Chapter 32 - Page 2

king's
daughter."

"Be it so," replied Dryfesdale; "she goes where there is little
difference betwixt her and a beggar's child--Mary of Scotland is
dying."

"Dying, and in my castle!" said the Lady, starting up in alarm; "of
what disease, or by what accident?"

"Bear patience, Lady. The ministry was mine."

"Thine, villain and traitor!--how didst thou dare----"

"I heard you insulted, Lady--I heard you demand vengeance--I promised
you should have it, and I now bring tidings of it."

"Dryfesdale, I trust thou ravest?" said the Lady.

"I rave not," replied the steward. "That which was written of me a
million of years ere I saw the light, must be executed by me. She hath
that in her veins that, I fear me, will soon stop the springs of
life." "Cruel villain," exclaimed the Lady, "thou hast not poisoned
her?" "And if I had," said Dryfesdale, "what does it so greatly merit?
Men. bane vermin--why not rid them of their enemies so? in Italy they
will do it for a cruizuedor."

"Cowardly ruffian, begone from my sight!"

"Think better of my zeal, Lady," said the steward, "and judge not
without looking around you. Lindesay, Ruthven, and your kinsman
Morton, poniarded Rizzio, and yet you now see no blood on their
embroidery--the Lord Semple stabbed the Lord of Sanquhar--does his
bonnet sit a jot more awry on his brow? What noble lives in Scotland
who has not had a share, for policy or revenge, in some such
dealing?--and who imputes it to them? Be not cheated with names--a
dagger or a draught work to the same end, and are little unlike--a
glass phial imprisons the one, and a leathern sheath the other--one
deals with the brain, the other sluices the blood--Yet, I say not I
gave aught to this lady."

"What dost thou mean by thus dallying with me?" said the Lady; "as
thou wouldst save thy neck from the rope it merits, tell me the whole
truth of this story-thou hast long been known a dangerous man."

"Ay, in my master's service I can be cold and sharp as my sword. Be it
known to you, that when last on shore, I consulted with a woman of
skill and power, called Nicneven, of whom the country has rung for
some brief time past. Fools asked her for charms to make them beloved,
misers for means to increase their store; some demanded to know the
future--an idle wish, since it cannot be altered; others would have an
explanation of the past--idler still, since it cannot be recalled. I
heard their queries with scorn, and demanded the means of avenging
myself of a deadly enemy, for I grow