Hepborne could not help laughing at the ludicrous distress of the youth, and he had hardly time to compose himself ere the Lady Mariota came within speaking distance of them.
“So, so, thou art there, runaway?” said she to the page, as she passed by Hepborne with a mere bow of acknowledgment, to get at Maurice, who retreated towards the balistæ with his head down—“so thou art there, art thou, Sir Scapegrace? Thou art a pretty truant, indeed,” continued she, hooking him under one arm, and giving him a gentle slap on one cheek. “But, thank my lucky stars, I have caught thee now, and verily thou shalt not again escape me. I’faith thou shalt have thy wings clipt, my little tom-tit; I shall have thee tied to my apron string, that thou hop thee not away from me thus at every turning. I did but let thee out of my sight for an instant, and whisk I find thee at the very outermost verge of my circle. Nay, had it not been for these walls and waters, in good truth thou mightest have been beyond my search ere this. Come away, Sir Good-for-Nothing. Allons, make up thy mind to thy chain; let me lead thee by it, and do not thou pull so.”
“Lady,” said Hepborne, “thou must have some mercy on the poor youth. He hath so lately escaped from female thrall at home, that as yet he can but ill brook anything that resembleth it. Leave him to me, I beseech thee. At present he joys in the newly-acquired society of men; by degrees he will come to feel how much more sweet and soothing are the delights of women’s converse, and——”
“Nay, nay, Sir Knight,” said the Lady Mariota, interrupting him hastily, “I shall not yield my control over the renegado, I promise thee; he shall with me this moment. Come, along, Sir Page Maurice—come along, I say. Thou art a pretty youth indeed! I have searched for thee through every apartment, nay, [[228]]through every creek and cranny in the Castle; and now that I have found thee, by my troth, I shall not yield thee up so easily. Come along, I say.” And like a bitch-fox dragging off an unhappy kid, so did the Lady Mariota drag away the hapless Maurice de Grey, in defiance of his lagging step, his peevish replies, his hanging head, his pouting lip, and the numerous glances of vexation he darted from under his eyelashes at his tormentor.
Hepborne retired to his repose, half amused and half angry with the persecution inflicted on his poor page. Early next morning, Mortimer Sang came to him with a courteous message from Sir Andrew Stewart, begging to know if it was his pleasure to hunt for a few hours; and Hepborne having cheerfully agreed to the proposal, the two knights met alone at breakfast, and then crossed to the mainland with their horses, hounds, hunting-gear, and a few attendants, to scour the neighbouring forest for deer.
As they were returning homewards towards evening, they heard the echoing sound of bugles.
“’Tis my father,” said Sir Andrew; “’tis the Earl returning with his party from Badenoch; see, there they come, breaking forth from yonder woodshaws.”
It was indeed the Wolfe of Badenoch; but he was now in a very different array from that which he had first appeared in to Hepborne. He was clad from head to foot in a complete suit of bright plate armour, and his height and bulk seemed to be increased by the metamorphosis. He rode at the head of a gallant troop of well-mounted and well-equipped spearmen, after which marched a company of footmen, consisting of pole-axe-men, and bowmen. His sons, Sir Alexander, Walter, and James, rode proudly by his side. The cavalcade went at a foot pace, because a rabble of bare-legged and bare-headed tatterdemalion mountaineers ran before them, armed with clubs, goads, and pikes, and driving along a promiscuous herd of cows, bullocks, sheep, and goats, of all different ages and descriptions, which considerably retarded their march. A bugle-man preceded the whole, bearing aloft an otter-skin purse on the point of a spear. His banner waved in the middle of the clump of spears; and in the rear of all followed a tired and straggling band of men, women, and children, who were grieving loudly, and weeping sadly, for some dire injury they had sustained, and vociferating vain appeals in their own language to the stern Wolfe, who, with his vizor up, and his brows knit, rode on unheeding them. [[229]]
Ere the parties met, the two boys, Walter and James, galloped up to meet their brother, Sir Andrew, and both began at once to shout out their news to him—
“Oh, brother Andrew, brother Andrew, we have had such sport!” cried the one.