The Abbot. Вальтер Скотт

and well-known accents, spoke behind him these words: – “Well done, thou good and faithful servant! Thus would I again meet the child of my love – the hope of my aged eyes.”

      Roland turned round in astonishment, and the tall commanding form of Magdalen Graeme stood beside him. She was arrayed in a sort of loose habit, in form like that worn by penitents in Catholic countries, but black in colour, and approaching as near to a pilgrim’s cloak as it was safe to wear in a country where the suspicion of Catholic devotion in many places endangered the safety of those who were suspected of attachment to the ancient faith. Roland Graeme threw himself at her feet. She raised and embraced him, with affection indeed, but not unmixed with gravity which amounted almost to sternness.

      “Thou hast kept well,” she said, “the bird in thy bosom. [Footnote: An expression used by Sir Ralph Percy, slain in the battle of Hedgly-moor in 1464, when dying, to express his having preserved unstained his fidelity to the house of Lancaster.] As a boy, as a youth, thou hast held fast thy faith amongst heretics – thou hast kept thy secret and mine own amongst thine enemies. I wept when I parted from you – I who seldom weep, then shed tears, less for thy death than for thy spiritual danger – I dared not even see thee to bid thee a last farewell – my grief, my swelling grief, had betrayed me to these heretics. But thou hast been faithful – down, down on thy knees before the holy sign, which evil men injure and blaspheme; down, and praise saints and angels for the grace they have done thee, in preserving thee from the leprous plague which cleaves to the house in which thou wert nurtured.”

      “If, my mother – so I must ever call you” replied Graeme, – “if I am returned such as thou wouldst wish me, thou must thank the care of the pious father Ambrose, whose instructions confirmed your early precepts, and taught me at once to be faithful and to be silent.”

      “Be he blessed for it,” said she; “blessed in the cell and in the field, in the pulpit and at the altar – the saints rain blessings on him! – they are just, and employ his pious care to counteract the evils which his detested brother works against the realm and the church, – but he knew not of thy lineage?”

      “I could not myself tell him that,” answered Roland. “I knew but darkly from your words, that Sir Halbert Glendinning holds mine inheritance, and that I am of blood as noble as runs in the veins of any Scottish Baron – these are things not to be forgotten, but for the explanation I must now look to you.”

      “And when time suits, thou shalt not look for it in vain. But men say, my son, that thou art bold and sudden; and those who bear such tempers are not lightly to be trusted with what will strongly move them.”

      “Say rather, my mother,” returned Roland Graeme, “that I am laggard and cold-blooded – what patience or endurance can you require of which he is not capable, who for years has heard his religion ridiculed and insulted, yet failed to plunge his dagger into the blasphemer’s bosom!”

      “Be contented, my child,” replied Magdalen Graeme; “the time, which then and even now demands patience, will soon ripen to that of effort and action – great events are on the wing, and thou, – thou shalt have thy share in advancing them. Thou hast relinquished the service of the Lady of Avenel?”

      “I have been dismissed from it, my mother – I have lived to be dismissed, as if I were the meanest of the train.”

      “It is the better, my child,” replied she; “thy mind will be the more hardened to undertake that which must be performed.”

      “Let it be nothing, then, against the Lady of Avenel,” said the page, “as thy look and words seem to imply. I have eaten her bread – I have experienced her favour – I will neither injure nor betray her.”

      “Of that hereafter, my son,” said she; “but learn this, that it is not for thee to capitulate in thy duty, and to say this will I do, and that will I leave undone – No, Roland! God and man will no longer abide the wickedness of this generation. Seest thou these fragments – knowest thou what they represent? – and canst thou think it is for thee to make distinctions amongst a race so accursed by Heaven, that they renounce, violate, blaspheme, and destroy, whatsoever we are commanded to believe in, whatsoever we are commanded to reverence?”

      As she spoke, she bent her head towards the broken image, with a countenance in which strong resentment and zeal were mingled with an expression of ecstatic devotion; she raised her left hand aloft as in the act of making a vow, and thus proceeded; “Bear witness for me, blessed symbol of our salvation, bear witness, holy saint, within whose violated temple we stand, that as it is not for vengeance of my own that my hate pursues these people, so neither, for any favour or earthly affection towards any amongst them, will I withdraw my hand from the plough, when it shall pass through the devoted furrow! Bear witness, holy saint, once thyself a wanderer and fugitive as we are now – bear witness, Mother of Mercy, Queen of Heaven – bear witness, saints and angels!”

      In this high train of enthusiasm, she stood, raising her eyes through the fractured roof of the vault, to the stars which now began to twinkle through the pale twilight, while the long gray tresses which hung down over her shoulders waved in the night-breeze, which the chasm and fractured windows admitted freely.

      Roland Graeme was too much awed by early habits, as well as by the mysterious import of her words, to ask for farther explanation of the purpose she obscurely hinted at. Nor did she farther press him on the subject; for, having concluded her prayer or obtestation, by clasping her hands together with solemnity, and then signing herself with the cross, she again addressed her grandson, in a tone more adapted to the ordinary business of life.

      “Thou must hence,” she said, “Roland, thou must hence, but not till morning – And now, how wilt thou shift for thy night’s quarters? – thou hast been more softly bred than when we were companions in the misty hills of Cumberland and Liddesdale.”

      “I have at least preserved, my good mother, the habits which I then learned – can lie hard, feed sparingly, and think it no hardship. Since I was a wanderer with thee on the hills, I have been a hunter, and fisher, and fowler, and each of these is accustomed to sleep freely in a worse shelter than sacrilege has left us here.”

      “Than sacrilege has left us here!” said the matron, repeating his words, and pausing on them. “Most true, my son; and God’s faithful children are now worst sheltered, when they lodge in God’s own house and the demesne of his blessed saints. We shall sleep cold here, under the nightwind, which whistles through the breaches which heresy has made. They shall lie warmer who made them – ay, and through a long hereafter.”

      Notwithstanding the wild and singular expression of this female, she appeared to retain towards Roland Graeme, in a strong degree, that affectionate and sedulous love which women bear to their nurslings, and the children dependent on their care. It seemed as if she would not permit him to do aught for himself which in former days her attention had been used to do for him, and that she considered the tall stripling before her as being equally dependent on her careful attention as when he was the orphan child, who had owed all to her affectionate solicitude.

      “What hast thou to eat now?” she said, as, leaving the chapel, they went into the deserted habitation of the priest; “or what means of kindling a fire, to defend thee from this raw and inclement air? Poor child! thou hast made slight provision for a long journey; nor hast thou skill to help thyself by wit, when means are scanty. But Our Lady has placed by thy side one to whom want, in all its forms, is as familiar as plenty and splendour have formerly been. And with want, Roland, come the arts of which she is the inventor.”

      With an active and officious diligence, which strangely contrasted with her late abstracted and high tone of Catholic devotion, she set about her domestic arrangements for the evening. A pouch, which was hidden under her garment, produced a flint and steel, and from the scattered fragments around (those pertaining to the image of Saint Cuthbert scrupulously excepted) she obtained splinters sufficient to raise a sparkling and cheerful fire on the hearth of the deserted cell.

      “And now,” she said, “for needful food.”

      “Think not of it, mother,” said Roland, “unless you yourself feel hunger. It is a little thing for me to endure a night’s