At such hour, then, as a lady could be approached with propriety, he despatched his esquire on an embassy to the Castle. He had little fear of the result, from what had already passed between them; but what was his mortification to learn that the Lady Beatrice had been gone from Norham for above five or six hours, having set out during the night on some distant journey, whither no one in the Castle could divine.
It is impossible to paint the misery of Sir Patrick Hepborne. Hope had been wound up to the highest pitch, and the most grievous disappointment was the issue. He was so much beside himself that he was little master of his actions, and Mortimer Sang was obliged to remind him of the necessity of returning immediately to Melrose, to join his father, who, with the other Scottish nobles and knights, had resolved to stay there for the space of three days ere they should separate.
The warriors parted, with solemn vows uttered over the grave of the Douglas; and Sir Patrick Hepborne and his son, accompanied by the Earl of Moray, Assueton, Halyburton, and [[479]]a number of other knights, set out for Hailes Castle. The Lady Isabelle was ready to receive them on their arrival. She sprang into the court-yard to clasp her father and her brother to her bosom; and although modesty and maiden bashfulness checked those manifestations of love towards her knight with which her heart overflowed, yet, as he kissed her hand, her cheeks flushed, and her eyes sparkled with a delight that could not be mistaken.
Among those who came out to welcome the war-like party was old Gabriel Lindsay. Leaning on his staff on the threshold, he eagerly scanned each face that came near him with his dim eyes.
“Where is my gallant boy?” cried he. “I trow he need seldom fear to show his head where valorous deads hae been adoing; he hath had his share o’ fame, I warrant me. Ha, Master Sang, welcome home. Where loitereth my gallant boy Robin? he useth not to be so laggard in meeting his old father, I wot. A plague on these burnt-out eyes of mine, I canna see him nowhere.”
“Who can undertake the task of breaking poor Robert’s death to the old man?” cried Sang, turning aside from him in the greatest distress. “Sure I am that I would rather face the fierce phalanx of foes that did work his brave son’s death than tell him of the doleful tidings.”
“Where hast thou left Robin, Master Sang?” said the doting old man again. “Ah, there he is; nay, fye on my blindness, that be’s Richie Morton. Sure, sure my boy was never wont to be laggard last; ’twas but the last time he came home with Sir John Assueton that he had his arms round my ould neck or ever I wist he was at hand; he thought, forsooth, I would not have ken’d him: but, ah, ha, Robin, says I to him——”
“My worthy old friend,” said Sang, quite unable any longer to stand his innocent garrulity, so ill befitting the reception of the bitter news he had to tell him, and taking his withered arm to assist him into the Castle, and leading him gently to his chamber—“my worthy friend, come this way, and I will tell thee of thy son—we shall be better here in private. Robert Lindsay’s wonted valour shone forth with sun-like glory in the bloody field of Otterbourne; but——”
“Ah, full well did I know that he would bravely support the gallant name of Lindsay,” cried the old man, interrupting him with a smile of exultation. “Trust me, the boy hath ever showed that he hath some slender streams of gentle blood in his veins; we are come of good kind, Master Sang, and maybe my boy Robin shall yet win wealth and honours to prove [[480]]it. My great-great-grandfather—nay, my grandfather’s great-great——”
“But, Robert,” said Sang, wishing to bring old Gabriel back to the sad subject he was about to open.