’Tis a weary life this —
Vaults1 overhead, and grates and bars around me,
And my sad hours spent with as sad companions,
Whose thoughts are brooding: o’er their own mischances,
Far, far too deeply to take part in mine.
The Woodsman.
The course of life to which Mary and her little retinue3 were doomed4, was in the last degree secluded5 and lonely, varied6 only as the weather permitted or rendered impossible the Queen’s usual walk in the garden or on the battlements. The greater part of the morning she wrought7 with her ladies at those pieces of needlework, many of which still remain proofs of her indefatigable8 application. At such hours the page was permitted the freedom of the castle and islet; nay10, he was sometimes invited to attend George Douglas when he went a-sporting upon the lake, or on its margin11; opportunities of diversion which were only clouded by the remarkable12 melancholy13 which always seemed to brood on that gentleman’s brow, and to mark his whole demeanour,— a sadness so profound, that Roland never observed him to smile, or to speak any word unconnected with the immediate14 object of their exercise.
The most pleasant part of Roland’s day, was the occasional space which he was permitted to pass in personal attendance on the Queen and her ladies, together with the regular dinner-time, which he always spent with Dame15 Mary Fleming and Catharine Seyton. At these periods, he had frequent occasion to admire the lively spirit and inventive imagination of the latter damsel, who was unwearied in her contrivances to amuse her mistress, and to banish16, for a time at least, the melancholy which preyed17 on her bosom18. She danced, she sung, she recited tales of ancient and modern times, with that heartfelt exertion19 of talent, of which the pleasure lies not in the vanity of displaying it to others, but in the enthusiastic consciousness that we possess it ourselves. And yet these high accomplishments21 were mixed with an air of rusticity22 and harebrained vivacity23, which seemed rather to belong to some village maid, the coquette of the ring around the Maypole, than to the high-bred descendant of an ancient baron24. A touch of audacity25, altogether short of effrontery26, and far less approaching to vulgarity, gave as it were a wildness to all that she did; and Mary, while defending her from some of the occasional censures27 of her grave companion, compared her to a trained singing-bird escaped from a cage, which practises in all the luxuriance of freedom, and in full possession of the greenwood bough28, the airs which it had learned during its earlier captivity29.
The moments which the page was permitted to pass in the presence of this fascinating creature, danced so rapidly away, that, brief as they were, they compensated30 the weary dulness of all the rest of the day. The space of indulgence, however, was always brief, nor were any private interviews betwixt him and Catharine permitted, or even possible. Whether it were some special precaution respecting the Queen’s household, or whether it were her general ideas of propriety32, Dame Fleming seemed particularly attentive33 to prevent the young people from holding any separate correspondence together, and bestowed34, for Catharine’s sole benefit in this matter, the full stock of prudence36 and experience which she had acquired, when mother of the Queen’s maidens38 of honour, and by which she had gained their hearty39 hatred40. Casual meetings, however, could not be prevented, unless Catherine had been more desirous of shunning41, or Roland Graeme less anxious in watching for them. A smile, a gibe42, a sarcasm43, disarmed44 of its severity by the arch look with which it was accompanied, was all that time permitted to pass between them on such occasions. But such passing interviews neither afforded means nor opportunity to renew the discussion of the circumstances attending their earlier acquaintance, nor to permit Roland to investigate more accurately45 the mysterious apparition46 of the page in the purple velvet47 cloak at the hostelrie of Saint Michael’s.
The winter months slipped heavily away, and spring was already advanced, when Roland Graeme observed a gradual change in the manners of his fellow-prisoners. Having no business of his own to attend to, and being, like those of his age, education, and degree, sufficiently48 curious concerning what passed around, he began by degrees to suspect, and finally to be convinced, that there was something in agitation50 among his companions in captivity, to which they did not desire that he should be privy51. Nay, he became almost certain that, by some means unintelligible52 to him, Queen Mary held correspondence beyond the walls and waters which surrounded her prison-house, and that she nourished some secret hope of deliverance or escape. In the conversations betwixt her and her attendants, at which he was necessarily present, the Queen could not always avoid showing that she was acquainted with the events which were passing abroad in the world, and which he only heard through her report. He observed that she wrote more and worked less than had been her former custom, and that, as if desirous to lull54 suspicion asleep, she changed her manner towards the Lady Lochleven into one more gracious, and which seemed to express a resigned submission55 to her lot. “They think I am blind,” he said to himself, “and that I am unfit to be trusted because I am so young, or it may be because I was sent hither by the Regent. Well!— be it so — they may be glad to confide56 in me in the long run; and Catherine Seyton, for as saucy57 as she is, may find me as safe a confidant as that sullen58 Douglas, whom she is always running after. It may be they are angry with me for listening to Master Elias Henderson; but it was their own fault for sending me there, and if the man speaks truth and good sense, and preaches only the word of God, he is as likely to be right as either Pope or Councils.”
It is probable that in this last conjecture59, Roland Graeme had hit upon the real cause why the ladies had not intrusted him with their councils. He had of late had several conferences with Henderson on the subject of religion, and had given him to understand that he stood in need of his instructions, although he had not thought there was either prudence or necessity for confessing that hitherto he had held the tenets of the Church of Rome.
Elias Henderson, a keen propagator of the reformed faith, had sought the seclusion60 of Lochleven Castle, with the express purpose and expectation of making converts from Rome amongst the domestics of the dethroned Queen, and confirming the faith of those who already held the Protestant doctrines61. Perhaps his hopes soared a little higher, and he might nourish some expectation of a proselyte more distinguished63 in the person of the deposed64 Queen. But the pertinacity65 with which she and her female attendants refused to see or listen to him, rendered such hope, if he nourished it, altogether abortive66.
