“Now, Sir Patrick Hepborne,” exclaimed the Wolfe, “now thou must of needscost see that all proof here is out of the question. Where can proof be had where there hath been no witnesses?”
“Yea, my Lord,” said Hepborne temperately, “what thou sayest is true, in good faith; and it is also true that without proof there can be no just condemnation.”
The Wolfe began again to pace the room, hastily, his eyes flashing fire.
“What, Sir Knight,” exclaimed he, “dost thou go so far as to doubt the word of the Lady Mariota? By the devil’s mass, but thou art bold indeed.”
“I say not that I doubt the word of the Lady Mariota,” replied Hepborne; “but were the Lady Mariota my sister, and the page Maurice de Grey my greatest enemy, I would not condemn him capitally on her simple saying.”
“Mariota,” cried the Wolfe in a rage, “leave the apartment; get thee to thy chamber. By the martyrdom of St. Andrew, but thou dost beard me, Sir Knight. Thou presumest on my old dotard father’s introduction of thee, and on the frail laws of hospitality, which may indeed bind me to a certain point; but beware thou dost push me beyond it, or, by my beard, neither he nor they shall protect thee.”
“Most noble Earl of Buchan,” replied Hepborne, with perfect temper and sang froid, “again I say, that all I ask is justice. To that point only do I wish to push thee, nor do I fear but thou wilt go so far. I do confess, it seemeth somewhat strange to me to hear so foul a charge against a boy who hath ever sought to fly the Lady Mariota’s advances. Nay, ’twas but yesternight that she came herself to seek him on the rampart, where the youth held idle parlance with me; and though he tried to shun her, verily these eyes beheld her as she did court him to go with her, the which the boy did most unwillingly.”
The Wolfe of Badenoch knit his brows, and strode two or [[233]]three times through the long hall, the arched roof ringing again to the clang of his heel as he moved. He seemed to be pondering within himself what to resolve, an operation to the fatigue of which he rarely ever subjected his mind, his general practice being to act first, and then, if ever he thought at all, to think afterwards. At length he stopped short in his career, opposite to where Hepborne was standing, with his arms calmly folded across his breast; and, stretching out his hand to him—
“Sir Patrick,” said he, “thou art right. I have perhaps been a little hasty here. There is much in what thou hast said; and I honour thee for thy cool and determined courage and temper. Listen to me then. If the page Maurice de Grey confesseth the coulpe of which he is charged, thou wilt not call it injustice if he be instantly ordered for execution. If he denies it, then let him, or some one for him, do duel with me to-morrow, as soon as light may serve us; and may God and the Blessed Virgin defend the right, and make his innocence clear if he be sans coulpe.”
“Agreed,” said Hepborne. “I stand forth the boy’s defender, and will cheerfully appeal to wager of single combat in his behalf. Let him straightway be sent for, then, and let him be questioned with regard to his guilt or innocence; all I ask for him is full and free speech.”