This brief scene at once determined Roland Graeme's resolution to quit the castle, if it were possible, and to impart his resolution to George Douglas without loss of time. That gentleman, in his usual mood of silence, sate in the stern of the little skiff which they used on such occasions, trimming his fishing-tackle, and, from time to time, indicating by signs to Graeme, who pulled the oars, which way he should row. When they were a furlong or two from the castle, Roland rested on the oars, and addressed his companion somewhat abruptly,—“I have something of importance to say to you, under your pleasure, fair sir.”
The pensive melancholy of Douglas's countenance at once gave way to the eager, keen, and startled look of one who expects to hear something of deep and alarming import.
“I am wearied to the very death of this Castle of Lochleven,” continued Roland.
“Is that all?” said Douglas; “I know none of its inhabitants who are much better pleased with it.”
“Ay, but I am neither a native of the house, nor a prisoner in it, and so I may reasonably desire to leave it.”
“You might desire to quit it with equal reason,” answered Douglas, “if you were both the one and the other.”
“But,” said Roland Graeme, “I am not only tired of living in Lochleven Castle, but I am determined to quit it.”
“That is a resolution more easily taken than executed,” replied Douglas.
“Not if yourself, sir, and your Lady Mother, choose to consent,” answered the page.
“You mistake the matter, Roland,” said Douglas; “you will find that the consent of two other persons is equally essential—that of the Lady Mary your mistress, and that of my uncle the Regent, who placed you about her person, and who will not think it proper that she should change her attendants so soon.”