The opportunity, therefore, of enlarging the religious information of Roland Graeme, and bringing him to a more due sense of his duties to Heaven, was hailed by the good man as a door opened by Providence67 for the salvation68 of a sinner. He dreamed not, indeed, that he was converting a Papist, but such was the ignorance which Roland displayed upon some material points of the reformed doctrine62, that Master Henderson, while praising his docility69 to the Lady Lochleven and her grandson, seldom failed to add, that his venerable brother, Henry Warden70, must be now decayed in strength and in mind, since he found a catechumen of his flock so ill-grounded in the principles of his belief. For this, indeed, Roland Graeme thought it was unnecessary to assign the true reason, which was his having made it a point of honour to forget all that Henry Warden taught him, as soon as he was no longer compelled to read it over as a lesson acquired by rote53. The lessons of his new instructor71, if not more impressively delivered, were received by a more willing ear, and a more awakened72 understanding, and the solitude74 of Lochleven Castle was favourable75 to graver thoughts than the page had hitherto entertained. He wavered yet, indeed, as one who was almost persuaded; but his attention to the chaplain’s instructions procured76 him favour even with the stern old dame herself; and he was once or twice, but under great precaution, permitted to go to the neighbouring village of Kinross, situated77 on the mainland, to execute some ordinary commission of his unfortunate mistress.
For some time Roland Graeme might be considered as standing73 neuter betwixt the two parties who inhabited the water-girdled Tower of Lochleven; but, as he rose in the opinion of the Lady of the Castle and her chaplain, he perceived, with great grief, that he lost ground in that of Mary and her female allies.
He came gradually to be sensible that he was regarded as a spy upon their discourse78, and that, instead of the ease with which they had formerly79 conversed80 in his presence, without suppressing any of the natural feelings of anger, of sorrow, or mirth, which the chance topic of the moment happened to call forth81, their talk was now guardedly restricted to the most indifferent subjects, and a studied reserve observed even in their mode of treating these. This obvious want of confidence was accompanied with a correspondent change in their personal demeanor82 towards the unfortunate page. The Queen, who had at first treated him with marked courtesy, now scarce spoke83 to him, save to convey some necessary command for her service. The Lady Fleming restricted her notice to the most dry and distant expressions of civility, and Catherine Seyton became bitter in her pleasantries, and shy, cross, and pettish84, in any intercourse85 they had together. What was yet more provoking, he saw, or thought he saw, marks of intelligence betwixt George Douglas and the beautiful Catherine Seyton; and, sharpened by jealousy86, he wrought himself almost into a certainty, that the looks which they exchanged, conveyed matters of deep and serious import. “No wonder,” he thought, “if, courted by the son of a proud and powerful baron, she can no longer spare a word or look to the poor fortuneless page.”
In a word, Roland Graeme’s situation became truly disagreeable, and his heart naturally enough rebelled against the injustice87 of this treatment, which deprived him of the only comfort which he had received for submitting to a confinement88 in other respects irksome. He accused Queen Mary and Catherine Seyton (for concerning the opinion of Dame Fleming he was indifferent) of inconsistency in being displeased89 with him on account of the natural consequences of an order of their own. Why did they send him to hear this overpowering preacher? The Abbot Ambrosius, he recollected90, understood the weakness of their Popish cause better, when he enjoined91 him to repeat within his own mind, aves , and credos , and paters , all the while old Henry Warden preached or lectured, that so he might secure himself against lending even a momentary92 ear to his heretical doctrine. “But I will endure this life no longer,” said he to himself, manfully; “do they suppose I would betray my mistress, because I see cause to doubt of her religion?— that would be a serving, as they say, the devil for God’s sake. I will forth into the world — he that serves fair ladies, may at least expect kind looks and kind words; and I bear not the mind of a gentleman, to submit to cold treatment and suspicion, and a life-long captivity besides. I will speak to George Douglas tomorrow when we go out a-fishing.”
A sleepless93 night was spent in agitating94 this magnanimous resolution, and he arose in the morning not perfectly95 decided96 in his own mind whether he should abide97 by it or not. It happened that he was summoned by the Queen at an unusual hour, and just as he was about to go out with George Douglas. He went to attend her commands in, the garden; but as he had his angling-rod in his hand, the circumstance announced his previous intention, and the Queen, turning to the Lady Fleming, said, “Catherine must devise some other amusement for us, ma bonnie amie ; our discreet98 page has already made his party for the day’s pleasure.”
“I said from the beginning,” answered the Lady Fleming, “that your Grace ought not to rely on being favoured with the company of a youth who has so many Huguenot acquaintances, and has the means of amusing himself far more agreeably than with us.”
“I wish,” said Catherine, her animated99 features reddening with mortification100, “that his friends would sail away with him for good, and bring us in return a page (if such a thing can be found) faithful to his Queen and to his religion.”
“One part of your wishes may be granted, madam,” said Roland Graeme, unable any longer to restrain his sense of the treatment which he received on all sides; and he was about to add, “I heartily101 wish you a companion in my room, if such can be found, who is capable of enduring women’s caprices without going distracted.” Luckily, he recollected the remorse102 which he had felt at having given way to the vivacity of his temper upon a similar occasion; and, closing his lips, imprisoned103, until it died on his tongue, a reproach so misbecoming the presence of majesty104.
“Why do you remain there,” said the Queen, “as if you were rooted to the parterre?”
“I but attend your Grace’s commands,” said the page.
“I have none to give you — Begone, sir.”
As he left the garden to go to the boat, he distinctly heard Mary upbraid105 one of her attendants in these words:—“You see to what you have exposed us!”
