He found his noble hostess seated with the Lady Jane de Vaux, in the midst of her damsels, some of whom were employed in idle chitchat, others in singing, from time to time, to the harp or guitar, whilst the rest were assisting in an extensive work of embroidery. They were immediately dismissed on his entrance, and the Countess came forward graciously to receive him.
“I fear, Sir Patrick,” said she, “that I may have perhaps broken in rather prematurely upon those hours of repose which the fatigue of yesternight’s violent, though charitable, exertions [[286]]had doubtless rendered as welcome as they were necessary. The Earl, my husband, was so overspent with toil when he returned this morning, that he was buried in slumber ere I had time to question him as to the cause of the calamity, or even as to its full extent. I was on the eve of entreating a few minutes’ audience of thee at that time, that I might have my curiosity satisfied, but just as I was about to send my page to crave this boon of thine, thy page, Maurice de Grey, came hither, and informed me that thou also hadst betaken thee to thy couch. I have thus been compelled to champ the bit of impatience ever sithence; but, impatient as I am, I shall not easily forgive myself if I have been the means of rudely disturbing thy needful refreshment.”
“My page!” cried the knight with a mixture of surprise and eagerness, and made him forget everything else that the Countess had said to him; “verily, I have been seeking and sending for my page during the greater part of the morning. I beseech your Ladyship, when was the little varlet here, and what could have induced him to be so bold as to intrude himself on the Countess of Moray?”
“Nay,” replied the Countess, with an air of surprise no less strong than that of Sir Patrick, “I did assuredly think that it was thou who didst order him to come hither. He came to introduce a certain minstrel to my notice, and in so doing to take the opportunity of paying his duty to me, by thine own desire, ere the old man and he should depart hence together.”
“Depart hence!” cried Hepborne, with still greater astonishment, mingled with excessive vexation; “depart hence, didst thou say? So then the heartless boy hath really left me. Of a truth, when first I missed him, I did suspect that he and the minstrel had gone off together. Whither have they gone, I do beseech thee?”
“Nay, that is indeed miraculous,” replied the Countess; “’tis indeed miraculous, I say, that thou shouldst not have known the page was going away; for albeit he did not positively say so, yet did he so counterfeit with us that I for one did never doubt but that he came hither by thy very command to do his obeisance to me ere he should yede him hence. ’Tis a right artful youth, I’ll warrant me. Nay, Sir Knight, methinks thou hast good reason to congratulate thyself on being so happily rid of a cunning chit, who mought have worked thee much evil by his tricks. Of a truth, I liked not his looks over much———”
“Forgive me, noble lady,” cried the knight, “I cannot hear the boy spoken of otherwise than as he may in justice deserve. [[287]]I saw not ever any trick or mischief in him; on the contrary, he did always appear most doced in his demeanour and service. Moreover, he is a boy of most sensible remark, and more prudence of conduct than one might reasonably look for in a head so young and inexperienced; then as for his heart, it was warmer than any I ever met with in old or young. I trow he did prove to me more than once that his attachment to my person was something beyond mere pretence. Twice did he nearly sacrifice his life for me. What can have induced him to go off thus secretly? Had I been cruel to him he might have fled from me with good reason; but I loved the boy as I should have loved a younger brother, yea, or a son, if I had had one. There was so much gentleness about him; yet lacked he not a sly, sharp, and subtle wit.”
“Yea, of a truth, he hath a wit,” cried the Lady Jane de Vaux, archly; “ay, and as you say, Sir Knight, ’tis indeed a sharp one. How the wicked rogue did amuse us by the rehearsal of thy loves, Sir Knight! I do mean thy loves for his fair cousin, the beauteous Lady Eleanore de Selby. Ha, ha, ha! parfay, the varlet did stir up some excellent good-humoured pleasantry and merry laughter in us.”
“In truth, his stories were most amusing,” said the Countess; “trust me, it is a smart and witty little knave as ever I saw.”
“A most rare and laughter-stirring imp, indeed,” cried the Lady Jane de Vaux; “nay, the mere remembrance of him doth provoke me yet—ha, ha, ha!”