With such condoling expressions he got the crest-fallen falconer to his bed, and then retired to his own pallet, where it was some time ere he could fall asleep. If the messenger whom he had seen were really Catherine Seyton, what a masculine virago and termagant must she be! and stored with what an inimitable command of insolence and assurance!--The brass on her brow would furbish the front of twenty pages; “and I should know,” thought Roland, “what that amounts to--And yet, her features, her look, her light gait, her laughing eye, the art with which she disposed the mantle to show no more of her limbs than needs must be seen--I am glad she had at least that grace left--the voice, the smile--it must have been Catherine Seyton, or the devil in her likeness! One thing is good, I have silenced the eternal predications of that ass, Adam Woodcock, who has set up for being a preacher and a governor, over me, so soon as he has left the hawks' mew behind him.”
And with this comfortable reflection, joined to the happy indifference which youth hath for the events of the morrow, Roland Graeme fell fast asleep.
Now have you reft me from my staff, my guide, Who taught my youth, as men teach untamed falcons, To use my strength discreetly--I am reft Of comrade and of counsel. OLD PLAY.
In the gray of the next morning's dawn, there was a loud knocking at the gate of the hostelrie; and those without, proclaiming that they came in the name of the Regent, were instantly admitted. A moment or two afterwards, Michael Wing-the-wind stood by the bedside of our travellers.
“Up! up!” he said, “there is no slumber where Murray hath work ado.”
Both sleepers sprung up, and began to dress themselves.
“You, old friend,” said Wing-the-wind to Adam Woodcock, “must to horse instantly, with this packet to the Monks of Kennaquhair; and with this,” delivering them as he spoke, “to the Knight of Avenel.”
“As much as commanding the monks to annul their election, I'll warrant me, of an Abbot,” quoth Adam Woodcock, as he put the packets into his bag, “and charging my master to see it done--To hawk at one brother with another, is less than fair play, methinks.”
“Fash not thy beard about it, old boy,” said Michael, “but betake thee to the saddle presently; for if these orders are not obeyed, there will be bare walls at the Kirk of Saint Mary's, and it may be at the Castle of Avenel to boot; for I heard my Lord of Morton loud with the Regent, and we are at a pass that we cannot stand with him anent trifles.”