This brief scene at once determined106 Roland Graeme’s resolution to quit the castle, if it were possible, and to impart his resolution to George Douglas without loss of time. That gentleman, in his usual mood of silence, sate31 in the stern of the little skiff which they used on such occasions, trimming his fishing-tackle, and, from time to time, indicating by signs to Graeme, who pulled the oars107, which way he should row. When they were a furlong or two from the castle, Roland rested on the oars, and addressed his companion somewhat abruptly,—“I have something of importance to say to you, under your pleasure, fair sir.”
The pensive108 melancholy of Douglas’s countenance109 at once gave way to the eager, keen, and startled look of one who expects to hear something of deep and alarming import.
“I am wearied to the very death of this Castle of Lochleven,” continued Roland.
“Is that all?” said Douglas; “I know none of its inhabitants who are much better pleased with it.”
“Ay, but I am neither a native of the house, nor a prisoner in it, and so I may reasonably desire to leave it.”
“You might desire to quit it with equal reason,” answered Douglas, “if you were both the one and the other.”
“But,” said Roland Graeme, “I am not only tired of living in Lochleven Castle, but I am determined to quit it.”
“That is a resolution more easily taken than executed,” replied Douglas.
“Not if yourself, sir, and your Lady Mother, choose to consent,” answered the page.
“You mistake the matter, Roland,” said Douglas; “you will find that the consent of two other persons is equally essential — that of the Lady Mary your mistress, and that of my uncle the Regent, who placed you about her person, and who will not think it proper that she should change her attendants so soon.”
“And must I then remain whether I will or no?” demanded the page, somewhat appalled110 at a view of the subject, which would have occurred sooner to a person of more experience.
“At least,” said George Douglas, “you must will to remain till my uncle consents to dismiss you.”
“Frankly,” said the page, “and speaking to you as a gentleman who is incapable111 of betraying me, I will confess, that if I thought myself a prisoner here, neither walls nor water should confine me long.”
“Frankly,” said Douglas, “I could not much blame you for the attempt; yet, for all that, my father, or uncle, or the earl, or any of my brothers, or in short any of the king’s lords into whose hands you fell, would in such a case hang you like a dog, or like a sentinel who deserts his post; and I promise you that you will hardly escape them. But row towards Saint Serf’s island — there is a breeze from the west, and we shall have sport, keeping to windward of the isle9, where the ripple112 is strongest. We will speak more of what you have mentioned when we have had an hour’s sport.”
Their fishing was successful, though never did two anglers pursue even that silent and unsocial pleasure with less of verbal intercourse.
When their time was expired, Douglas took the oars in his turn, and by his order Roland Graeme steered113 the boat, directing her course upon the landing-place at the castle. But he also stopped in the midst of his course, and, looking around him, said to Graeme, “There is a thing which I could mention to thee; but it is so deep a secret, that even here, surrounded as we are by sea and sky, without the possibility of a listener, I cannot prevail on myself to speak it out.”
“Better leave it unspoken, sir,” answered Roland Graeme, “if you doubt the honour of him who alone can hear it.”
“I doubt not your honour,” replied George Douglas; “but you are young, imprudent, and changeful.”
“Young,” said Roland, “I am, and it may be imprudent — but who hath informed you that I am changeful?”
“One that knows you, perhaps, better than you know yourself,” replied Douglas.
“I suppose you mean Catherine Seyton,” said the page, his heart rising as he spoke; “but she is herself fifty times more variable in her humour than the very water which we are floating upon.”
“My young acquaintance,” said Douglas, “I pray you to remember that Catherine Seyton is a lady of blood and birth, and must not be lightly spoken of.”
“Master George of Douglas,” said Graeme, “as that speech seemed to be made under the warrant of something like a threat, I pray you to observe, that I value not the threat at the estimation of a fin49 of one of these dead trouts; and, moreover, I would have you to know that the champion who undertakes the defence of every lady of blood and birth, whom men accuse of change of faith and of fashion, is like to have enough of work on his hands.”
“Go to,” said the Seneschal, but in a tone of good-humour, “thou art a foolish boy, unfit to deal with any matter more serious than the casting of a net, or the flying of a hawk115.”
“If your secret concern Catherine Seyton,” said the page, “I care not for it, and so you may tell her if you will. I wot she can shape you opportunity to speak with her, as she has ere now.”
The flush which passed over Douglas’s face, made the page aware that he had alighted on a truth, when he was, in fact, speaking at random116; and the feeling that he had done so, was like striking a dagger117 into his own heart. His companion, without farther answer, resumed the oars, and pulled lustily till they arrived at the island and the castle. The servants received the produce of their spoil, and the two fishers, turning from each other in silence, went each to his several apartment.
Roland Graeme had spent about an hour in grumbling118 against Catherine Seyton, the Queen, the Regent, and the whole house of Lochleven, with George Douglas at the head of it, when the time approached that his duty called him to attend the meal of Queen Mary. As he arranged his dress for this purpose, he grudged119 the trouble, which, on similar occasions, he used, with boyish foppery, to consider as one of the most important duties of his day; and when he went to take his place behind the chair of the Queen, it was with an air of offended dignity, which could not escape her observation, and probably appeared to her ridiculous enough, for she whispered something in French to her ladies, at which the lady Fleming laughed, and Catherine appeared half diverted and half disconcerted. This pleasantry, of which the subject was concealed120 from him, the unfortunate page received, of course, as a new offence, and called an additional degree of sullen dignity into his mien121, which might have exposed him to farther raillery, but that Mary appeared disposed to make allowance for and compassionate122 his feelings.
