The Fortunes of Nigel (Unabridged). Walter Scott

my lord?" said Heriot; "for the distaste taken at the messenger will sometimes extend itself to the message."

      "By my servant," said the Lord Nigel; "by the man you saw, and, I think, were kind to."

      "By your servant, my lord?" said the citizen; "he seems a shrewd fellow, and doubtless a faithful; but surely—"

      "You would say," said Lord Nigel, "he is no fit messenger to a king's presence?—Surely he is not; but what could I do? Every attempt I had made to lay my case before the king had miscarried, and my petitions got no farther than the budgets of clerks and secretaries; this fellow pretended he had a friend in the household that would bring him to the king's presence,—and so—"

      "I understand," said Heriot; "but, my lord, why should you not, in right of your rank and birth, have appeared at Court, and required an audience, which could not have been denied to you?"

      The young lord blushed a little, and looked at his dress, which was very plain; and, though in perfect good order, had the appearance of having seen service.

      "I know not why I should be ashamed of speaking the truth," he said, after a momentary hesitation,—"I had no dress suitable for appearing at Court. I am determined to incur no expenses which I cannot discharge; and I think you, sir, would not advise me to stand at the palace-door, in person, and deliver my petition, along with those who are in very deed pleading their necessity, and begging an alms."

      "That had been, indeed, unseemly," said the citizen; "but yet, my lord, my mind runs strangely that there must be some mistake.—Can I speak with your domestic?"

      "I see little good it can do," answered the young lord, "but the interest you take in my misfortunes seems sincere, and therefore——" He stamped on the floor, and in a few seconds afterwards Moniplies appeared, wiping from his beard and mustaches the crumbs of bread, and the froth of the ale-pot, which plainly showed how he had been employed.—"Will your lordship grant permission," said Heriot, "that I ask your groom a few questions?"

      "His lordship's page, Master George," answered Moniplies, with a nod of acknowledgment, "if you are minded to speak according to the letter."

      "Hold your saucy tongue," said his master, "and reply distinctly to the questions you are to be asked."

      "And truly, if it like your pageship," said the citizen, "for you may remember I have a gift to discover falset."

      "Weel, weel, weel," replied the domestic, somewhat embarrassed, in spite of his effrontery—"though I think that the sort of truth that serves my master, may weel serve ony ane else."

      "Pages lie to their masters by right of custom," said the citizen; "and you write yourself in that band, though I think you be among the oldest of such springalds; but to me you must speak truth, if you would not have it end in the whipping-post."

      "And that's e'en a bad resting-place," said the well-grown page; "so come away with your questions, Master George."

      "Well, then," demanded the citizen, "I am given to understand that you yesterday presented to his Majesty's hand a Supplication, or petition, from this honourable lord, your master."

      "Troth, there's nae gainsaying that, sir," replied Moniplies; "there were enow to see it besides me."

      "And you pretend that his Majesty flung it from him with contempt?" said the citizen. "Take heed, for I have means of knowing the truth; and you were better up to the neck in the Nor-Loch, which you like so well, than tell a leasing where his Majesty's name is concerned."

      "There is nae occasion for leasing-making about the matter," answered Moniplies, firmly; "his Majesty e'en flung it frae him as if it had dirtied his fingers."

      "You hear, sir," said Olifaunt, addressing Heriot.

      "Hush!" said the sagacious citizen; "this fellow is not ill named—he has more plies than one in his cloak. Stay, fellow," for Moniplies, muttering somewhat about finishing his breakfast, was beginning to shamble towards the door, "answer me this farther question—When you gave your master's petition to his Majesty, gave you nothing with it?"

      "Ou, what should I give wi' it, ye ken, Master George?"

      "That is what I desire and insist to know," replied his interrogator.

      "Weel, then—I am not free to say, that maybe I might not just slip into the king's hand a wee bit Sifflication of mine ain, along with my lord's—just to save his Majesty trouble—and that he might consider them baith at ance."

      "A supplication of your own, you varlet!" said his master.

      "Ou dear, ay, my lord," said Richie—"puir bodies hae their bits of sifflications as weel as their betters."

      "And pray, what might your worshipful petition import?" said Master Heriot.—"Nay, for Heaven's sake, my lord, keep your patience, or we shall never learn the truth of this strange matter.—Speak out, sirrah, and I will stand your friend with my lord."

      "It's a lang story to tell—but the upshot is, that it's a scrape of an auld accompt due to my father's yestate by her Majesty the king's maist gracious mother, when she lived in the Castle, and had sundry providings and furnishings forth of our booth, whilk nae doubt was an honour to my father to supply, and whilk, doubtless, it will be a credit to his Majesty to satisfy, as it will be grit convenience to me to receive the saam."

      "What string of impertinence is this?" said his master.

      "Every word as true as e'er John Knox spoke," said Richie; "here's the bit double of the Sifflication."

      Master George took a crumpled paper from the fellow's hand, and said, muttering betwixt his teeth—"'Humbly showeth—um—um—his Majesty's maist gracious mother—um—um—justly addebted and owing the sum of fifteen merks—the compt whereof followeth—Twelve nowte's feet for jellies—ane lamb, being Christmas—ane roasted capin in grease for the privy chalmer, when my Lord of Bothwell suppit with her Grace.'—I think, my lord, you can hardly be surprised that the king gave this petition a brisk reception; and I conclude, Master Page, that you took care to present your own Supplication before your master's?"

      "Troth did I not," answered Moniplies. "I thought to have given my lord's first, as was reason gude; and besides that, it wad have redd the gate for my ain little bill. But what wi' the dirdum an' confusion, an' the loupin here and there of the skeigh brute of a horse, I believe I crammed them baith into his hand cheek-by-jowl, and maybe my ain was bunemost; and say there was aught wrang, I am sure I had a' the fright and a' the risk—"

      "And shall have all the beating, you rascal knave," said Nigel; "am I to be insulted and dishonoured by your pragmatical insolence, in blending your base concerns with mine?"

      "Nay, nay, nay, my lord," said the good-humoured citizen, interposing, "I have been the means of bringing the fellow's blunder to light—allow me interest enough with your lordship to be bail for his bones. You have cause to be angry, but still I think the knave mistook more out of conceit than of purpose; and I judge you will have the better service of him another time, if you overlook this fault—Get you gone, sirrah—I'll make your peace."

      "Na, na," said Moniplies, keeping his ground firmly, "if he likes to strike a lad that has followed him for pure love, for I think there has been little servant's fee between us, a' the way frae Scotland, just let my lord be doing, and see the credit he will get by it—and I would rather (mony thanks to you though, Master George) stand by a lick of his baton, than it suld e'er be said a stranger came between us."

      "Go, then," said his master, "and get out of my sight."

      "Aweel I wot that is sune done," said Moniplies, retiring slowly; "I did not come without I had been ca'd for—and I wad have been away half an hour since with my gude will, only Maister George keepit me to answer his interrogation, forsooth, and that has made a' this stir."

      And so he made his grumbling exit, with the tone much rather of one who has sustained an injury, than who has done wrong.

      "There never was a man so plagued as I am with a malapert knave!—The fellow is shrewd, and I have