The Abbot

'What fiend have I nurtured in my house!' replied the Lady. 'May God forgive me the sin of having given thee food and raiment!'

'You might not choose, Lady,' answered the steward. 'Long ere this castle was builded?ay, long ere the islet which sustains it reared its head above the blue water, I was destined to be your faithful slave, and you to be my ungrateful mistress. Remember you not when I plunged amid the victorious French, in the time of this lady's mother, and brought off your husband, when those who had hung at the same breasts with him dared not attempt the rescue??Remember how I plunged into the lake when your grandson's skiff was overtaken by the tempest, boarded, and steered her safe to the land. Lady?the servant of a Scottish baron is he who regards not his own life, or that of any other, save his master. And, for the death of the woman, I had tried the potion on her sooner, had not Master George been her taster. Her death?would it not be the happiest news that Scotland ever heard? Is she not of the bloody Guisian stock, whose sword was so often red with the blood of God's saints? Is she not the daughter of the wretched tyrant James, whom Heaven cast down from his kingdom, and his pride, even as the king of Babylon was smitten?'

'Peace, villain !' said the Lady?a thousand varied recollections thronging on her mind at the mention of her royal lover's name; 'Peace, and disturb not the ashes of the dead?of the royal, of the unhappy dead. Read thy Bible; and may God grant thee to avail thyself better of its contents than thou hast yet done!' She departed hastily, and as she reached the next apartment, the tears rose in her eyes so hastily, that she was compelled to stop and use her kerchief to dry them. 'I expected not this,' she said, 'no more than to have drawn water from the dry flint, or sap from a withered tree. I saw with a dry eye the apostacy and shame of George Douglas, the hope of my son's house?the child of my love; and yet I now weep for him who has so long lain in his grave?for him to whom I owe it that his daughter can make a scoffing and a jest of my name! But she is his daughter?my heart, hardened against her for so many causes, relents when a glance of her eye places her father unexpectedly before me?and as often her likeness to that true daughter of the house of Guise, her detested mother, has again confirmed my resolution. But she must not?must not die in my house, and by so foul a practice. Thank God, the operation of the potion is slow, and may be counteracted. I will to her apartment once more. But oh! that hardened villain, whose fidelity we held in such esteem, and had such high proof of! What miracle can unite so much wickedness and so much truth in one bosom!'

The Lady of Lochleven was not aware how far minds of a certain gloomy and determined cast by nature, may be warped by a keen sense of petty injuries and insults, combining with the love of gain, and sense of self- interest, and amalgamated with the crude, wild, and indigested fanatical opinions which this man had gathered among the crazy sectaries of Germany; or how far the doctrines of fatalism, which he had embraced so decidedly, sear the human conscience, by representing our actions as the result of inevitable necessity.

During her visit to the prisoner, Roland had communicated to Catherine the tenor of the conversation he had had with her at the door of the apartment. The quick intelligence of that lively maiden instantly comprehended the outline of what was believed to have happened, but her prejudices hurried her beyond the truth.

'They meant to have poisoned us,' she exclaimed in horror, 'and there stands the fatal liquor which should have done the deed!?Ay, as soon as Douglas ceased to be our taster, our food was likely to be fatally seasoned. Thou, Roland, who shouldst have made the essay, wert readily doomed to die with us. Oh, dearest Lady Fleming, pardon, pardon, for the injuries I said to you in my anger?your words were prompted by Heaven to save our lives, and especially that of the injured Queen. But what have we now to do? that old crocodile of the lake will be presently back to shed her hypocritical tears over our dying agonies.?Lady Fleming, what shall we do?'

'Our Lady help us in our need !' she replied; 'how should I tell?? unless we were to make our plaint to the Regent.'

'Make our plaint to the devil,' said Catherine impatiently, 'and accuse his dam at the foot of his burning throne!?The Queen still sleeps?we must gain time. The poisoning hag must not know her scheme has miscarried; the old envenomed spider has but too many ways of mending her broken web. The jar of succory- water,' said she?'Roland, if thou be'st a man, help me?empty the jar on the chimney or from the window?make such waste among the viands as if we had made our usual meal, and leave the fragments on cup and porringer, but taste nothing as thou lovest thy life. I will sit by the Queen, and tell her at her waking, in what a fearful pass we stand. Her sharp wit and ready spirit will teach us what is best to be done. Meanwhile, till farther notice, observe, Roland, that the Queen is in a state of torpor?that Lady Fleming is indisposed?that character' (speaking in a lower tone) 'will suit her best, and save her wits some labour in vain. I am not so much indisposed, thou understandest.'

'And I?' said the page?

'You?' replied Catherine, 'you are quite well?who thinks it worth while to poison puppy-dogs or pages?'

'Does this levity become the time?' asked the page.

'It does, it does,' answered Catherine Seyton; 'if the Queen approves, I see plainly how this disconcerted attempt may do us good service.'

She went to work while she spoke, eagerly assisted by Roland. The breakfast table soon displayed the appearance as if the meal had been eaten as usual; and the ladies retired as softly as possible into the Queen's sleeping apartment. At a new summons of the Lady Lochleven, the page undid the door, and admitted her into the anteroom, asking her pardon for having withstood her, alleging in excuse, that the Queen had fallen into a heavy slumber since she had broken her fast.

'She has eaten and drunken, then?' said the Lady of Lochleven.

'Surely,' replied the page, 'according to her Grace's ordinary custom, unless upon the fasts of the church.'

'The jar,' she said, hastily examining it, 'it is empty?drank the Lady Mary the whole of this water?'

'A large part, madam; and I heard the Lady Catherine Seyton jestingly upbraid the Lady Mary Fleming with having taken more than a just share of what remained, so that but little fell to her own lot.'

'And are they well in health?' said the Lady of Lochleven.

'Lady Fleming,' said the page, 'complains of lethargy, and looks duller than usual; and the Lady Catherine of Seyton feels her head somewhat more giddy than is her wont.'

He raised his voice a little as he said these words, to apprise the ladies of the part assigned to each of them, and not, perhaps, without the wish of conveying to the ears of Catherine the page-like jest which lurked in the allotment.

'I will enter the Queen's bedchamber,' said the Lady of Lochleven; 'my business is express.'