With the peculiar124 tact125 and delicacy126 which no woman possessed127 in greater perfection, she began to soothe128 by degrees the vexed129 spirit of her magnanimous attendant. The excellence130 of the fish which he had taken in his expedition, the high flavour and beautiful red colour of the trouts, which have long given distinction to the lake, led her first to express her thanks to her attendant for so agreeable an addition to her table, especially upon a jour de jeune ; and then brought on inquiries131 into the place where the fish had been taken, their size, their peculiarities132, the times when they were in season, and a comparison between the Lochleven trouts and those which are found in the lakes and rivers of the south of Scotland. The ill humour of Roland Graeme was never of an obstinate133 character. It rolled away like mist before the sun, and he was easily engaged in a keen and animated dissertation135 about Lochleven trout114, and sea trout, and river trout, and bull trout, and char134, which never rise to a fly, and par2, which some suppose infant salmon136, and herlings , which frequent the Nith, and vendisses , which are only found in the Castle-Loch of Lochmaben; and he was hurrying on with the eager impetuosity and enthusiasm of a young sportsman, when he observed that the smile with which the Queen at first listened to him died languidly away, and that, in spite of her efforts to suppress them, tears rose to her eyes. He stopped suddenly short, and, distressed138 in his turn, asked, “If he had the misfortune unwittingly to give displeasure to her Grace?”
“No, my poor boy,” replied the Queen; “but as you numbered up the lakes and rivers of my kingdom, imagination cheated me, as it will do, and snatched me from these dreary139 walls away to the romantic streams of Nithsdale, and the royal towers of Lochmaben.— O land, which my fathers have so long ruled! of the pleasures which you extend so freely, your Queen is now deprived, and the poorest beggar, who may wander free from one landward town to another, would scorn to change fates with Mary of Scotland!”
“Your highness,” said the Lady Fleming, “will do well to withdraw.”
“Come with me, then, Fleming,” said the Queen, “I would not burden hearts so young as these are, with the sight of my sorrows.”
She accompanied these words with a look of melancholy compassion123 towards Roland and Catherine, who were now left alone together in the apartment.
The page found his situation not a little embarrassing; for, as every reader has experienced who may have chanced to be in such a situation, it is extremely difficult to maintain the full dignity of an offended person in the presence of a beautiful girl, whatever reason we may have for being angry with her. Catherine Seyton, on her part, sate still like a lingering ghost, which, conscious of the awe140 which its presence imposes, is charitably disposed to give the poor confused mortal whom it visits, time to recover his senses, and comply with the grand rule of demonology by speaking first. But as Roland seemed in no hurry to avail himself of her condescension141, she carried it a step farther, and herself opened the conversation.
“I pray you, fair sir, if it may be permitted me to disturb your august reverie by a question so simple,— what may have become of your rosary?”
“It is lost, madam — lost some time since,” said Roland, partly embarrassed and partly indignant.
“And may I ask farther, sir,” said Catherine, “why you have not replaced it with another?— I have half a mind,” she said, taking from her pocket a string of ebony beads142 adorned143 with gold, “to bestow35 one upon yon, to keep for my sake, just to remind you of former acquaintance.”
There was a little tremulous accent in the tone with which these words were delivered, which at once put to flight Roland Graeme’s resentment144, and brought him to Catherine’s side; but she instantly resumed the bold and firm accent which was more familiar to her. “I did not bid you,” she said, “come and sit so close by me; for the acquaintance that I spoke of, has been stiff and cold, dead and buried, for this many a day.”
“Now Heaven forbid!” said the page, “it has only slept, and now that you desire it should awake, fair Catherine, believe me that a pledge of your returning favour —”
“Nay, nay,” said Catherine, withholding145 the rosary, towards which, as he spoke, he extended his hand, “I have changed my mind on better reflection. What should a heretic do with these holy beads, that have been blessed by the father of the church himself?”
Roland winced146 grievously, for he saw plainly which way the discourse was now likely to tend, and felt that it must at all events be embarrassing. “Nay, but,” he said, “it was as a token of your own regard that you offered them.”
“Ay, fair sir, but that regard attended the faithful subject, the loyal and pious147 Catholic, the individual who was so solemnly devoted148 at the same time with myself to the same grand duty; which, you must now understand, was to serve the church and Queen. To such a person, if you ever heard of him, was my regard due, and not to him who associates with heretics, and is about to become a renegado.”
“I should scarce believe, fair mistress,” said Roland, indignantly, “that the vane of your favour turned only to a Catholic wind, considering that it points so plainly to George Douglas, who, I think, is both kingsman and Protestant.”
“Think better of George Douglas,” said Catherine, “than to believe —” and then checking herself, as if she had spoken too much, she went on, “I assure you, fair Master Roland, that all who wish you well are sorry for you.”
“Their number is very few, I believe,” answered Roland, “and their sorrow, if they feel any, not deeper than ten minutes’ time will cure.”
“They are more numerous, and think more deeply concerning you, than you seem to be aware,” answered Catherine. “But perhaps they think wrong — You are the best judge in your own affairs; and if you prefer gold and church-lands to honour and loyalty149, and the faith of your fathers, why should you be hampered150 in conscience more than others?”
“May Heaven bear witness for me,” said Roland, “that if I entertain any difference of opinion — that is, if I nourish any doubts in point of religion, they have been adopted on the conviction of my own mind, and the suggestion of my own conscience!”
