'I know not,' said our poor page, much embarrassed by the view which was thus presented to him of the conduct he was expected to pursue, and by a person in whom he was not the less interested that, though long a resident in Lochleven Castle, with no object so likely to attract his undivided attention, no lengthened interview had taken place since they had first met,?'I know not what you expect of me, or fear from me. I was sent hither to attend Queen Mary, and to her I acknowledge the duty of a servant through life and death. If any one had expected service of another kind, I was not the party to render it. I neither avow nor disclaim the doctrines of the reformed church.?Will you have the truth??It seems to me that the profligacy of the Catholic clergy has brought this judgment on their own heads, and, for aught I know, it may be for their reformation. But, for betraying this unhappy Queen, God knows I am guiltless of the thought. Did I even believe worse of her, than as her servant I wish?as her subject I dare to do?I would not betray her?far from it?I would aid her in aught which could tend to a fair trial of her cause.'
'Enough! enough!' answered Catherine, clasping her hands together; 'then thou wilt not desert us if any means are presented, by which, placing our Royal Mistress at freedom, this case may be honestly tried betwixt her and her rebellious subjects?'
'Nay?but, fair Catherine,' replied the page, 'hear but what the Lord of Murray said when he sent me hither.'?
'Hear but what the devil said,' replied the maiden, 'rather than what a false subject, a false brother, a false counsellor, a false friend, said! A man raised from a petty pensioner on the crown's bounty, to be the counsellor of majesty, and the prime distributor of the bounties of the state;?one with whom rank, fortune, title, consequence, and power, all grew up like a mushroom, by the mere warm good-will of the sister, whom, in requital, he hath mewed up in this place of melancholy seclusion?whom, in farther requital, he has deposed, and whom, if he dared, he would murder!'
'I think not so ill of the Earl of Murray,' said Roland Graeme; 'and sooth to speak,' he added, with a smile, 'it would require some bribe to make me embrace, with firm and desperate resolution, either one side or the other.'
'Nay, if that is all,' replied Catherine Seyton, in a tone of enthusiasm, 'you shall be guerdoned with prayers from oppressed subjects?from dispossessed clergy?from insulted nobles?with immortal praise by future ages?with eager gratitude by the present?with fame on earth, and with felicity in heaven! Your country will thank you?your Queen will be debtor to you?you will achieve at once the highest from the lowest degree in chivalry?all men will honour, all women will love you?and I, sworn with you so early to the accomplishment of Queen Mary's freedom, will?yes, I will?love you better than?ever sister loved brother!' 'Say on?say on!' whispered Roland, kneeling on one knee, and taking her hand, which, in the warmth of exhortation, Catherine held towards him.
'Nay,' said she, pausing, 'I have already said too much?far too much, if I prevail not with you?far too little if I do. But I prevail,' she continued, seeing that the countenance of the youth she addressed returned the enthusiasm of her own?'I prevail; or rather the good cause prevails through its own strength?thus I devote thee to it.' And as she spoke she approached her finger to the brow of the astonished youth, and, without touching it, signed the cross over his forehead?stooped her face towards him, and seemed to kiss the empty space in which she had traced the symbol; then starting up, and extricating herself from his grasp, darted into the Queen's apartment.
Roland Graeme remained as the enthusiastic maiden had left him, kneeling on one knee, with breath withheld, and with eyes fixed upon the space which the fairy form of Catherine Seyton had so lately occupied. If his thoughts were not of unmixed delight, they at least partook of that thrilling and intoxicating, though mingled sense of pain and pleasure, the most over-powering which life offers in its blended cup. He rose and retired slowly; and although the chaplain Mr. Henderson preached on that evening his best sermon against the errors of Popery, I would not engage that he was followed accurately through the train of his reasoning by the young proselyte, with a view to whose especial benefit he had handled the subject.
Chapter the Twenty-Fifth.
In a musing mood, Roland Graeme upon the ensuing morning betook himself to the battlements of the Castle, as a spot where he might indulge the course of his thick-coming fancies with least chance of interruption. But his place of retirement was in the present case ill chosen, for he was presently joined by Mr. Elias Henderson.
'I sought you, young man,' said the preacher, 'having to speak of something which concerns you nearly.'
The page had no pretence for avoiding the conference which the chaplain thus offered, though he felt that it might prove an embarrassing one.
'In teaching thee, as far as my feeble knowledge hath permitted, thy duty towards God,' said the chaplain, 'there are particulars of your duty towards man, upon which I was unwilling long or much to insist. You are here in the service of a lady, honourable as touching her birth, deserving of all compassion as respects her misfortunes, and garnished with even but too many of those outward qualities which win men's regard and affection. Have you ever considered your regard to this Lady Mary of Scotland, in its true light and bearing?'
'I trust, reverend sir,' replied Roland Graeme, 'that I am well aware of the duties a servant in my condition owes to his royal mistress, especially in her lowly and distressed condition.'
'True,' answered the preacher; 'but it is even that honest feeling which may, in the Lady Mary's case, carry thee into great crime and treachery.'
'How so, reverend sir?' replied the page; 'I profess I understand you not.'
'I speak to you not of the crimes of this ill-advised lady,' said the preacher; 'they are not subjects for the
