Clear the way, then, I say; come, Sir Page, come along; thou shalt dance hither anon at freedom, or thou shalt dangle it and dance it on the gallows-tree below, where many as brave and stout a youth as thou hath figured before thee. Come on, I say.”After the Earl and the page were gone, Sir Alexander Stewart paced the hall in gloomy silence, his fiery soul boiling within him, so that he could with difficulty restrain his rage. Every now and then a stamp on the pavement louder than the rest proclaimed the excess of his internal agitation. The cool Sir Andrew sat him quietly down, without uttering a word, or appearing to be much interested in the matter at issue. The three boys had not yet come in, but a crowd of the retainers, who were usually admitted to sit below the salt, stood in groups whispering at the lower end of the hall. Sir Patrick Hepborne had been rendered so unhappy by the turn the affair had taken, and was so oppressed with distress, anxiety, and dread as to the result, that he thrust himself into the deep recess of one of the windows, to hide those emotions he felt it impossible to repress. Not a word passed between the chief persons of the scene. The time, which was in reality not in itself long, appeared to Hepborne like an age; and yet, when at length he did hear steps and voices approaching along the passage, leading from the Lady Mariota’s apartment into the banqueting-hall, brave as he was, he trembled like a coward, lest the moment should have come too soon for the unhappy page.The door opened, and the Wolfe entered, frowning and gnashing his teeth. Then came the page, freed from his fetters.[236]The Wolfe of Badenoch’s red eye was disturbed from recent ire, which he seemed even yet to keep down with difficulty; yet he laughed horribly from time to time as he spoke.“Ha! well,” said he, “the page Maurice de Grey hath proved his innocence beyond further question. By the blood of the Bruce—ha! ha! ha!—but it is ridiculous after all. The red fiend catch me if I—but pshaw!—let us have the banquet,” cried he, hastily interrupting himself in something he was going to say—“the banquet, I tell thee. Give me thy hand, Sir Patrick. Thou wert afraid to trust thy beauteous page with me, wert thou?—ha! ha! ha! Thou wouldst rather have fought me at outrance. By’r Lady, but thou art a burly knight; but I like thee not the worse. Depardieux, but thou art safe enow in my hands; trust me, thou shalt hear no more on’t. Ha! ha! ha! I confess that thy page is as innocent—I hereby free him from guilt. The banquet, knaves—the banquet. Ha! the curse of the devil’s dam on me, if I could have looked for this.”“What strange mystery is here?” said Sir Alexander Stewart impatiently. “Where is the Lady Mariota, my mother?”The Wolfe had all this time been reining in his wrath with his utmost power; it was all he could do to curb it; and it was ready to burst all bounds at the first provocation that offered.“Better hold thy peace, Sir Alexander,” cried he, darting an angry glance at him. “By the infernal flames, I am in no humour to listen to thy folly. I have pledged my sacred word as a knight to secrecy, and thou nor no one else shall know aught of this mystery, as thou callest it. Be contented to know that the boy Maurice is innocent.”“And am I to be satisfied with this?” cried Sir Alexander, his wrath kindling more and more as he spoke; “am I to remain satisfied with this, without my mother’s word for it?”“Nay,” said the Wolfe, hastily, “by the holy Rood, thou shalt have no word from thy mother to-night.”“No word from my mother!” exclaimed Sir Alexander. “What! dost thou treat me as a child? By all the fiends, but I shall see her, though. Where is she? Why doth she not appear? By the holy mass, I must see her, and that instantly.”“By the martyrdom of St. Andrew, then,” cried the Wolfe, gnashing his teeth, and foaming at the mouth from very ire—“by the martyrdom of St. Andrew, but thou shalt not see her. I have sent her to cool her passions in the dungeon to which she consigned the page; and hark ye, son Alexander, if thou darest to prate any more about her, by all the fiery fiends of[237]Erebus, but thou shalt occupy the next chamber to that assigned her, there to remain during my pleasure. Ha! what sayest thou to that, Sir Alexander?”