“Ay, ay, your conscience — your conscience!” repeated she with satiric151 emphasis; “your conscience is the scape-goat; I warrant it an able one — it will bear the burden of one of the best manors152 of the Abbey of Saint Mary of Kennaquhair”, lately forfeited153 to our noble Lord the King, by the Abbot and community thereof, for the high crime of fidelity154 to their religious vows155, and now to be granted by the High and Mighty156 Traitor157, and so forth, James Earl of Murray, to the good squire158 of dames159 Roland Graeme, for his loyal and faithful service as under-espial, and deputy-turnkey, for securing the person of his lawful160 sovereign, Queen Mary.”
“You misconstrue me cruelly,” said the page; “yes, Catherine, most cruelly — God knows I would protect this poor lady at the risk of my life, or with my life; but what can I do — what can any one do for her?”
“Much may be done — enough may be done — all may be done — if men will be but true and honourable161, as Scottish men were in the days of Bruce and Wallace. Oh, Roland, from what an enterprise you are now withdrawing your heart and hand, through mere162 fickleness163 and coldness of spirit!”
“How can I withdraw,” said Roland, “from an enterprise which has never been communicated to me?— Has the Queen, or have you, or has any one, communicated with me upon any thing for her service which I have refused? Or have you not, all of you, held me at such distance from your counsels, as if I were the most faithless spy since the days of Ganelon?” 28
“And who,” said Catherine Seyton, “would trust the sworn friend, and pupil, and companion, of the heretic preacher Henderson? ay — a proper tutor you have chosen, instead of the excellent Ambrosius, who is now turned out of house and homestead, if indeed he is not languishing164 in a dungeon165, for withstanding the tyranny of Morton, to whose brother the temporalities of that noble house of God have been gifted away by the Regent.”
“Is it possible?” said the page; “and is the excellent Father Ambrose in such distress137?”
“He would account the news of your falling away from the faith of your fathers,” answered Catherine, “a worse mishap166 than aught that tyranny can inflict167 on himself.”
“But why,” said Roland, very much moved, “why should you suppose that — that — that it is with me as you say?”
“Do you yourself deny it?” replied Catherine; “do you not admit that you have drunk the poison which you should have dashed from your lips? — Do you deny that it now ferments168 in your veins169, if it has not altogether corrupted170 the springs of life?— Do you deny that you have your doubts, as you proudly term them, respecting what popes and councils have declared it unlawful to doubt of?— Is not your faith wavering, if not overthrown171?— Does not the heretic preacher boast his conquest?— Does not the heretic woman of this prison-house hold up thy example to others?— Do not the Queen and the Lady Fleming believe in thy falling away?— And is there any except one — yes, I will speak it out, and think as lightly as you please of my good-will — is there one except myself that holds even a lingering hope that you may yet prove what we once all believed of you?”
“I know not,” said our poor page, much embarrassed by the view which was thus presented to him of the conduct he was expected to pursue, and by a person in whom he was not the less interested that, though long a resident in Lochleven Castle, with no object so likely to attract his undivided attention, no lengthened172 interview had taken place since they had first met,—“I know not what you expect of me, or fear from me. I was sent hither to attend Queen Mary, and to her I acknowledge the duty of a servant through life and death. If any one had expected service of another kind, I was not the party to render it. I neither avow173 nor disclaim174 the doctrines of the reformed church.— Will you have the truth?— It seems to me that the profligacy175 of the Catholic clergy176 has brought this judgment177 on their own heads, and, for aught I know, it may be for their reformation. But, for betraying this unhappy Queen, God knows I am guiltless of the thought. Did I even believe worse of her, than as her servant I wish — as her subject I dare to do — I would not betray her — far from it — I would aid her in aught which could tend to a fair trial of her cause.”
“Enough! enough!” answered Catherine, clasping her hands together; “then thou wilt178 not desert us if any means are presented, by which, placing our Royal Mistress at freedom, this case may be honestly tried betwixt her and her rebellious179 subjects?”
“Nay — but, fair Catherine,” replied the page, “hear but what the Lord of Murray said when he sent me hither.”—
“Hear but what the devil said,” replied the maiden37, “rather than what a false subject, a false brother, a false counsellor, a false friend, said! A man raised from a petty pensioner180 on the crown’s bounty181, to be the counsellor of majesty, and the prime distributor of the bounties182 of the state;— one with whom rank, fortune, title, consequence, and power, all grew up like a mushroom, by the mere warm good-will of the sister, whom, in requital183, he hath mewed up in this place of melancholy seclusion — whom, in farther requital, he has deposed, and whom, if he dared, he would murder!”
“I think not so ill of the Earl of Murray,” said Roland Graeme; “and sooth to speak,” he added, with a smile, “it would require some bribe184 to make me embrace, with firm and desperate resolution, either one side or the other.”
“Nay, if that is all,” replied Catherine Seyton, in a tone of enthusiasm, “you shall be guerdoned with prayers from oppressed subjects — from dispossessed clergy — from insulted nobles — with immortal185 praise by future ages — with eager gratitude186 by the present — with fame on earth, and with felicity in heaven! Your country will thank you — your Queen will be debtor187 to you — you will achieve at once the highest from the lowest degree in chivalry188 — all men will honour, all women will love you — and I, sworn with you so early to the accomplishment20 of Queen Mary’s freedom, will — yes, I will — love you better than — ever sister loved brother!” “Say on — say on!” whispered Roland, kneeling on one knee, and taking her hand, which, in the warmth of exhortation189, Catherine held towards him.
“Nay,” said she, pausing, “I have already said too much — far too much, if I prevail not with you — far too little if I do. But I prevail,” she continued, seeing that the countenance of the youth she addressed returned the enthusiasm of her own —“I prevail; or rather the good cause prevails through its own strength — thus I devote thee to it.” And as she spoke she approached her finger to the brow of the astonished youth, and, without touching190 it, signed the cross over his forehead — stooped her face towards him, and seemed to kiss the empty space in which she had traced the symbol; then starting up, and extricating191 herself from his grasp, darted192 into the Queen’s apartment.
