The Caged Lion | Page 5

Charlotte Mary Yonge
a specious pretence to impose on the

chaplain, and gain admittance to the castle; and Patrick was resolved to
be well on his guard, though he replied courteously to the graceful bow
with which the stranger greeted him, saying in a manly mellow voice
and southern accent, 'I have been bold enough to presume on the good
father's offer of hospitality, Sir.'
'You are welcome, Sir,' returned Patrick, taking the stranger's bridle
that he might dismount; 'my father and my cousin will gladly further on
his way a prisoner seeking freedom.'
'A captive may well be welcome, for the sake of one prisoner,' said his
father, who had in the meantime come forward, and extended his hand
to the knight, who took it, and uncovering his bright locks, respectfully
said, 'I am in the presence of the noble Tutor of Glenuskie.'
'Even so, Sir,' returned Sir David Drummond, who was, in fact, as his
nephew's guardian, usually known by this curious title; 'and you here
see my wards, the Lord Malcolm and Lady Lilias. Your knighthood
will make allowances for the lad, he is but home-bred.' For while Lilias
with stately grace responded to Sir James Stewart's courtly greeting,
Malcolm bashfully made an awkward bow, and seemed ready to shrink
within himself, as, indeed, the brutal jests of his rude cousins had made
him dread and hate the eye of a stranger; and while the knight was led
forward to the hall fire, he merely pressed up to the priest, and eagerly
demanded under his breath, 'Have you brought me the book?' but
Father Ninian had only time to nod, and sign that a volume was in his
bosom, before old Sir David called out, 'What now, Malcolm,
forgetting that your part is to come and disarm the knight who does you
the honour to be your guest?' And Sir Patrick rather roughly pushed
him forward, gruffly whispering, 'Leave not Lily to supply your lack of
courtesy.'
Malcolm shambled forward, bewildered, as the keen auburn eye fell on
him, and the cheery kindly voice said, 'Ha! a new book--a romance?
Well may that drive out other thoughts.'
'Had he ears to hear such a whisper?' thought Malcolm, as he mumbled
in the hoarse voice of bashful boyhood, 'Not a romance, Sir, but
whatever the good fathers at Coldingham would lend me.'
'It is the "Itinerarium" of the blessed Adamnanus,' replied Father Ninian,
producing from his bosom a parcel, apparently done up in many
wrappers, a seal-skin above all.

'The "Itinerarium"!' exclaimed Sir James, 'methought I had heard of
such a book. I have a friend in England who would give many a fair
rose noble for a sight of it.'
'A friend in England!'--the words had a sinister sound to the audience,
and while Malcolm jealously gathered up the book into his arms, the
priest made cold answer, that the book was the property of the
Monastery at Coldingham, and had only been lent to Lord Malcolm
Stewart by special favour. The guest could not help smiling, and saying
he was glad books were thus prized in Scotland; but at that moment, as
the sunny look shone on his face, and he stood before the fire in the
close suit of chamois leather which he wore under his armour, old Sir
David exclaimed, 'Ha! never did I see such a likeness. Patie, you should
be old enough to remember; do you not see it?'
'What should I see? Who is he like?' asked Patrick, surprised at his
father's manner.
'Who?' whispered Sir David in a lowered voice; 'do you not see it? to
the unhappy lad, the Duke of Rothsay.'
Patrick could not help smiling, for he had been scarcely seven years old
at the time of the murder of the unfortunate Prince of Scotland; but a
flush of colour rose into the face of the guest, and he shortly answered,
'So I have been told;' and then assuming a seat near Sir David, he
entered into conversation with him upon the condition of Scotland at
the period, inquiring into the state of many of the families and districts
by name. Almost always there was but one
answer--murder--harrying--foray; and when the question followed,
'What had the Regent done?' there was a shrug of the shoulders, and as
often Sir James's face flushed with a dark red fire, and his hand
clenched at the hilt of the sword by his side.
'And is there not a man in Scotland left to strike for the right?' he
demanded at last; 'cannot nobles, clergy, and burghers, band themselves
in parliament to put down Albany and his bloody house, and recall their
true head?'
'They love to have it so,' returned Sir David sadly. 'United, they might
be strong enough; but each knows that his fellow,
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