from the irritated Scots. Trust not that they will stick at any outrage to accomplish their aim. Loth would I be to know our name were dishonoured by any pusillanimity on the part of my brother; but desperate obstinacy is not bravery. I, therefore, conjure you to save me, and her in whom all your hopes of future felicity are bound up.’
Musgrave was deeply affected; and, at that instant, before he had time to reply, Douglas re-entered.
‘Scots lord, you have overcome me,’ said he, with a pathos that could not be exceeded: ‘Yes you have conquered, but not with your sword. Not on the field, nor on the wall, have ye turned the glaive of Musgrave; but either by some infernal power, or else by chicanery and guile, the everlasting resources of your cursed nation. It boots not me to know how you came possessed of this last and only remaining pledge of my submission. It is sufficient you have it. I yield myself your prisoner; let me live or die with those two already in your power.’
‘No, knight, that must not be,’ replied Douglas, ‘You are here on safe conduct and protection; my honour is pledged, and must not be forfeited. You shall return in safety to your kinsmen and soldiers, and act by their counsel. It is not prisoners I want, but the castle of Roxburgh, which is the right of my sovereign and my nation – clandestinely taken, and wrongously held by you. I am neither cruel nor severe beyond the small range that points to that attainment; but that fortress I will have – else wo be to you, and all who advise withholding it, as well as all their connexions to whom the power of Scotland can extend. If the castle is not delivered up before Friday at noon, your brother shall suffer – that you already know. But at the same hour on the day of the Conception, if it is still madly and wantonly detained, there shall be such a scene transacted before your eyes as shall blur the annals of the Border for ever.’
‘If you allude to any injury intended to the lady who is your prisoner,’ said Musgrave, ‘the cruellest fiend in hell could not have the heart to hurt such angelic purity and loveliness; and it would degrade the honour of knighthood for ever to suffer it. Cruel as you are, you dare not injure a hair of her head.’
‘Talk not of cruelty in me,’ said Douglas: ‘If the knight who is her lover will not save her, how should I? You have it in your power, and certainly it is you that behove to do it; even granting that the stakes for which we fought were equal, the task of redemption and the blame would rest solely with you. And how wide is the difference between the prizes for which we contend? I for my love, my honour, and the very existence of my house and name; and you for you know not what – the miserable pride of opposition. Take your measures, my lord. I will not be mocked.’
Douglas left the apartment. Musgrave also arose and embraced his brother, and, as he parted from him, he spoke these ominous words: ‘Farewell, my dear Richard. May the angels that watch over honour be your guardians in the hour of trial. You know not what I have to endure from tormentors without and within. But hence we meet not again in this state of existence. The ties of love must be broken, and the bands of brotherly love burst asunder – nevertheless I will save you – A long farewell my brother.’
Musgrave was then conducted back to the draw-bridge, between two long files of soldiers as before, while all the musicians that belonged either to the army or the city were ranked up in a line behind them, on the top of the great precipice that overhangs the Teviot, playing, on all manner of instruments, ‘Turn the Blue Bonnets wha can, wha can,’ with such a tremendous din that one would have thought every stone in the walls of Roxburgh was singing out the bravado.
1 As there can be no doubt of the authenticity of this part of the Curate’s tale, these secret passages must have been carried under ground all the way from the castle to the junction of the two rivers; and it is said that a tradition still exists on the spot, that these vaulted paths have often been discovered by former inhabitants.
CHAPTER EIGHT
Quhat weywerde elfin thynge is thaten boie,
That hyngethe still upon myne gaire, as doeth
My synne of harte? And quhome rychte loth, I lofe
With not les hanckerynge. His locent eyne,
And his tungis maiter comethe on myne sense
Lyke a remembourance; or lyke ane dreime
That had delytis in it. Quhen I wolde say
‘Begone;’ lo then my tung mistakethe quyte,
Or fanceyinge not the terme, it sayethe ‘Come hidder,
Come hidder, crabbed boie, unto myne syde.’
Old Play
THAT EVENING, AFTER the departure of the noble and distressed Musgrave, Douglas was sitting all alone musing in a secret apartment of the pavilion, when he heard a gentle tap at the door. ‘Who’s there?’ inquired he surlily: ‘It is I, my lor’,’ said a petulant treble voice without. ‘Aha! my excellent nondescript little fellow, Colin Roy, is it you? Why, you may come in.’ Colin entered dressed in a most elegant and whimsical livery, and, forgetting himself, made the Douglas two or three graceful courtesies instead of bows.
‘Aye, hem,’ said he, ‘that’s very well for the page of a princess. I suppose you have been studying the graces from your accomplished mistress? But where have you been all this while? I have felt the loss of you from my hand grievously.’
‘I have been waiting on my royal mistress, my lor’, informing her of all that is going on at the siege, and of your good fortune in the late captures you have made, wherein she rejoices exceedingly, and wishes you all good fortune and forward success; and, in token of kind remembrance, she sends you this heart of ruby set in gold and diamonds – a gem that befits your lordship well to wear. And many more matters she has given me in charge, my lor’.’
Douglas kissed the locket, and put it in his bosom, and then uttered abundance of the extravagant bombast peculiar to that age. He called her his guardian angel, his altar of incense, and the saint of his devotion, the buckler of his arm, the sword in his hand, and the jewel of his heart. ‘Do you think, Colin,’ added he, ‘that ever there was a maiden born like this royal lady of my love?’
‘Why, my lor’, I am not much skilled in these matters, but I believe the wench, my mistress, is well enough; – that is, she is well formed. And yet she is but so so.’
‘How dare you, you piece of unparalleled impudence, talk of your royal mistress in that strain? Or where did you ever see a form or features so elegant, and so bewitchingly lovely?’
‘Do you think so? – Well, I’m glad of it. I think she is coarse and masculine. Where did I ever see such a form, indeed! Yes I have seen a much finer limb, and an arm, and a hand too! What think you of that for a hand, my lor’?’ – (and with that the urchin clapped his hand on the green table, first turning up the one side of it and then the other.) – ‘I say if that hand were as well kept, and that arm as well loaden with bracelets, and the fingers with diamond rings, it would be as handsome as your princess’s, of which you boast so much – aye, and handsomer too.’
‘You are a privileged boy, Colin, otherwise I would kick you heartily, and, moreover, cause you to be whipped by the hand of the common executioner. However, you are a confidant – all is well from you; and, to say the truth, yours is a very handsome hand for a boy’s hand – so is your arm. But what are they to those of my lovely and royal Margaret? – mere deformity! the husk to the wheat!’
‘Indeed,
