Chapter 38 - Page 2

is welcome," said the Prior, "if it comes in the train of duty."

Placed on the ground, and supported by her ladies, the Queen looked
for an instant at her palfrey, which, jaded and drooping its head,
seemed as if it mourned the distresses of its mistress.

"Good Roland," said the Queen, whispering, "let Rosabelle be cared for
--ask thy heart, and it will tell thee why I make this trifling
request even in this awful hour."

She was conducted to her apartment, and in the hurried consultation of
her attendants, the fatal resolution of the retreat to England was
finally adopted. In the morning it received her approbation, and a
messenger was despatched to the English warden, to pray him for
safe-conduct and hospitality, on the part of the Queen of Scotland. On
the next day the Abbot Ambrose walked in the garden of the Abbey with
Roland, to whom he expressed his disapprobation of the course pursued.
"It is madness and ruin," he said; "better commit herself to the
savage Highlanders or wild Bordermen, than to the faith of Elizabeth.
A woman to a rival woman--a presumptive successor to the keeping of a
jealous and childless Queen!--Roland, Herries is true and loyal, but
his counsel has ruined his mistress."

"Ay, ruin follows us every where," said an old man, with a spade in
his hand, and dressed like a lay-brother, of whose presence, in the
vehemence of his exclamation, the Abbot had not been aware--"Gaze not
on me with such wonder!--I am he who was the Abbot Boniface at
Kennaquhair, who was the gardener Blinkhoolie at Lochleven, hunted
round to the place in which I served my noviciate, and now ye are come
to rouse me up again!--A weary life I have had for one to whom peace
was ever the dearest blessing!"

"We will soon rid you of our company, good father," said the Abbot;
"and the Queen will, I fear, trouble your retreat no more."

"Nay, you said as much before," said the querulous old man, "and yet I
was put forth from Kinross, and pillaged by troopers on the
road.--They took from me the certificate that you wot of--that of the
Baron--ay, he was a moss-trooper like themselves--You asked me of it,
and I could never find it, but they found it--it showed the marriage
of--of--my memory fails me--Now see how men differ! Father Nicholas
would have told you an hundred tales of the Abbot Ingelram, on whose
soul God have mercy!--He was, I warrant you, fourscore and six, and I
am not more than--let me see----"

"Was not Avenel the name you seek, my good father?" said Roland,
impatiently, yet moderating his tone for fear of alarming or offending
the infirm old man.