“Ay, daughter, Sir John Halyburton,” exclaimed the old man; “my daughter Beatrice—she whom I have discovered to be yet alive, only that I may wish her dead. Oh, I could bear the loss of mine innocent infant—I could forgive a sinning and now repentant brother—but to forgive the villain who hath robbed my sweet flower of her fragrance—no, no, no, ’tis impossible. The very thought doth bring back all a father’s rage upon me. Give me my daughter, villain!—my daughter. Oh, villain, villain, give me my daughter!” The aged Lord of Dirleton, exhausted by the violence of his emotions, tottered forward a step or two towards Sir Patrick, and would have sunk down on the floor had he not been supported to the seat he had occupied. [[600]]
“Sir Patrick Hepborne,” said Sir John Halyburton, sternly advancing towards him, after he had assisted the father of his future bride, “we have been warm friends, yea, I did come in hither to stand by thee to the last, as thy friend; but my friendship did sow itself and spread its roots in that honourable surface with the which thou wert covered. ’Tis no wonder, then, that it should dry up and wither when it doth push deeper into the less wholesome soil, which was hitherto hid from my sight. The Earl of Buchan, the Lord of Dirleton—nay, all do seem to know thy blackness, and I do now curse myself that we were ever so linked. We can be friends no longer; and sith that it has pleased heaven to deny a son to that honourable but much injured Lord, it behoveth me, who look soon to stand in that relation to him, to take his wrongs upon myself. We must meet, yea, and that speedily, as deadly foes. My liege,” continued he, turning towards the King, and making his obeisance, “have I thy gracious permission here to appeal Sir Patrick Hepborne to single combat of outrance, to be fought as soon as convenient lists may be prepared?”
“Thou hast our licence, Sir John Halyburton,” replied the King; “to-morrow shall the lists be prepared, and on the day thereafter this plea shall be tried.”
“Then, sith that I have thy Royal licence, my liege,” cried Sir John Halyburton, “I do hereby challenge Sir Patrick Hepborne to do battle with me in single combat of outrance, with sharp grounden lances, and after that with battle-axes, and swords and daggers, as may be, and that unto the death. And this for the foul stain he hath brought upon the noble family of De Vaux, of the which I am about to become a son, and may God defend the right, and prosper the just cause;” and with these words, Sir John Halyburton threw down his gauntlet on the floor.
“I will not deny,” said Sir Patrick, as he stooped to lift it with a deep sigh, “I will not deny that it doth deeply grieve me thus to take up the gauntlet of challenge from one whom I have so much loved, and one for whom I should much more willingly have fought to the death than lifted mine arm against him. But the will of an all-seeing Providence must be obeyed; that Providence, who doth know that I wist not even that the Lady Beatrice was aught else but the page Maurice de Grey, until after she did flee from me. Twice did I afterwards behold her; once in the field of Otterbourne, where she had piously sought out and found the body of her benefactor, Sir Walter de Selby, and once within the Church of Norham, where she did [[601]]assist at his funeral rites; but on neither of these sad occasions had I even speech of her. A third time I did behold her but for an instant in the house of Sir Hans de Vere, in the Tower of London, and then did I save her, at the peril of my life, from what I then conceived to be a base assault of King Richard of England against her, for the which I did pay the penalty of imprisonment. On these three occasions only have mine eyes beheld her, sith that we parted at Tarnawa. If to love her honourably and virtuously be a crime, then am I indeed greatly guilty; but for aught else——”
“Thou hast told a fair tale, Sir Patrick,” said the King, shaking his head.
“Nay, ’twere better to be silent, methinks, than thus to try to thrust such ill-digested stories on us,” cried the Franciscan. “But ’tis no wonder that he should be loth to appear in the lists in such a cause. Conscience will make cowards of the bravest.”
“Nay, let God judge me then,” cried Sir Patrick Hepborne, turning fiercely round, and darting a furious glance at the friar. “Conscience, as with thee, may sleep for a time; but trust me, its voice will be terribly heard at last. Then bethink thee how thou shalt answer thine, when thy death-bed cometh. Coward, saidst thou?—By St. Baldrid, ’tis the first time—But Sir John Halyburton, thou at least will readily acquit me of aught that may have so disgraceful a savour. I do accept thy challenge; I am thine at the appointed time; may God indeed defend the right! Then shall mine innocence appear, while the transcendent virtue of the Lady Beatrice, whom I do glory to proclaim my lady-love, shall shine forth like the noonday sun.”
By one of those unfortunate accidents which sometimes occur, it chanced that the elder Sir Patrick Hepborne had been gone for some days on private business to his Castle of Hailes. Had he been present, this unfortunate feud might have perhaps been prevented; but he could not be now looked for at Scone until after the day fixed for the duel; and if he had been expected sooner, things had already gone too far to have been arrested, without some living proof to establish the truth. Sir John Assueton was present during the scene we have described, but he had been too much confounded by all he had witnessed and heard to be able to utter a sentence.
“My dear Assueton,” said Sir Patrick, going up to him, and taking him aside after all was over, “my friend, my oldest, my best-tried, my staunchest friend, thou brother of my dearest affections, from thee, I trust, I may look for a fairer judgment than these have given me?” [[602]]