“Scoundrel chough, begone!” cried the Wolfe, interrupting him. “Thou hast already more than outstaid my patience, which hath in itself been miraculous. If thou wouldst escape hence in safety, avoid thee instantly; for if thou goest not in the twinkling of an eye, may infernal demons seize me if thou shalt have leave to go at all.”
“Then, Alexander Stewart,” said the Franciscan, “the Bishop’s curse be upon thee and upon thine; for thou shalt be an outcast from our Holy Mother Church, and———”
“And the red fiend’s curse be upon thee and the split-crowned Bishop!” cried the Wolfe, interrupting him. “Why stand these kestrel rogues to see their lord, to see the Wolfe of Badenoch flouted by that stinking and venomous weasel! Seize the vermin, knaves, and let him be tossed into the Water Pit Vault; if I mistake not, the loch is high enow at present to keep him company there; but, let him sink or swim, I care not; away with the toad, I say. He may thank his good stars that I gave him a chance for his life. By the infernal host, I was much tempted to string him up, without more ado, to the gallows in the court-yard, that he might dance a bargaret for our sport, sith he hath spoilt our mirth and music by his ill-omened croaking. Away with him, I say!”
“Beware of touching the servant of Heaven,” cried the firm and undismayed Franciscan; “whosoever dareth to lay impious hands on me, shall be subjected to the same curse as the sacrilegious tyrant who sitteth yonder.”
“Why stand ye hesitating, knaves?” roared the Wolfe. “Let him not utter another word, or, by the pit of darkness, I shall have ye all flayed alive.”
The Franciscan’s threat had operated too strongly on the lacqueys to permit them to secure the monk with their own hands, yet, afraid to risk their master’s hasty displeasure, one or two of them had not scrupled to fly off for the jailors and executioners of the Castle, men who, like tutored bears, had neither fears nor hopes, nor, indeed, thoughts of aught else but obedience to the will of a master, engrafted upon their savage natures by early [[246]]nurture and long usage. Four or five of these entered as the Wolfe of Badenoch was speaking. They appeared like creatures that had inhabited the bowels of the earth; bulky of bone and muscle; their hair and beards were long and matted, their eyes inanimate and unfeeling, and their hands, features, and garments alike coarse and begrimed with filth, as if the blood of their murderous trade still adhered to them.
“Ha! ay! there ye come, my trusty terriers; seize that polecat there in the cowl, and toss him into the Water Pit Vault. Quick, away with him!”
The bold Franciscan had trusted to the sanctity of his character, but he had presumed too far on its protecting influence; these reckless minions of the Wolfe had him in their fell gripe in an instant, and dragged him unresisting towards the door of the banquet hall, as if he had been but a huge black goat. There, however, his eyes happened to catch the figure and countenance of the page, Maurice de Grey; he started, and, in spite of the nervous exertions of the ruffians who had him in charge, he planted his feet so firmly on the pavement, that he compelled them to halt, while he stood for a moment fixed like a Colossus, darting a keen look at the page. The boy’s eyes sunk beneath the sternness of his gaze.
“Thou here!” exclaimed he with an expression of extreme surprise; “by what miracle do I behold thee here? Would that I had seen thee before—would that I had known——”
But the sturdy and callous knaves who held him, noticed his sudden halt and mysterious speech no otherwise than they would have done the voice or struggles of the goat we have compared him to; they only put forth a little more strength, and, before he could get another word out, whirled him through the door-way, and lugged him sprawling down the stair. Hepborne had been more than once on the eve of interceding for the monk, but he saw that anything he could have said would have been of little avail, amidst the general fury that prevailed against him, and might have even provoked a more immediate and fatal vengeance; so that all thoughts of running a hopeless tilt in his behalf, against the highly excited ferocity of the Stewarts, were abandoned by him for the present.