“The news hath already gone fully abroad,” replied the nobleman; “but, moreover, all manner of preparation hath been already made for the ceremony; yea, and all the world do make arrangement for witnessing so great a miracle. I, for one, shall assuredly be there.”
Sir Patrick Hepborne retired. As he passed by the entrance to the King’s private staircase, a portly figure brushed by him, and entered it hastily. He called to mind that he had encountered the same as he left the King’s presence at Aberdeen. It was indeed the Wolfe of Badenoch, but he had passed Sir Patrick Hepborne without observing him.
King Robert was at this moment seated in a large antique chair, placed close to the chimney corner, somewhat in the same dishabille as we have described him to have worn on a former occasion. His foot-bath stood ready prepared, and his attendant Vallance, who waited at a respectful distance, ventured more than once to remind His Majesty that the water was cooling. But the old man was deeply absorbed in serious thought. His eyes were directed to a huge vacuum in the hinder part of the chimney, amidst the black void of which the play of his ideas went on without interruption. A gentle tap was heard at his private door.
“We would be private, Vallance,” said the King, starting from his reverie, and pointing to his attendants to quit the apartment.
When they had withdrawn, Robert arose feebly, and propped himself on a cane. The knock at the private room was repeated. The old Monarch tottered towards the middle of the room. The knock was heard a third time, and with more impatience.
“If it be thou, son Alexander, come in,” said the King.
The door opened and the Wolfe of Badenoch entered, with a chastened step, and a mien very different from that which usually characterised him. He made an humble obeisance to his father. He spoke not, but his eyes glanced unsteadily towards the King, as if yet half in doubt what his reception might be. He beheld the old man standing before him struggling with emotions that convulsed his face and threw his whole frame into a fit of trembling. He saw that a great and mortifying change had taken place on his father since the last interview, and his conscience at once struck him that his own disobedience and outrageous conduct must have largely contributed [[586]]to produce the decay which was so evident. He was smitten to the heart.
“Oh, my father, my father!” cried he in a half-choked voice; “canst thou forgive me? When all have forgiven me, canst thou refuse me pardon?”
“Son Alexander,” said Robert, in a voice that shook from agitation as well as debility, “all others may pardon thee, and yet it may be the duty of thy King, albeit that he is thy father, to put on sternness with thee. Nor have we been wanting in performance of the severe duty of a King towards thee; for ere we did receive the godly Bishop of Moray’s letters regarding thee from the hands of the good Friar John, we had issued orders for the arrestment and warding of thy person in the nearest and most convenient of our prisons. Nor did we ever spare to meet thee with harsh reproof whilst thou were headstrong and rebellious; but now that thou dost come before us as a penitent and afflicted son, saying, ‘Father, I have sinned against Heaven and in thy sight;’ when thou comest as one willing to submit thee to all that the Church may demand of thee in reparation or in penance for thine outrages, we can no longer remember that we are a King, but we must yield us to those feelings which do now so stirringly tell us that we are a father. Oh, Alexander, my son, my son!” cried the old man, yielding to those emotions which he could no longer restrain, and bursting into a flood of tears, whilst he threw his aged arms around the manly form of the Wolfe of Badenoch; “the joy of this thy repentance doth more than recompense for all the affliction thou hast occasioned me during a long life. For thee, my son Alexander, have all my nights been sleepless; yea, and for thee have all my prayers been put up. Blessed be the holy Virgin, that they have not been put up in vain. Verily, I do sink fast into the grave; but thanks be to the Almighty King of kings, I shall now die in peace and with joy, sith that it hath pleased Him to bring thee to a due sense of the enormity of thy guilt.”
“Alas, alas!” cried the Wolfe of Badenoch, deeply affected by his father’s wasted appearance, and sobbing aloud from remorse; “alas! I do fear that thy life hath been amenused by mine iniquities. Oh, father, I could bear all but this, the bitterest punishment of all. Thou hast sadly drooped sith that I did last behold thee. Would that I had then listened to the voice of thy wisdom, when it did so eloquently speak. But a devil hath possessed me; and, fiend that I was——”