“I say thou art a tyrant and a beast,” exclaimed his son, boiling with rage; “and if thou dost not instantly liberate my mother, by all the powers of darkness, I will choke thee in thine armour;” and he strode across the banquet-hall in a frenzy, to put his threat into immediate execution.“Halt!” cried Sir Patrick Hepborne, in a voice like thunder, as he stepped before the Earl, and planted himself directly in the assailant’s way—“halt. Sir Alexander Stewart—halt, I say. Let reason come to thine aid, and let not ungovernable passion lead thee to lay impious hands on him to whom thou owest thine existence.”“Nay, let him come on,” cried the Wolfe, his eyes glaring ferociously.“Stand aside, Sir Patrick Hepborne,” cried Sir Alexander, “or, by all the fiends of perdition, thou shalt suffer for thine interference; stand back, I say, and leave us to——”“Nay,” cried Hepborne, firmly, “I will not back; and by St. Baldrid I swear, that thou shalt do no injury to thy sire until thou shalt have stepped over my body.”“Sayest thou so?” cried Sir Alexander, his eyes flashing like firebrands—“then have at thee, Sir Knight;” and, catching up a truncheon that lay near, he wielded it with both hands, and aimed a blow at Sir Patrick’s head, that would have speedily levelled a patent way for his fury over the prostrate body of the knight, had he not dodged alertly aside, so that it fell harmless to the ground; and then, with one tremendous blow of his fist, he laid the raging maniac senseless on the floor of the hall.“Bind him,” cried the Wolfe, “bind him instantly, I say, and carry him to the dungeon under the northern tower; he is a prisoner until our pleasure shall pronounce him free.”His orders were instantly and implicitly obeyed, and Sir Alexander was carried off, without sense or motion, under the charge of his jailors. Sir Patrick was shocked at the outrageous scene he had witnessed, in which he had been driven to interfere. Though satisfied of the justice of the Earl’s sentence against his son, yet he was concerned to think that he had been instrumental in effecting it, and he conceived he was bound to endeavour to mediate in his behalf.“Nay, nay,” said the Wolfe hastily, “I thank thee heartily for the chastisement thou hast given the whelp. To loose him now, were to deprive him of all its salutary effects. By the[238]blessed Rood, he shall lie in his dungeon until he comes so far to his senses as to make a humble submission both to thee and to me.—What! am I to be bearded at every turning by my boys?—The red fiend catch me, but they and the callet that whelped them shall down to the deepest abyss of Lochyndorbe, ere I shall suffer myself to be so disgraced by her, and snarled at by her litter.”Sir Patrick looked towards Sir Andrew Stewart for aid in his attempt to soften the Earl; but, cool and cautious, he had never stirred from his seat during the fray, and still sat there unmoved, turning a deaf ear to his father’s stormy threats, and averting his eye from Hepborne’s silent appeal.“Come, come, the banquet, knaves,” cried the Wolfe. “Why stand ye all staring like gaze-hounds? The red fiend catch me, but I will hang up half-a-dozen of ye like a string of beads, an we have not our meal in the twinkling of an eye!”The lacqueys and attendants had hitherto been standing in silence and horror, but they were all put instantly in motion. The banquet appeared. The Wolfe ate more voraciously than usual, and swallowed deeper draughts of wine also than he ordinarily did; but it was evidently rather to wash down some vexation that oppressed him than from anything like jollity. His conversation was hasty and abrupt, and after drinking double his wonted quantity in half the usual time, he broke up the feast and retired to his apartment.
The Wolfe and Sir Patrick Hepborne had no sooner entered the banquet-hall than they were surprised by the appearance of the Lady Mariota, who approached them from a room beyond it, drowned in tears.
“Eh!” cried the Wolfe, setting his teeth against each other; “ha!mort de ma vie, what is this I behold? Mariota in tears? Say, speak, why art thou thus bywoxen? What, in the fiend’s name, is the matter? Who hath caused these tears? Speak, and by all the infernal demons, I will have him flayed alive.”
“My Lord,” replied the Lady Mariota, hiding her face in her kerchief, “I can hardly speak it—the page—the page Maurice de Grey———”
“Say, lady, what of him? I beseech thee, what of him?” cried Sir Patrick anxiously. “Hath any ill befallen him?”