Roland Graeme remained as the enthusiastic maiden had left him, kneeling on one knee, with breath withheld193, and with eyes fixed194 upon the space which the fairy form of Catherine Seyton had so lately occupied. If his thoughts were not of unmixed delight, they at least partook of that thrilling and intoxicating195, though mingled196 sense of pain and pleasure, the most over-powering which life offers in its blended cup. He rose and retired197 slowly; and although the chaplain Mr. Henderson preached on that evening his best sermon against the errors of Popery, I would not engage that he was followed accurately through the train of his reasoning by the young proselyte, with a view to whose especial benefit he had handled the subject.
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| n.标准，票面价值，平均数量；adj.票面的，平常的，标准的 | |
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3
retinue
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| n.侍从；随员 | |
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4
doomed
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| 命定的 | |
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5
secluded
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| adj.与世隔绝的；隐退的；偏僻的v.使隔开，使隐退( seclude的过去式和过去分词) | |
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6
varied
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| adj.多样的，多变化的 | |
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7
wrought
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| v.引起；以…原料制作；运转；adj.制造的 | |
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8
indefatigable
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| adj.不知疲倦的，不屈不挠的 | |
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9
isle
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| n.小岛，岛 | |
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10
nay
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| adv.不；n.反对票，投反对票者 | |
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11
margin
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| n.页边空白；差额；余地，余裕；边，边缘 | |
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12
remarkable
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| adj.显著的，异常的，非凡的，值得注意的 | |
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13
melancholy
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| n.忧郁，愁思；adj.令人感伤（沮丧）的，忧郁的 | |
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14
immediate
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| adj.立即的；直接的，最接近的；紧靠的 | |
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15
dame
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| n.女士 | |
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16
banish
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| vt.放逐，驱逐；消除，排除 | |
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17
preyed
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| v.掠食( prey的过去式和过去分词 )；掠食；折磨；（人）靠欺诈为生 | |
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18
bosom
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| n.胸，胸部；胸怀；内心；adj.亲密的 | |
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19
exertion
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| n.尽力，努力 | |
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20
accomplishment
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| n.完成，成就，（pl.）造诣，技能 | |
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21
accomplishments
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| n.造诣；完成( accomplishment的名词复数 )；技能；成绩；成就 | |
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22
rusticity
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| n.乡村的特点、风格或气息 | |
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23
vivacity
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| n.快活，活泼，精神充沛 | |
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24
baron
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| n.男爵；(商业界等)巨头，大王 | |
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25
audacity
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| n.大胆，卤莽，无礼 | |
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26
effrontery
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| n.厚颜无耻 | |
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27
censures
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| v.指责，非难，谴责( censure的第三人称单数 ) | |
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28
bough
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| n.大树枝，主枝 | |
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29
captivity
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| n.囚禁；被俘；束缚 | |
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30
compensated
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| 补偿，报酬( compensate的过去式和过去分词 )； 给（某人）赔偿（或赔款） | |
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31
sate
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| v.使充分满足 | |
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32
propriety
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| n.正当行为；正当；适当 | |
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33
attentive
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| adj.注意的，专心的；关心(别人)的，殷勤的 | |
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34
bestowed
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| 赠给，授予( bestow的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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35
bestow
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| v.把…赠与，把…授予；花费 | |
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36
prudence
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| n.谨慎，精明，节俭 | |
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37
maiden
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| n.少女，处女；adj.未婚的，纯洁的，无经验的 | |
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38
maidens
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| 处女( maiden的名词复数 )； 少女； 未婚女子； （板球运动）未得分的一轮投球 | |
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39
hearty
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| adj.热情友好的；衷心的；尽情的，纵情的 | |
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40
hatred
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| n.憎恶，憎恨，仇恨 | |
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41
shunning
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| v.避开，回避，避免( shun的现在分词 ) | |
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42
gibe
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| n.讥笑；嘲弄 | |
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43
sarcasm
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| n.讥讽，讽刺，嘲弄，反话 （adj.sarcastic） | |
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44
disarmed
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| v.裁军( disarm的过去式和过去分词 )；使息怒 | |
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45
accurately
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| adv.准确地，精确地 | |
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46
apparition
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| n.幽灵，神奇的现象 | |
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47
velvet
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| n.丝绒，天鹅绒；adj.丝绒制的，柔软的 | |
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48
sufficiently
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| adv.足够地，充分地 | |
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49
fin
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| n.鳍；(飞机的)安定翼 | |
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50
agitation
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| n.搅动；搅拌；鼓动，煽动 | |
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51
privy
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| adj.私用的；隐密的 | |
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52
unintelligible
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| adj.无法了解的，难解的，莫明其妙的 | |
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53
rote
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| n.死记硬背，生搬硬套 | |
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54
lull
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| v.使安静，使入睡，缓和，哄骗；n.暂停，间歇 | |
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55
submission
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| n.服从，投降；温顺，谦虚；提出 | |
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56
confide
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| v.向某人吐露秘密 | |
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57
saucy
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| adj.无礼的；俊俏的；活泼的 | |
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58
sullen
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| adj.愠怒的，闷闷不乐的，(天气等)阴沉的 | |
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59
conjecture
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| n./v.推测，猜测 | |
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60
seclusion
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| n.隐遁，隔离 | |
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61
doctrines
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| n.教条( doctrine的名词复数 )；教义；学说；（政府政策的）正式声明 | |
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62
doctrine
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| n.教义；主义；学说 | |
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63
distinguished
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| adj.卓越的，杰出的，著名的 | |
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64
deposed
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| v.罢免( depose的过去式和过去分词 )；（在法庭上）宣誓作证 | |
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65
