There was an air of consciousness about old Mause, as she rose from her wicker chair in the chimney-nook, not with the cordial alertness of visage which used, on other occasions, to express the honour she felt in the visit of her lady, but with a certain solemnity and embarrassment, like an accused party on his first appearance in presence of his judge, before whom he is, nevertheless, determined to assert his innocence. Her arms were folded, her mouth primmed into an expression of respect, mingled with obstinacy, her whole mind apparently bent up to the solemn interview. With her best curtsey to the ground, and a mute motion of reverence, Mause pointed to the chair, which, on former occasions, Lady Margaret (for the good lady was somewhat of a gossip) had deigned to occupy for half an hour sometimes at a time, hearing the news of the county and of the borough. But at present her mistress was far too indignant for such condescension. She rejected the mute invitation with a haughty wave of her hand, and drawing herself up as she spoke, she uttered the following interrogatory in a tone calculated to overwhelm the culprit.
“Is it true, Mause, as I am informed by Harrison, Gudyill, and others of my people, that you hae taen it upon you, contrary to the faith you owe to God and the king, and to me, your natural lady and mistress, to keep back your son frae the wappen-schaw, held by the order of the sheriff, and to return his armour and abulyiements at a moment when it was impossible to find a suitable delegate in his stead, whereby the barony of Tullietudlem, baith in the person of its mistress and indwellers, has incurred sic a disgrace and dishonour as hasna befa’en the family since the days of Malcolm Canmore?”
Mause’s habitual respect for her mistress was extreme; she hesitated, and one or two short coughs expressed the difficulty she had in defending herself.
“I am sure—my leddy—hem, hem!—I am sure I am sorry—very sorry that ony cause of displeasure should hae occurred—but my son’s illness”— “Dinna tell me of your son’s illness, Mause! Had he been sincerely unweel, ye would hae been at the Tower by daylight to get something that wad do him gude; there are few ailments that I havena medical recipes for, and that ye ken fu’ weel.”
“O ay, my leddy! I am sure ye hae wrought wonderful cures; the last thing ye sent Cuddie, when he had the batts, e’en wrought like a charm.”
“Why, then, woman, did ye not apply to me, if there was only real need?—but there was none, ye fause-hearted vassal that ye are!”
“Your leddyship never ca’d me sic a word as that before. Ohon! that I suld live to be ca’d sae,” she continued, bursting into tears, “and me a born servant o’ the house o’ Tillietudlem! I am sure they belie baith Cuddie and me sair, if they said he wadna fight ower the boots in blude for your leddyship and Miss Edith, and the auld Tower—ay suld he, and I would rather see him buried beneath it, than he suld gie way—but thir ridings and wappenschawings, my leddy, I hae nae broo o’ them ava. I can find nae warrant for them whatsoever.”
“Nae warrant for them?” cried the high-born dame. “Do ye na ken, woman, that ye are bound to be liege vassals in all hunting, hosting, watching, and warding, when lawfully summoned thereto in my name? Your service is not gratuitous. I trow ye hae land for it.—Ye’re kindly tenants; hae a cot-house, a kale-yard, and a cow’s grass on the common.—Few hae been brought farther ben, and ye grudge your son suld gie me a day’s service in the field?”
“Na, my leddy—na, my leddy, it’s no that,” exclaimed Mause, greatly embarrassed, “but ane canna serve twa maisters; and, if the truth maun e’en come out, there’s Ane abune whase commands I maun obey before your leddyship’s. I am sure I would put neither king’s nor kaisar’s, nor ony earthly creature’s, afore them.”
“How mean ye by that, ye auld fule woman?—D’ye think that I order ony thing against conscience?”