Mumps would not come in, but when the boar was expelled, turned back with him, looking very sullen. She brought him out a bicker of cold parritch mixed with milk, but he would not taste them until the boar had first taken his share; after which they went and lay down in the yard together, the dog in the boar’s bosom. Thus did they continue for many days. At length the master of Eildon had the boar cried at the church-door, and at the cross of Melrose, and as no one appeared to claim him, he put him up for slaughter.
CHAPTER III.
But to return from this necessary digression.—The king and his nobles had a banquet in the Abbey that night on which Croudy was changed, and it was agreed by all present, that the venison of the roe-deer of Eildon exceeded in quality that of any other part of the kingdom. The king appeared thoughtful and absent during the whole of the evening; and at mass, it was observed that he was more fervent in his devotions than ever he was wont to be. The words of the old mysterious stranger—his sudden disappearance—the rumours of fairies and witchcrafts that were abroad, together with another vision which he had seen, but not yet disclosed, preyed upon his mind, as it was little wonder they should, and made him apprehend that every step he took was on enchanted ground. The hound, Mooly, had slipt into the banquet-hall at the time of vespers, and neither soothing, threatening, nor the lash, would drive her hence. She clung to the king’s foot until he took pity on her, and said, “Cease, and let the poor animal stay, since she insists on it. I will not have her maltreated for the fault of those who have the charge of her, and should have put her better up.” So Mooly got leave to remain, and kept her station the whole night without moving.
The glass circulated until a late hour. At length the king said, “My lords, I crave a cup full to the brim, which I mean to dedicate to the health of a lady, whom I think I saw yesterday morning; the mentioning of whose name will a little astonish you.”
“My royal son and sire,” said the abbot, “for your majesty is both, in the general acceptation of the terms, shall it not be of your far-famed Malmsey that you will drink this beloved toast?”
“If you so please,” said his majesty.
“Ralpho,” said the abbot, “here is the key. You alone know where the portion of old Malmsey is to be found among his majesty’s stores here deposited; bring one bottle only to his majesty, and pour it carefully yourself.”
Ralpho obeyed; poured out the wine till the cup was full, and turned the remainder into a sewer. The king then arose, and lifting his cup on high—“My lords,” said he, “I give you the fairest, the loveliest, and the most angelic maid that ever Scotland bred—I give you Elen of Rosline.”
Every one started at the name till the wine was spilled all around the table. Astonishment was in every look, for the king had said he had seen her yesterday at morn.