“So are they all the more valuable to me for the doing of mine errand,” said the youth, with an air of command, which seemed naturally to belong to him. “Here, take this ring, so please thee. Take it to Sir Walter Stewart, and say that its owner bides without, and would fain have a short audience of him ere he goes.”
“I will do your bidding, fair sir,” said the squire, courteously; “though I know not well how mine embassage may be received; for, if I mistake not, the Earl and the Knight are shut up alone together in deep and important conference.”
The esquire was in the right. The parting moments of these friends were precious, and occupied in most interesting talk. The Earl of Huntly had been using them in pouring out all his eloquence to induce Sir Walter Stewart, even yet, at this the eleventh hour, to abandon his resolution of going into a monastery, and to prevail on him to remain at home, and to resume the rights and the control of his estates. He urged it upon him, that he owed it to his country, as well as to his own just vengeance against Cochran, and the King’s other favourites, to join with him and the rest of the nobles in the plots which they were hatching for their destruction.
“It will be a sweet revenge for thee,” said the Earl; “a most sweet revenge, I say, for thee, to have James suing to thee for mercy, for the lives of those very minions who have so conspired together for thy ruin.”
“Nay, press me not, dear Huntly,” replied Sir Walter Stewart; “though the King hath been blind and fickle, yet I cannot forget his long-exerted kindness to me. And as for vengeance, I trust that the exercise to which I have subjected my soul for these last few nights, hath conjured all such unholy and unchristian passions forth from my bosom. But to extinguish in thee all farther vain hope that I may be brought to yield to thy friendly entreaty, I will now tell thee that I last night took a solemn vow, on my knees, with mine eyes upon the blessed crucifix, and my right hand upon the open Evangile, that I would henceforth flee from the world, and dedicate myself to God.”
“With such a vow upon thee,” replied Huntly—“With a vow so solemnly taken, I can urge thee no more.”
“Then let my parting words entreat thee not to harm the King,” said Sir Walter Stewart. “Harm not the King, and hurt not one hair of the head of Ramsay of Balmain, for he is a gentleman, and my very dear friend, and one indeed to whose friendly warning I have owed my life!”
“There is no intention of hurting James,” said Huntly, coldly; “and as for Ramsay, thou hast said enough, in these last few words of thine, to make me sacrifice my life to save him, if he should be brought into peril.”
“Thanks, thanks, my noble friend,” said Sir Walter, “this promise of thine gives me comfort in the certainty of Ramsay’s safety.”
“Who knocks there?” cried Lord Huntly. “Did I not say that we must be private?”