pertinacity
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| n.执拗，顽固 | |
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66
abortive
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| adj.不成功的，发育不全的 | |
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67
providence
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| n.深谋远虑，天道，天意；远见；节约；上帝 | |
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68
salvation
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| n.（尤指基督）救世，超度，拯救，解困 | |
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69
docility
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| n.容易教，易驾驶，驯服 | |
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70
warden
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| n.监察员，监狱长，看守人，监护人 | |
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71
instructor
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| n.指导者，教员，教练 | |
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72
awakened
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| v.（使）醒( awaken的过去式和过去分词 )；（使）觉醒；弄醒；（使）意识到 | |
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73
standing
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| n.持续，地位；adj.永久的，不动的，直立的，不流动的 | |
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74
solitude
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| n. 孤独; 独居,荒僻之地,幽静的地方 | |
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75
favourable
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| adj.赞成的，称赞的，有利的，良好的，顺利的 | |
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76
procured
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| v.（努力）取得， （设法）获得( procure的过去式和过去分词 )；拉皮条 | |
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77
situated
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| adj.坐落在...的，处于某种境地的 | |
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78
discourse
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| n.论文，演说；谈话；话语；vi.讲述，著述 | |
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79
formerly
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| adv.从前，以前 | |
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80
conversed
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| v.交谈，谈话( converse的过去式 ) | |
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81
forth
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| adv.向前；向外，往外 | |
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82
demeanor
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| n.行为；风度 | |
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83
spoke
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| n.（车轮的）辐条；轮辐；破坏某人的计划；阻挠某人的行动 v.讲，谈（speak的过去式）；说；演说；从某种观点来说 | |
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84
pettish
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| adj.易怒的，使性子的 | |
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85
intercourse
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| n.性交；交流，交往，交际 | |
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86
jealousy
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| n.妒忌，嫉妒，猜忌 | |
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87
injustice
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| n.非正义，不公正，不公平，侵犯（别人的）权利 | |
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88
confinement
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| n.幽禁，拘留，监禁；分娩；限制，局限 | |
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89
displeased
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| a.不快的 | |
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90
recollected
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|
| adj.冷静的；镇定的；被回忆起的；沉思默想的v.记起，想起( recollect的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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91
enjoined
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| v.命令( enjoin的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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92
momentary
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| adj.片刻的，瞬息的；短暂的 | |
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93
sleepless
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| adj.不睡眠的，睡不著的，不休息的 | |
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94
agitating
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| 搅动( agitate的现在分词 )； 激怒； 使焦虑不安； （尤指为法律、社会状况的改变而）激烈争论 | |
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95
perfectly
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| adv.完美地，无可非议地，彻底地 | |
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96
decided
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| adj.决定了的，坚决的；明显的，明确的 | |
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97
abide
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| vi.遵守；坚持；vt.忍受 | |
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98
discreet
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| adj.(言行)谨慎的；慎重的；有判断力的 | |
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99
animated
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| adj.生气勃勃的，活跃的，愉快的 | |
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100
mortification
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| n.耻辱，屈辱 | |
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101
heartily
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| adv.衷心地，诚恳地，十分，很 | |
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102
remorse
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| n.痛恨，悔恨，自责 | |
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103
imprisoned
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| 下狱，监禁( imprison的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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104
majesty
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| n.雄伟，壮丽，庄严，威严；最高权威，王权 | |
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105
upbraid
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| v.斥责，责骂，责备 | |
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106
determined
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| adj.坚定的；有决心的 | |
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107
oars
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| n.桨，橹( oar的名词复数 )；划手v.划（行）( oar的第三人称单数 ) | |
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108
pensive
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| a.沉思的,哀思的,忧沉的 | |
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109
countenance
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| n.脸色，面容；面部表情；vt.支持，赞同 | |
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110
appalled
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| v.使惊骇，使充满恐惧( appall的过去式和过去分词)adj.惊骇的；丧胆的 | |
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111
incapable
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| adj.无能力的，不能做某事的 | |
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112
ripple
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| n.涟波，涟漪，波纹，粗钢梳；vt.使...起涟漪，使起波纹； vi.呈波浪状，起伏前进 | |
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113
steered
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| v.驾驶( steer的过去式和过去分词 )；操纵；控制；引导 | |
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114
trout
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| n.鳟鱼；鲑鱼(属) | |
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115
hawk
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| n.鹰，骗子；鹰派成员 | |
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116
random
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| adj.随机的；任意的；n.偶然的(或随便的)行动 | |
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117
dagger
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| n.匕首，短剑，剑号 | |
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118
grumbling
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| adj. 喃喃鸣不平的, 出怨言的 | |
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119
grudged
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| 怀恨（grudge的过去式与过去分词形式） | |
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120
concealed
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| a.隐藏的，隐蔽的 | |
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121
mien
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| n.风采；态度 | |
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122
compassionate
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| adj.有同情心的，表示同情的 | |
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123
compassion
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| n.同情，怜悯 | |
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124
peculiar
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| adj.古怪的，异常的；特殊的，特有的 | |
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125
tact
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| n.机敏，圆滑，得体 | |
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126
delicacy
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| n.精致，细微，微妙，精良；美味，佳肴 | |
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127
possessed
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| adj.疯狂的；拥有的，占有的 | |
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128
soothe
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| v.安慰；使平静；使减轻；缓和；奉承 | |
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129
vexed
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| adj.争论不休的；（指问题等）棘手的；争论不休的问题；烦恼的v.使烦恼( vex的过去式和过去分词 )；使苦恼；使生气；详细讨论 | |
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130
excellence
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| n.优秀，杰出，(pl.)优点，美德 | |
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131