“Nay,” said the lady; “would that had been all I had to tell!—Oh, how shall I speak it?—the wretch, taking advantage of my being left alone, dared to insult me. I fled forth from the apartment where I had unconsciously received him, and, having called the attendants, I had him secured, and he is now a prisoner in the dungeon.”
Hepborne was petrified with horror and amazement at this accusation against Maurice de Grey.
“Ha!” cried the Wolfe, “by my beard, thou didst bravely indeed, my girl.—The red fiend catch me, but he shall forthwith swing for it. A gallows and a halter there in the court-yard! By all the grim powers of hell, he shall dangle ere we dine.”
“Nay, nay, my Lord,” said Hepborne, sternly yet calmly, “that may not be without a trial. The youth is mine, and I am thy guest. I demand a fair trial for him; if he be guilty, then let him suffer for his coulpe; but until his guilt be proved, depardieux, I shall stand forth his defender.”
“By the holy Rood, but thou speakest boldly, Sir Knight,” cried the Wolfe, gnashing his teeth in ire. “Art thou then prepared to fight at outrance for thy minion?”
“My Lord,” said Hepborne coolly, “I am here as thy guest. Whilst I am under thy roof I trust the common rules of hospitality will bind us both; but shouldst thou rid thyself of their salutary shackles, I must prepare myself to do my best to resist[232]oppression, as a good and true knight ought to do. I ask but fair trial for the boy, which, in justice thou canst not and wilt not refuse me.”
The Wolfe paced the room backwards and forwards for some time with a hurried step, whilst the Lady Mariota sat sobbing in a chair.
“Mariota,” said he at length, “thou wert alone when the page came to thee?”
“I was, my good Lord,” replied the lady; “My damsels had gone forth at the time he entered my chamber.”
“Now, Sir Patrick Hepborne,” exclaimed the Wolfe, “now thou must of needscost see that all proof here is out of the question. Where can proof be had where there hath been no witnesses?”
“Yea, my Lord,” said Hepborne temperately, “what thou sayest is true, in good faith; and it is also true that without proof there can be no just condemnation.”
The Wolfe began again to pace the room, hastily, his eyes flashing fire.
“What, Sir Knight,” exclaimed he, “dost thou go so far as to doubt the word of the Lady Mariota? By the devil’s mass, but thou art bold indeed.”
“I say not that I doubt the word of the Lady Mariota,” replied Hepborne; “but were the Lady Mariota my sister, and the page Maurice de Grey my greatest enemy, I would not condemn him capitally on her simple saying.”
“Mariota,” cried the Wolfe in a rage, “leave the apartment; get thee to thy chamber. By the martyrdom of St. Andrew, but thou dost beard me, Sir Knight. Thou presumest on my old dotard father’s introduction of thee, and on the frail laws of hospitality, which may indeed bind me to a certain point; but beware thou dost push me beyond it, or, by my beard, neither he nor they shall protect thee.”
“Most noble Earl of Buchan,” replied Hepborne, with perfect temper andsang froid, “again I say, that all I ask is justice. To that point only do I wish to push thee, nor do I fear but thou wilt go so far. I do confess, it seemeth somewhat strange to me to hear so foul a charge against a boy who hath ever sought to fly the Lady Mariota’s advances. Nay, ’twas but yesternight that she came herself to seek him on the rampart, where the youth held idle parlance with me; and though he tried to shun her, verily these eyes beheld her as she did court him to go with her, the which the boy did most unwillingly.”
The Wolfe of Badenoch knit his brows, and strode two or[233]three times through the long hall, the arched roof ringing again to the clang of his heel as he moved. He seemed to be pondering within himself what to resolve, an operation to the fatigue of which he rarely ever subjected his mind, his general practice being to act first, and then, if ever he thought at all, to think afterwards. At length he stopped short in his career, opposite to where Hepborne was standing, with his arms calmly folded across his breast; and, stretching out his hand to him—
“Sir Patrick,” said he, “thou art right. I have perhaps been a little hasty here. There is much in what thou hast said; and I honour thee for thy cool and determined courage and temper. Listen to me then. If the page Maurice de Grey confesseth the coulpe of which he is charged, thou wilt not call it injustice if he be instantly ordered for execution. If he denies it, then let him, or some one for him, do duel with me to-morrow, as soon as light may serve us; and may God and the Blessed Virgin defend the right, and make his innocence clear if he be sans coulpe.”
