“Sir Patrick Hepborne,” said the old knight to him, soon after they had taken their places, “perhaps thou art aware that thine excellent father and I were early friends? yea, well did I know thee, too, when thou wert as yet but an unfledged falcon. Full often, perdie, hast thou sat on these knees of mine, and many a hair, too, hast thou plucked in frolic from this grizzled beard, the which was then, I’ll warrant thee, as black as the raven’s back. Thou knowest that my domains of Dirleton, and those of Hailes, stand within a fair degree of neighbourhood. Give me leave then to drink this cup of Malvoisie to the better acquaintance of friends so old.”
“I have often heard my father give utterance to many a kind and warm remembrance of thy friendship for our house,” replied Sir Patrick, as he prepared to return the Lord of Dirleton’s pledge; “and it giveth me extreme joy thus unexpectedly to meet with one who deigned to bestow notice upon my childhood, albeit I cannot recall the recollection of the countenance of him who vouchsafed it.”
“Nay, thy memory was too young at the time, Sir Patrick, to have received permanent impressions of any kind,” replied [[268]]the Lord of Dirleton; “and as we were soon after driven abroad by domestic affliction, thou never hadst any opportunity of seeing me after thou couldst observe and remember; for when we returned to Scotland again, we discovered that thou hadst gone to the very country we had left.”
“I did hear of thy name from those who considered themselves highly honoured by having enjoyed thy society during the time thou didst make Paris thy residence,” said Hepborne.
“Yea, we knew many there,” replied the Lord of Dirleton, “many who were worthy and amiable; yet none, I trust, who could dislodge the early and fixed Scottish friendships we had formed. That between thy father and me was so strong in its nature, that we longed to cement our families irrevocably together; and I do well remember me, that when thou wert but some two or three years old, and the Lady Dirleton had produced her first child, a daughter, Sir Patrick and I did solemnly vow that, with the blessing and concurrence of Heaven, thou and she should knit us more closely by thy union, so soon as years should have ripened ye severally into man and woman.”
“Alas!” interrupted the Lady Dirleton, the tears swelling in her eyes as she spoke—“alas! it did not please Heaven to give its blessing or its concurrence to our vows, or to lend its ear to our many prayers and supplications for the fulfilment of our wishes. A cruel fate deprived us of our infant daughter, and made me a wretchedly bereft and grief-bywoxen mother. When I saw thee——”
“Leave off this sad theme, I do beseech thee, Maria,” said the old knight, interrupting her, with eyes that streamed over as fast as her own; “’tis but unmeet talk, I wis, for a festive scene like this. At some other and more fitting time, Sir Patrick may be disposed to list the story, and to sympathise with our dole and dreriment.”
By this time the more substantial part of the banquet had been removed, a profusion of lights had changed the dim twilight of the place into more than day, and healths and brimming goblets of wine were circulating. Each knight was called upon to quaff a pledge to the bright eyes that held him in thrall; and this public avowal of his tender attachment was considered as a sort of prelude to the more determined appeal he might be afterwards disposed to make in support of her beauty and fame, at the point of his lance in the lists. Some there were who, when it came to their turn, bowed silently, and permitted the cup to pass by them; these, however, were few in number, and were such as, from some private reason, wished to throw a veil [[269]]of delicacy over their attachment; but when Sir John Halyburton was called on, he arose from the side of the blushing Jane de Vaux, and boldly proclaimed his love and adoration of her to all present.
“I pledge this brimming mazer to the health of the peerless Lady Jane de Vaux,” said he; “and as I now drink the cup dry for her sake, so am I prepared to drain my life’s blood in her service.”
A murmur of approbation ran around the festal board. When it had subsided,