inquiries
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| n.调查( inquiry的名词复数 )；疑问；探究；打听 | |
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132
peculiarities
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| n. 特质, 特性, 怪癖, 古怪 | |
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obstinate
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| adj.顽固的，倔强的，不易屈服的，较难治愈的 | |
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char
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| v.烧焦；使...燃烧成焦炭 | |
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135
dissertation
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| n.（博士学位）论文，学术演讲，专题论文 | |
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136
salmon
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| n.鲑，大马哈鱼，橙红色的 | |
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137
distress
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| n.苦恼，痛苦，不舒适；不幸；vt.使悲痛 | |
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138
distressed
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| 痛苦的 | |
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139
dreary
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| adj.令人沮丧的，沉闷的，单调乏味的 | |
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awe
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| n.敬畏，惊惧；vt.使敬畏，使惊惧 | |
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condescension
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| n.自以为高人一等，贬低(别人) | |
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142
beads
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| n.（空心）小珠子( bead的名词复数 )；水珠；珠子项链 | |
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143
adorned
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| [计]被修饰的 | |
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144
resentment
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| n.怨愤，忿恨 | |
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145
withholding
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| 扣缴税款 | |
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146
winced
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| 赶紧避开，畏缩( wince的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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pious
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| adj.虔诚的；道貌岸然的 | |
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devoted
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| adj.忠诚的，忠实的，热心的，献身于...的 | |
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loyalty
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| n.忠诚，忠心 | |
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hampered
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| 妨碍，束缚，限制( hamper的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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satiric
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| adj.讽刺的，挖苦的 | |
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152
manors
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| n.庄园（manor的复数形式） | |
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forfeited
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| （因违反协议、犯规、受罚等）丧失，失去( forfeit的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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154
fidelity
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| n.忠诚，忠实；精确 | |
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155
vows
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| 誓言( vow的名词复数 )； 郑重宣布，许愿 | |
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mighty
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| adj.强有力的；巨大的 | |
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traitor
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| n.叛徒，卖国贼 | |
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squire
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| n.护卫, 侍从, 乡绅 | |
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dames
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| n.（在英国）夫人（一种封号），夫人（爵士妻子的称号）( dame的名词复数 )；女人 | |
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lawful
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| adj.法律许可的，守法的，合法的 | |
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honourable
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| adj.可敬的；荣誉的，光荣的 | |
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mere
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| adj.纯粹的；仅仅，只不过 | |
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fickleness
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| n.易变；无常；浮躁；变化无常 | |
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languishing
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| a. 衰弱下去的 | |
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dungeon
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| n.地牢，土牢 | |
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mishap
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| n.不幸的事，不幸；灾祸 | |
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inflict
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| vt.(on)把…强加给，使遭受，使承担 | |
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ferments
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| n.酵素( ferment的名词复数 )；激动；骚动；动荡v.（使）发酵( ferment的第三人称单数 )；（使）激动；骚动；骚扰 | |
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veins
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| n.纹理；矿脉( vein的名词复数 )；静脉；叶脉；纹理 | |
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corrupted
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| （使）败坏( corrupt的过去式和过去分词 )； （使）腐化； 引起（计算机文件等的）错误； 破坏 | |
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overthrown
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| adj. 打翻的，推倒的，倾覆的 动词overthrow的过去分词 | |
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lengthened
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| （时间或空间）延长，伸长( lengthen的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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avow
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| v.承认，公开宣称 | |
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disclaim
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| v.放弃权利，拒绝承认 | |
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profligacy
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| n.放荡，不检点，肆意挥霍 | |
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176
clergy
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| n.[总称]牧师，神职人员 | |
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177
judgment
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| n.审判；判断力，识别力，看法，意见 | |
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178
wilt
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| v.(使)植物凋谢或枯萎；(指人)疲倦，衰弱 | |
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179
rebellious
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| adj.造反的，反抗的，难控制的 | |
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180
pensioner
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| n.领养老金的人 | |
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181
bounty
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| n.慷慨的赠予物，奖金；慷慨，大方；施与 | |
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bounties
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| （由政府提供的）奖金( bounty的名词复数 )； 赏金； 慷慨； 大方 | |
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183
requital
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| n.酬劳；报复 | |
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184
bribe
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| n.贿赂；v.向…行贿，买通 | |
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185
immortal
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| adj.不朽的；永生的，不死的；神的 | |
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186
gratitude
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| adj.感激，感谢 | |
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187
debtor
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| n.借方，债务人 | |
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188
chivalry
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| n.骑士气概，侠义；（男人）对女人彬彬有礼，献殷勤 | |
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189
exhortation
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| n.劝告，规劝 | |
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190
touching
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| adj.动人的，使人感伤的 | |
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191
extricating
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| v.使摆脱困难，脱身( extricate的现在分词 ) | |
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192
darted
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| v.投掷，投射( dart的过去式和过去分词 )；向前冲，飞奔 | |
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193
withheld
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| withhold过去式及过去分词 | |
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194
fixed
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| adj.固定的，不变的，准备好的；(计算机)固定的 | |
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195
intoxicating
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| a. 醉人的,使人兴奋的 | |
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196
mingled
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| 混合，混入( mingle的过去式和过去分词 )； 混进，与…交往[联系] | |
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197
retired
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| adj.隐退的，退休的，退役的 | |
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