“Agreed,” said Hepborne. “I stand forth the boy’s defender, and will cheerfully appeal to wager of single combat in his behalf. Let him straightway be sent for, then, and let him be questioned with regard to his guilt or innocence; all I ask for him is full and free speech.”
“He shall have it,” cried the Wolfe; “I swear by my beard, he shall have full power to speak as he lists. Pardieux, ’tis well we determined this matter one way or other forthwith, for I long to dine.”
“What is this I hear?” cried Sir Alexander Stewart, entering in a fury; “what is this I hear? My mother insulted by a minion page! By the ghost of my grandfather, the miscreant shall die ere I eat a morsel. Why doth he not swing even now? What hath delayed his execution?”
“Silence, Sandy,” cried the Wolfe angrily; “the matter is already arranged without thine interference. The youth comes anon to be questioned. If he confesses, the popinjay shall straightway grace the gallows in the court-yard; if he denies, then is Sir Patrick Hepborne prepared to do battle in his cause against me, by to-morrow’s sun.”
“Let that glory be mine, then, I beseech thee, my noble father,” cried Sir Alexander eagerly; “I claim the right of doing battle in defence in my mother’s cause.”
“Well, Alexander,” said the Wolfe gruffly, “if it so please Sir Patrick Hepborne, I scruple not to yield him to thee.”
“My appeal,” said Sir Patrick, “is against one and all who[234]may singly choose to challenge mine arm, and who may be pleased to succeed one another in the single combat I am willing to wage in defence of the youth Maurice de Grey.”
“Hey day!” cried the Wolfe; “gramercy, Sir Knight, then, by mine honest and trusty burly-brand, thou shall have thy bellyful of it, and I shall not resign the first place to my son Alexander. We shall tilt it first, so please thee. At sunrise we shall bestir ourselves, and on the open lawnde beyond the land sconce we shall try the metal of our armour and lance heads. If thou escapest mine arm, Sandy may have thee, if he likes; but the red fiend’s curse upon it if it fail me. Ha! here comes the prisoner.”
The page Maurice de Grey now entered, wearing his chains about his wrists. His countenance was placid and composed, and he advanced with a firm step and undisturbed manner.
“Knowest thou, Sir Page, of what coulpe thou art accused?” demanded the Wolfe sternly.
“I do,” replied the youth calmly.
“Dost thou admit or deny the charge the Lady Mariota hath made against thee?”
“I most solemnly deny it,” replied the page.
“Ha!” cried the Wolfe, “then is there no more to be said. Let him be removed; and let everything be prepared for a single combat to-morrow between Sir Patrick Hepborne and me—the place to be the lawnde beyond the land sconce; and the time, the moment the welkin sees the sun. ’Tis well ’tis so soon settled. Now let us dine, Sir Patrick, We may be merry companions to-night, though we be to fight like fiends i’ the morning. The banquet, I say—the banquet. Why dost thou tarry with thy prisoner?”
“One word, I pray,” said Maurice de Grey, now thrown into extreme agitation by hearing that his master’s life was to be put in jeopardy for him—“I crave one word ere I go.”
“My Lord,” said Sir Patrick to the Wolfe, “I claim thy solemn behote; thou didst promise free and ample speech for the youth; hear him, then, I beseech thee.”
“Well, youth, well,” cried the Wolfe, very impatiently, “what hast thou to say? Be quick, for time wears, and hunger galls me; be quick, I say.”
“I demand a private conference, noble Earl,” said the page. “I have something to unfold that will altogether change the complexion of this case. If I do not make the Lady Mariota clear me of all guilt, I hereby agree to hold myself as condemned[235]to instant death, and shall patiently submit to whatever fate thou mayest award me.”
