“Thou mayest indeed, Hepborne,” replied Assueton, griping his friend’s hand warmly. “Trust me, it doleth me sorely to see such deadly strife about to be waged between thee and one whom we both do so much love. Yet are the ways of Providence past our finding out. But may God do thee right, and make thy virtue appear.”
“Thou canst not have been astonished at the tardiness I did show!” said Hepborne. “Alas! my heart doth grieve to bursting; perplexed, lost in a maze of conjecture, the whole doth appear to me to have been delusion. So the Lady Beatrice proveth to be the long-lost daughter of the Lord of Dirleton! and the Franciscan—ha!—the Friar—he then is that John de Vaux who did so traitorously steal his brother’s child!—and hath the word of such a villain had power to face down mine? Oh, monstrous! Nay, now do I more than ever fear for the safety—for the life—of her whom I do love to distraction. And then her pure fame blasted, mine own good name tarnished, and no other means left for the cleansing of mine honour and her fame, but to lift the pointed lance, and the whetted sword, against the life of him whom, next to thee, I do of all men account most dear to me! May the holy Virgin, may the blessed Trinity, aid and sustain me amid the cruel host of distresses by the which I am environed!”
“Most hardly art thou indeed beset,” replied Sir John Assueton; “yet hast thou no other choice but to put thy trust in God, and to do thy best in this combat for the establishment of thine own honour as a knight, and the pure fame of thy lady-love, leaving to Providence the issues of life and death.”
After this conversation, Sir Patrick Hepborne and Sir John Assueton prepared to leave the Castle. As they were passing through the gateway, Hepborne, who was deeply absorbed in his own reflections, was gently touched on the arm by some one.
“She be’e here, Sir Patricks,” whispered Duncan MacErchar; “troth, she hath catched the friars, and troth she be’s a strong sturdy loons. Uve, uve, but she had a hard tuilzie wi’ her.”
“What? whom?” cried Sir Patrick.
“Troth, she did tell her to stand there till Sir Patricks come,” said MacErchar; “but she would not bide; and so, afore a’ was done, she was forced to gie her a bit clouring. Would she no likes to——”
“What?” cried Sir Patrick, now beginning to comprehend him, “thou dost not talk of the Franciscan? I do hope and trust thou hast not hurt the Franciscan?”
“Phoo! troth, as to tat, she doth best ken hersel the friars,” [[603]]replied Duncan; “but hurts or no hurts, she be’s in here,” continued he, pointing under the gateway to a low vaulted door, “and she may e’en ask the friars hersel.”
“Holy Virgin!” cried Hepborne, “thou hast ruined me with thy zeal. Open the door of this hole, and let me forthwith release the friar. Though he be mine enemy, yet would I not for kingdoms lie under the foul suspect of having caused him to be waylaid.”