XXVII.
Sir Roderick, who to meet them came,
Redden’d at sight of Malcolm Græme,
Yet not in action, word, or eye,
Fail’d aught in hospitality.
In talk and sport they whiled away
The morning of that summer day;
But at high noon a courier light
Held secret parley with the Knight,
Whose moody aspect soon declared
That evil were the news he heard.
Deep thought seem’d toiling in his head;
Yet was the evening banquet made,
Ere he assembled round the flame,
His mother, Douglas, and the Græme,
And Ellen too; then cast around
His eyes, then fix’d them on the ground,
As studying phrase that might avail
Best to convey unpleasant tale.
Long with his dagger’s hilt he play’d,
Then raised his haughty brow, and said:—