“Nay, nay, dear Maurice,” cried Hepborne anxiously, and putting more faith in his own prowess than in anything the page could urge to convince the Lady Mariota, of whose villainous falsehood in the foul charge she had brought against the youth he had been fully convinced from the first—“nay, nay, dear Maurice, rather leave the matter as it is; rather——”
“By the bloody hide of St. Bartholomew,” cried the Wolfe, with evident joy, “but the boy shall have his way. We shall thus have this mysterious affair cleared up, and settled forthwith, instead of delaying till to-morrow. By the mass, but he hath excited queer thoughts in my mind. But we shall see anon. Come then, let him along with me, that I may show him to the Lady Mariota’s apartment. I swear by the Holy Rood, Sir Patrick, that the youth shall have justice—justice to the fullest extent of what he hath demanded. Clear the way, then, I say; come, Sir Page, come along; thou shalt dance hither anon at freedom, or thou shalt dangle it and dance it on the gallows-tree below, where many as brave and stout a youth as thou hath figured before thee. Come on, I say.”
After the Earl and the page were gone, Sir Alexander Stewart paced the hall in gloomy silence, his fiery soul boiling within him, so that he could with difficulty restrain his rage. Every now and then a stamp on the pavement louder than the rest proclaimed the excess of his internal agitation. The cool Sir Andrew sat him quietly down, without uttering a word, or appearing to be much interested in the matter at issue. The three boys had not yet come in, but a crowd of the retainers, who were usually admitted to sit below the salt, stood in groups whispering at the lower end of the hall. Sir Patrick Hepborne had been rendered so unhappy by the turn the affair had taken, and was so oppressed with distress, anxiety, and dread as to the result, that he thrust himself into the deep recess of one of the windows, to hide those emotions he felt it impossible to repress. Not a word passed between the chief persons of the scene. The time, which was in reality not in itself long, appeared to Hepborne like an age; and yet, when at length he did hear steps and voices approaching along the passage, leading from the Lady Mariota’s apartment into the banqueting-hall, brave as he was, he trembled like a coward, lest the moment should have come too soon for the unhappy page.
The door opened, and the Wolfe entered, frowning and gnashing his teeth. Then came the page, freed from his fetters.[236]The Wolfe of Badenoch’s red eye was disturbed from recent ire, which he seemed even yet to keep down with difficulty; yet he laughed horribly from time to time as he spoke.
“Ha! well,” said he, “the page Maurice de Grey hath proved his innocence beyond further question. By the blood of the Bruce—ha! ha! ha!—but it is ridiculous after all. The red fiend catch me if I—but pshaw!—let us have the banquet,” cried he, hastily interrupting himself in something he was going to say—“the banquet, I tell thee. Give me thy hand, Sir Patrick. Thou wert afraid to trust thy beauteous page with me, wert thou?—ha! ha! ha! Thou wouldst rather have fought me at outrance. By’r Lady, but thou art a burly knight; but I like thee not the worse. Depardieux, but thou art safe enow in my hands; trust me, thou shalt hear no more on’t. Ha! ha! ha! I confess that thy page is as innocent—I hereby free him from guilt. The banquet, knaves—the banquet. Ha! the curse of the devil’s dam on me, if I could have looked for this.”
“What strange mystery is here?” said Sir Alexander Stewart impatiently. “Where is the Lady Mariota, my mother?”
The Wolfe had all this time been reining in his wrath with his utmost power; it was all he could do to curb it; and it was ready to burst all bounds at the first provocation that offered.
“Better hold thy peace, Sir Alexander,” cried he, darting an angry glance at him. “By the infernal flames, I am in no humour to listen to thy folly. I have pledged my sacred word as a knight to secrecy, and thou nor no one else shall know aught of this mystery, as thou callest it. Be contented to know that the boy Maurice is innocent.”
“And am I to be satisfied with this?” cried Sir Alexander, his wrath kindling more and more as he spoke; “am I to remain satisfied with this, without my mother’s word for it?”
“Nay,” said the Wolfe, hastily, “by the holy Rood, thou shalt have no word from thy mother to-night.”
“No word from my mother!” exclaimed Sir Alexander. “What! dost thou treat me as a child? By all the fiends, but I shall see her, though. Where is she? Why doth she not appear? By the holy mass, I must see her, and that instantly.”
