“Go then, I pr’ythee,” said Sir Patrick, “and make diligent inquiry for the youth through the Castle, and when thou hast found him, send him hither without a moment’s delay. Verily, it seemeth that he doth already begin to forget that I am his master.”
Sang hastened to obey, but remained absent much longer than Sir Patrick, in his anxiety about the boy, could think reasonable. The knight walked hastily about the room, and at length becoming very impatient, he sent first one lacquey, and then another, after the esquire. At last Mortimer Sang returned.
“Well, where is Maurice de Grey?” demanded Hepborne.
“By the mass, Sir Knight, I can gain no tidings of him.”
“’Tis very strange,” replied the knight, with a look of much vexation. “I do much fear me that the youth is of a truant disposition; it was indeed that which gave him to me. He ran away from his paternal home, and from maternal care, united himself to my party, and how oft did he solemnly and hautently vow never to quit me until death should sever us! His present absence doth wear a very mysterious and suspicious aspect.—Hath the old Harper been seen?” demanded Sir Patrick, after a pause, during which he paced the room two or three times backwards and forwards.
“Nay, Sir Knight,” replied the squire, “he hath not been visible.”
“Depardieux, then they must have gone off together,” replied Sir Patrick, with a tone of extreme dissatisfaction; “’tis most like that the minstrel, who must have known him before, hath aided, and perhaps been the partner of his escape. Yes, they must have been well acquainted, seeing that old Adam did so greatly frequent the English Border, and that he was so much esteemed by the Lady Eleanore de ———, I mean, by the page’s kinswoman. Well, I shall feel the loss of the boy’s company, for, sooth to say, his prattle did often beguile me of a dull hour. Truly, he was a shrewd and winning youth; but I am sore grieved to discover that he hath had in him such [[285]]deceit, and so little feeling for the kindness I did ever show him.”
With these words, the knight threw himself on the couch, altogether unable to conceal the chagrin and distress of mind he was suffering.
“Perdie, I should have been as a father to that boy,” said he again; “I should have made him a knight worthy of the highest place in the annals of chivalry. The youth seemed to value, yea, and to give heed to my counsels too; nay, the admiration with which he looked up to me might have been almost considered as ridiculous, had it not been viewed as the offspring of extreme attachment. He spoke as if he imagined that I was all excellence, all perfection. What strange cause can have occasioned his so sudden abandonment of me, and that, too, without having given me the smallest warning or hint of his intention? Did not I, more than once, tell him that I should be willing to aid his return to his friends, should he ever feel a desire to do so? His escapade is an utter mystery to me. Ha! I have it,” continued he, after a short pause of consideration; “I trow, I have hit it at last. The youth hath some turn, nay, and, I wot, no mean one neither, for poesy and song; moreover, he toucheth the harp with liard and skilful fingers; and seeing that he is fond of change, he hath, ’tis like, taken fancy to become a troubadour, and so has exchanged me as his master for old Adam of Gordon. Well, well, why should I vex myself about a silly, careless, truant boy?”
But Sir Patrick did, notwithstanding, vex himself most abundantly, and, nearly an hour afterwards, he was found, still lying in peevish and fretful soliloquy, by Mortimer Sang, who entered his chamber, with a message from the Countess of Moray, entreating his company in her apartment for a short conference. Sir Patrick hastily prepared himself to attend her, and was immediately ushered into her presence by a squire in waiting.