“Nay, I do entreat your Royal Highness to flee without a moment’s delay,” said Sir Walter Stewart; “every moment is precious to you. Leave him to me, and, trust me, I will take every care of him.”
“Nay, I cannot consent to that,” said the Duke. “Thou must not be seen nor suspected to have had aught to do in this matter. Thou hast already periled thyself enough. The house he speaks of is but a little farther along this hollow way, I will carry him thither myself.”
Sir Walter yielded to reason. They assisted the Duke to carry the chamberlain to a conveniently short distance from the house in question, the sufferer was then hoisted on his royal master’s back, who speedily bore him safely into his place of concealment.
“Now,” said Sir Walter to the Duke, when he had again joined them, a little way on beyond the house, “your Royal Highness must fly with all haste to the sea-side. This young man, who is a son of mine, will guide you to the spot where you will find a boat, which is ready waiting to convey you to the vessel that is prepared to carry you to France. He must supply the loss of your faithful chamberlain. Take him with you, my lord, and let him return to me when it may suit your convenience to part with him.”
“He shall be mine especial esquire,” said the Duke.—“Would I had a station to put him into, worthier of son of thine, and of one of his own apparent merits.”
“Your Royal Highness is too kind,” said Sir Walter. “Yet is the lad no disgrace to me, as I trust that you may find that he will prove none to you. May Saint Andrew give you safety and a prosperous breeze!—And here, Charley, take this ring as a pledge of a father’s affection, and let the sight of it be ever to thee as a monitor to make thee do thy duty like a man.”
Their parting was now warm, but brief. The Duke and his new attendant reached the sea-side in safety. Sir Walter, who had hastened around the shores of the North Loch, and climbed the Calton Hill, waited impatiently upon its summit till the first dawn of day-break. Then it was that he rejoiced to descry the white sail of the French barque, swoln by a merry and favourable breeze, pressing gallantly down the Firth, and he continued to watch it, until it was lost amidst the ruddy haze of the sunrise. He then walked slowly down the eastern slope of the hill, towards Holyrood, and, making a wide circuit, he passed between Arthur Seat and Salisbury Craigs, through the hollow wooded valley, which, though now devoid of trees, is still well known by the name of the Hunter’s Bog, and then, turning his steps towards the southern gates of the city, he muffled himself well up in his cloak, and entered it, unnoticed, amid the crowds of market people who were passing inwards at the Port of the Kirk of Field; and so he gained his lodging without observation. There he soon afterwards heard of the astonishment, mortification, and dismay, which had possessed the King on learning this strange event, which he could not bring himself to believe until he went to see, with his own eyes, the half-consumed corpses of the captain of the guard and his men, and the rope which still hung dangling over the wall of the castle.
Sir Walter Stewart seemed to remain altogether unsuspected of any share in the escape of the Duke of Albany, though every one was agreed in believing that his Royal Highness must have been aided from without the walls. But whether it was that ideal suspicion that conscience of itself begets, or whether there really were some grounds for it, the Knight could not help feeling persuaded that the King looked colder than ever upon him. He failed not, however, on that account, to pay his duties at court most unremittingly, though, frequent as were his visits there, they were comparatively small in number to those which he paid to the house of Sir William Rogers, where he now worshipped, more fervently than ever, at the shrine of that enchantress, the fair Juliet Manvers. He now found himself so irretrievably the captive of her charms, that he had for some time ceased to struggle in her net, and it was not long after the escape of Albany, that he sought an audience of King James, that he might humbly communicate his contemplated nuptials to him, and crave his royal leave for their consummation, as well as for his retirement for a time from court, that he might carry his lady to visit his own territories in Stradawn, of which he was to make her the mistress. From all that had lately passed, he was not much surprised that the King received his communication with apparent satisfaction, but he was very much astonished to find, that it procured for him the sudden and unexpected restoration of all that familiar cordiality of manner, which he had formerly, for so long a period, been in the constant habit of receiving from his Majesty.
“What!—marry!” cried the King. “And is this really so?—and a long attachment saidst thou?”
“An attachment that has grown since first we met, so please your gracious Majesty,” replied Sir Walter.