“By the martyrdom of St. Andrew, then,” cried the Wolfe, gnashing his teeth, and foaming at the mouth from very ire—“by the martyrdom of St. Andrew, but thou shalt not see her. I have sent her to cool her passions in the dungeon to which she consigned the page; and hark ye, son Alexander, if thou darest to prate any more about her, by all the fiery fiends of[237]Erebus, but thou shalt occupy the next chamber to that assigned her, there to remain during my pleasure. Ha! what sayest thou to that, Sir Alexander?”
“I say thou art a tyrant and a beast,” exclaimed his son, boiling with rage; “and if thou dost not instantly liberate my mother, by all the powers of darkness, I will choke thee in thine armour;” and he strode across the banquet-hall in a frenzy, to put his threat into immediate execution.
“Halt!” cried Sir Patrick Hepborne, in a voice like thunder, as he stepped before the Earl, and planted himself directly in the assailant’s way—“halt. Sir Alexander Stewart—halt, I say. Let reason come to thine aid, and let not ungovernable passion lead thee to lay impious hands on him to whom thou owest thine existence.”
“Nay, let him come on,” cried the Wolfe, his eyes glaring ferociously.
“Stand aside, Sir Patrick Hepborne,” cried Sir Alexander, “or, by all the fiends of perdition, thou shalt suffer for thine interference; stand back, I say, and leave us to——”
“Nay,” cried Hepborne, firmly, “I will not back; and by St. Baldrid I swear, that thou shalt do no injury to thy sire until thou shalt have stepped over my body.”
“Sayest thou so?” cried Sir Alexander, his eyes flashing like firebrands—“then have at thee, Sir Knight;” and, catching up a truncheon that lay near, he wielded it with both hands, and aimed a blow at Sir Patrick’s head, that would have speedily levelled a patent way for his fury over the prostrate body of the knight, had he not dodged alertly aside, so that it fell harmless to the ground; and then, with one tremendous blow of his fist, he laid the raging maniac senseless on the floor of the hall.
“Bind him,” cried the Wolfe, “bind him instantly, I say, and carry him to the dungeon under the northern tower; he is a prisoner until our pleasure shall pronounce him free.”
His orders were instantly and implicitly obeyed, and Sir Alexander was carried off, without sense or motion, under the charge of his jailors. Sir Patrick was shocked at the outrageous scene he had witnessed, in which he had been driven to interfere. Though satisfied of the justice of the Earl’s sentence against his son, yet he was concerned to think that he had been instrumental in effecting it, and he conceived he was bound to endeavour to mediate in his behalf.
“Nay, nay,” said the Wolfe hastily, “I thank thee heartily for the chastisement thou hast given the whelp. To loose him now, were to deprive him of all its salutary effects. By the[238]blessed Rood, he shall lie in his dungeon until he comes so far to his senses as to make a humble submission both to thee and to me.—What! am I to be bearded at every turning by my boys?—The red fiend catch me, but they and the callet that whelped them shall down to the deepest abyss of Lochyndorbe, ere I shall suffer myself to be so disgraced by her, and snarled at by her litter.”
Sir Patrick looked towards Sir Andrew Stewart for aid in his attempt to soften the Earl; but, cool and cautious, he had never stirred from his seat during the fray, and still sat there unmoved, turning a deaf ear to his father’s stormy threats, and averting his eye from Hepborne’s silent appeal.
“Come, come, the banquet, knaves,” cried the Wolfe. “Why stand ye all staring like gaze-hounds? The red fiend catch me, but I will hang up half-a-dozen of ye like a string of beads, an we have not our meal in the twinkling of an eye!”
The lacqueys and attendants had hitherto been standing in silence and horror, but they were all put instantly in motion. The banquet appeared. The Wolfe ate more voraciously than usual, and swallowed deeper draughts of wine also than he ordinarily did; but it was evidently rather to wash down some vexation that oppressed him than from anything like jollity. His conversation was hasty and abrupt, and after drinking double his wonted quantity in half the usual time, he broke up the feast and retired to his apartment.