"Then my four omens this day have not been for nocht!" said the countess, rising up to the full extent of her great stature; while the three young ladies rushed to her side like startled doves; "but speak, ye foolish woman, speak! Who are coming?"
"They are coming to arrest you, and we are a' lost! lost! lost! Oh, the hands of dule and death are spread this nicht owre the Setons o' Ashkirk." And seizing the hands of her mistress, the woman kissed them, and then throwing herself on her knees, buried her face in her scarlet curtsey, rocking her body to and fro, and exclaiming with that noisy grief so common to her class, "Oh Archibald—my nurseling—my son, and mair than my son (for thou art the head of the name)—thy curly pow will sune be on the Netherbow, wi' the gleds and the corbies croaking owre it!"
The countess trembled and grew pale; but drawing herself proudly up (and her height was as towering as her aspect was majestic), she said calmly,
"Let them come! I have seen my father hewn down before my eyes, and I have heard the clang of steel upon my hearth ere now. Let them come—they are welcome; but more welcome would they be," she added, with an almost savage flash in her eyes, "if I were among my father's race in Douglasdale!"
While she spoke, the heavy arras concealing the doorway was raised, and a number of sturdy legs cased in red stockings, shoes garnished with enormous red rosettes, and the butt-ends of partisans, became visible. Then the Albany herald, a dark and stately man, about forty years of age, clad in his gorgeous tabard, carrying his plumed cap in one hand and a paper in the other, entered the room, bowing almost to the ribbons at his knees. The Bute pursuivant who accompanied him held back the arras, and revealed four halberdiers of the provost clad in the city livery, blue gaberdines laced upon the seams with yellow, and ten men of the cardinal's guard, wearing the colours of Bethune and the arms of the archbishopric of St. Andrew's worked upon the sleeves and breasts of their doublets. They were armed with steel caps, swords, and partisans, but remained respectfully without the apartment. One was bleeding profusely from a wound on the cheek, having had a tough encounter with the armed servants below.
"Herald," said the countess haughtily, "if you seek the earl, my son, I swear to you that he is not here!"
The herald hesitated.
"By the forty blessed altars of St. Giles, I swear to you that he is not!"
"Madam, I do not seek the earl," said the herald, with the utmost respect; "but I have here an order from his eminence the cardinal as lord chancellor, and in the name of the king, for your arrest."
"Mine!" rejoined the countess, thanking God in her inmost heart that it was not her unwary son they sought; "for my arrest! on what charge, herald!"