Grisly Grisell | Page 7

no doing of mine! She knew not how to
cut the bird."
Answering again was a far greater fault than the first, and his father
only treated it as his just desert when he was ordered off under the
squire in charge to be soundly scourged, all the more sharply for his
continuing to mutter, "It was her fault."
And sore and furrowed as was his back, he continued to exclaim, when
his friend Edmund of York came to condole with him as usual in all his
scrapes, "'Tis she that should have been scourged for clumsiness! A
foul, uncouth Border dame! Well, one blessing at least is that now I
shall never be wedded to her daughter--let the wench live or die as she
lists!"
That was not by any means the opinion of the Lady of Whitburn, and
no sooner was the meal ended than, in the midst of the hall, the debate
began, the Lady declaring that in all honour Sir William Copeland was
bound to affiance his son instantly to her poor daughter, all the more
since the injuries he had inflicted to her face could never be done away
with. On the other hand, Sir William Copeland was naturally far less
likely to accept such a daughter-in-law, since her chances of being an
heiress had ceased, and he contended that he had never absolutely
accepted the contract, and that there had been no betrothal of the
children.
The Earl of Salisbury could not but think that a strictly honourable man
would have felt poor Grisell's disaster inflicted by his son's hands all
the more reason for holding to the former understanding; but the loud
clamours and rude language of Lady Whitburn were enough to set any
one in opposition to her, and moreover, the words he said in favour of
her side of the question appeared to Copeland merely spoken out of the
general enmity of the Nevils to the Beauforts and all their following.
Thus, all the evening Lady Whitburn raged, and appealed to the Earl,
whose support she thought cool and unfriendly, while Copeland stood
sullen and silent, but determined.

"My lord," she said, "were you a true friend to York and Raby, you
would deal with this scowling fellow as we should on the Border."
"We are not on the Border, madam," quietly said Salisbury.
"But you are in your own Castle, and can force him to keep faith. No
contract, forsooth! I hate your mincing South Country forms of law."
Then perhaps irritated by a little ironical smile which Salisbury could
not suppress. "Is this your castle, or is it not? Then bring him and his
lad to my poor wench's side, and see their troth plighted, or lay him by
the heels in the lowest cell in your dungeon. Then will you do good
service to the King and the Duke of York, whom you talk of loving in
your shilly-shally fashion."
"Madam," said the Earl, his grave tones coming in contrast to the shrill
notes of the angry woman, "I counsel you, in the south at least, to have
some respect to these same forms of law. I bid you a fair good-night.
The chamberlain will marshal you."
CHAPTER III
--THE MIRROR

"Of all the maids, the foulest maid From Teviot unto Dee. Ah!" sighing
said that lady then, "Can ne'er young Harden's be."
SCOTT, The Reiver's Wedding.
"They are gone," said Margaret of York, standing half dressed at the
deep-set window of the chamber where Grisell lay in state in her big
bed.
"Who are gone?" asked Grisell, turning as well as she could under the
great heraldically-embroidered covering.
"Leonard Copeland and his father. Did'st not hear the horses' tramp in
the court?"

"I thought it was only my lord's horses going to the water."
"It was the Copelands going off without breaking their fast or taking a
stirrup cup, like discourteous rogues as they be," said Margaret, in no
measured language.
"And are they gone? And wherefore?" asked Grisell.
"Wherefore? but for fear my noble uncle of Salisbury should hold them
to their contract. Sir William sat as surly as a bear just about to be
baited, while thy mother rated and raved at him like a very
sleuth-hound on the chase. And Leonard--what think'st thou he saith?
"That he would as soon wed the loathly lady as thee," the cruel
Somerset villain as he is; and yet my brother Edmund is fain to love
him. So off they are gone, like recreant curs as they are, lest my uncle
should make them hear reason."
"But Lady Madge, dear Lady Madge, am I so very loathly?" asked poor
Grisell.
"Mine aunt of Salisbury bade that none should tell thee," responded
Margaret, in some confusion.
"Ah me! I must