and is it lawful for any of you to listen to common sense to-day? Was I not formally elected by you in solemn chapter, held in Luckie Martin's change-house, and will you now desert me, and give up your old pastime and privilege? Play out the play?and he that speaks the next word of sense or reason, or bids us think or consider, or the like of that, which befits not the day, I will have him solemnly ducked in the mill-dam!'
The rabble, mutable as usual, huzzaed, the pipe and tabor struck up, the hobby-horse pranced, the beasts roared, and even the repentant dragon began again to coil up his spires, and prepare himself for fresh gambols. But the Abbot might still have overcome, by his eloquence and his entreaties, the malicious designs of the revellers, had not Dame Magdalen Graeme given loose to the indignation which she had long suppressed.
'Scoffers,' she said, 'and men of Belial?Blasphemous heretics, and truculent tyrants??'
'Your patience, my sister, I entreat and I command you!' said the Abbot; 'let me do my duty?disturb me not in mine office!'
But Dame Magdalen continued to thunder forth her threats in the name of Popes and Councils, and in the name of every Saint, from St. Michael downward.
'My comrades!' said the Abbot of Unreason, 'this good dame hath not spoken a single word of reason, and therein may esteem herself free from the law. But what she spoke was meant for reason, and, therefore, unless she confesses and avouches all which she has said to be nonsense, it shall pass for such, so far as to incur our statutes. Wherefore, holy dame, pilgrim, or abbess, or whatever thou art, be mute with thy mummery or beware the mill-dam. We will have neither spiritual nor temporal scolds in our Diocese of Unreason!'
As he spoke thus, he extended his hand towards the old woman, while his followers shouted, 'A doom?a doom!' and prepared to second his purpose, when lo! it was suddenly frustrated. Roland Graeme had witnessed with indignation the insults offered to his old spiritual preceptor, but yet had wit enough to reflect he could render him no assistance, but might well, by ineffective interference, make matters worse. But when he saw his aged relative in danger of personal violence, he gave way to the natural impetuosity of his temper, and, stepping forward, struck his poniard into the body of the Abbot of Unreason, whom the blow instantly prostrated on the pavement.
Chapter the Fifteenth.
A dreadful shout of vengeance was raised by the revellers, whose sport was thus so fearfully interrupted; but for an instant, the want of weapons amongst the multitude, as well as the inflamed features arid brandished poniard of Roland Graeme, kept them at bay, while the Abbot, horror-struck at the violence, implored, with uplifted hands, pardon for blood-shed committed within the sanctuary. Magdalen Graeme alone expressed triumph in the blow her descendant had dealt to the scoffer, mixed, however, with a wild and anxious expression of terror for her grandson's safety. 'Let him perish,' she said, 'in his blasphemy?let him die on the holy pavement which he has insulted!'
But the rage of the multitude, the grief of the Abbot, the exultation of the enthusiastic Magdalen, were all mistimed and unnecessary. Howleglas, mortally wounded as he was supposed to be, sprung alertly up from the floor, calling aloud, 'A miracle, a miracle, my masters! as brave a miracle as ever was wrought in the kirk of Kennaquhair. And I charge you, my masters, as your lawfully chosen Abbot, that you touch no one without my command?You, wolf and bear, will guard this pragmatic youth, but without hurting him?And you, reverend brother, will, with your comrades, withdraw to your cells; for our conference has ended like all conferences, leaving each of his own mind, as before; and if we fight, both you, and your brethren, and the Kirk, will have the worst on't?Wherefore, pack up you pipes and begone.'
The hubbub was beginning again to awaken, but still Father Ambrose hesitated, as uncertain to what path his duty called him, whether to face out the present storm, or to reserve himself for a better moment. His brother of Unreason observed his difficulty, and said, in a tone more natural and less affected than that with which he had hitherto sustained his character, 'We came hither, my good sir, more in mirth than in mischief?our bark is worse than our bite?and, especially, we mean you no personal harm?wherefore, draw off while the play is good; for it is ill whistling for a hawk when she is once on the soar, and worse to snatch the quarry from the ban-dog?Let these fellows once begin their brawl, and it will be too much for madness itself, let alone the Abbot of Unreason, to bring them back to the lure.'
The brethren crowded around Father Ambrosius, and joined in urging him to give place to the torrent. The present revel was, they said, an ancient custom which his predecessors had permitted, and old Father Nicholas himself had played the dragon in the days of the Abbot Ingelram.
'And we now reap the fruit of the seed which they have so unadvisedly sown,' said Ambrosius; 'they taught men to make a mock of what is holy, what wonder that the descendants of scoffers become robbers and plunderers? But be it as you list, my brethren?move towards the dortour?And you, dame, I command you, by the authority which I have over you, and by your respect for that youth's safety, that you go with us without farther speech?Yet, stay?what are your intentions towards that youth whom you detain prisoner??Wot ye,' he continued, addressing Howleglas in a stern tone of voice, 'that he bears the livery of the House of Avenel? They who fear not the anger of Heaven, may at least dread the wrath of man.'
'Cumber not yourself concerning him,' answered Howleglas, 'we know right well who and what he is.'
'Let me pray,' said the Abbot, in a tone of entreaty, 'that you do him no wrong for the rash deed?which he attempted in his imprudent zeal.'
'I say, cumber not yourself about it, father,' answered Howleglas, 'but move off with your train, male and female, or I will not undertake to save yonder she-saint from the ducking-stool?And as for bearing of malice, my stomach has no room for it; it is,' he added, clapping his hand on his portly belly, 'too well bumbasted out with straw and buckram?gramercy to them both?they kept out that madcap's dagger as well as a Milan corslet could have done.'
