The Abbot. Вальтер Скотт

window, and with her there is as little mirth as in the grave of your ancestors.”

      “My tale is soon told – I was introduced into the castle of Avenel to be page to the lady of the mansion.”

      “She is a strict Huguenot, is she not?” said the maiden.

      “As strict as Calvin himself. But my grandmother can play the puritan when it suits her purpose, and she had some plan of her own, for quartering me in the Castle – it would have failed, however, after we had remained several weeks at the hamlet, but for an unexpected master of ceremonies – ”

      “And who was that?” said the girl.

      “A large black dog, Wolf by name, who brought me into the castle one day in his mouth, like a hurt wild-duck, and presented me to the lady.”

      “A most respectable introduction, truly,” said Catherine; “and what might you learn at this same castle? I love dearly to know what my acquaintances can do at need.”

      “To fly a hawk, hollow to a hound, back a horse, and wield lance, bow, and brand.”

      “And to boast of all this when you have learned it,” said Catherine, “which, in France at least, is the surest accomplishment of a page. But proceed, fair sir; how came your Huguenot lord and your no less Huguenot lady to receive and keep in the family so perilous a person as a Catholic page?”

      “Because they knew not that part of my history, which from infancy I have been taught to keep secret – and because my grand-dame’s former zealous attendance on their heretic chaplain, had laid all this suspicion to sleep, most fair Callipolis,” said the page; and in so saying, he edged his chair towards the seat of the fair querist.

      “Nay, but keep your distance, most gallant sir,” answered the blue-eyed maiden, “for, unless I greatly mistake, these reverend ladies will soon interrupt our amicable conference, if the acquaintance they recommend shall seem to proceed beyond a certain point – so, fair sir, be pleased to abide by your station, and reply to my questions. – By what achievements did you prove the qualities of a page, which you had thus happily acquired?”

      Roland, who began to enter into the tone and spirit of the damsel’s conversation, replied to her with becoming spirit.

      “In no feat, fair gentlewoman, was I found inexpert, wherein there was mischief implied. I shot swans, hunted cats, frightened serving-women, chased the deer, and robbed the orchard. I say nothing of tormenting the chaplain in various ways, for that was my duty as a good Catholic.”

      “Now, as I am a gentlewoman,” said Catherine, “I think these heretics have done Catholic penance in entertaining so all-accomplished a serving-man! And what, fair sir, might have been the unhappy event which deprived them of an inmate altogether so estimable?”

      “Truly, fair gentlewoman,” answered the youth, “your real proverb says that the longest lane will have a turning, and mine was more – it was, in fine, a turning off.”

      “Good!” said the merry young maiden, “it is an apt play on the word – and what occasion was taken for so important a catastrophe? – Nay, start not for my learning, I do know the schools – in plain phrase, why were you sent from service?”

      The page shrugged his shoulders while he replied, – “A short tale is soon told – and a short horse soon curried. I made the falconer’s boy taste of my switch – the falconer threatened to make me brook his cudgel – he is a kindly clown as well as a stout, and I would rather have been cudgelled by him than any man in Christendom to choose – but I knew not his qualities at that time – so I threatened to make him brook the stab, and my Lady made me brook the ‘Begone;’ so adieu to the page’s office and the fair Castle of Avenel – I had not travelled far before I met my venerable parent – And so tell your tale, fair gentlewoman, for mine is done.”

      “A happy grandmother,” said the maiden, “who had the luck to find the stray page just when his mistress had slipped his leash, and a most lucky page that has jumped at once from a page to an old lady’s gentleman-usher!”

      “All this is nothing of your history,” answered Roland Graeme, began to be much interested in the congenial vivacity of this facetious young gentlewoman, – “tale for tale is fellow-traveller’s justice.”

      “Wait till we are fellow-travellers, then,” replied Catherine.

      “Nay, you escape me not so,” said the page; “if you deal not justly by me, I will call out to Dame Bridget, or whatever your dame be called, and proclaim you for a cheat.”

      “You shall not need,” answered the maiden – “my history is the counterpart of your own; the same words might almost serve, change but dress and name. I am called Catherine Seyton, and I also am an orphan.”

      “Have your parents been long dead?”

      “This is the only question,” said she, throwing down her fine eyes with a sudden expression of sorrow, “that is the only question I cannot laugh at.”

      “And Dame Bridget is your grandmother?”

      The sudden cloud passed away like that which crosses for an instant the summer sun, and she answered with her usual lively expression, “Worse by twenty degrees – Dame Bridget is my maiden aunt.”

      “Over gods forbode!” said Roland – “Alas! that you have such a tale to tell! and what horror comes next?”

      “Your own history, exactly. I was taken upon trial for service – ”

      “And turned off for pinching the duenna, or affronting my lady’s waiting-woman?”

      “Nay, our history varies there,” said the damsel – “Our mistress broke up house, or had her house broke up, which is the same thing, and I am a free woman of the forest.”

      “And I am as glad of it as if any one had lined my doublet with cloth of gold,” said the youth.

      “I thank you for your mirth,” said she, “but the matter is not likely to concern you.”

      “Nay, but go on,” said the page, “for you will be presently interrupted; the two good dames have been soaring yonder on the balcony, like two old hooded crows, and their croak grows hoarser as night comes on; they will wing to roost presently. – This mistress of yours, fair gentlewoman, who was she, in God’s name?”

      “Oh, she has a fair name in the world,” replied Catherine Seyton. “Few ladies kept a fairer house, or held more gentlewomen in her household; my aunt Bridget was one of her housekeepers. We never saw our mistress’s blessed face, to be sure, but we heard enough of her; were up early and down late, and were kept to long prayers and light food.”

      “Out upon the penurious old beldam!” said the page.

      “For Heaven’s sake, blaspheme not!” said the girl, with an expression of fear. – “God pardon us both! I meant no harm. I speak of our blessed Saint Catherine of Sienna! – may God forgive me that I spoke so lightly, and made you do a great sin and a great blasphemy. This was her nunnery, in which there were twelve nuns and an abbess. My aunt was the abbess, till the heretics turned all adrift.”

      “And where are your companions?” asked the youth.

      “With the last year’s snow,” answered the maiden; “east, north, south, and west – some to France, some to Flanders, some, I fear, into the world and its pleasures. We have got permission to remain, or rather our remaining has been connived at, for my aunt has great relations among the Kerrs, and they have threatened a death-feud if any one touches us; and bow and spear are the best warrant in these times.”

      “Nay, then, you sit under a sure shadow,” said the youth; “and I suppose you wept yourself blind when Saint Catherine broke up housekeeping before you had taken arles [Footnote: Anglice– Earnest-money] in her service?”

      “Hush! for Heaven’s sake,” said the damsel, crossing herself; “no more of that! but I have not quite cried my eyes out,” said she, turning them upon him, and instantly again bending them upon her work. It was one of those