As she concluded, the serving-man again entered the cottage, and said, “All is well! the time holds for to-morrow night.”
“What time? what holds?” exclaimed Roland Graeme; “I trust I have given the Douglas's packet to no wrong—”
“Content yourself, young man,” answered the serving-man; “thou hast my word and token.”
“I know not if the token be right,” said the page; “and I care not much for the word of a stranger.”
“What,” said the matron, “although thou mayest have given a packet delivered to thy charge by one of the Queen's rebels into the hand of a loyal subject—there were no great mistake in that, thou hot-brained boy!”
“By Saint Andrew, there were foul mistake, though,” answered the page; “it is the very spirit of my duty, in this first stage of chivalry, to be faithful to my trust; and had the devil given me a message to discharge, I would not (so I had plighted my faith to the contrary) betray his counsel to an angel of light.”
“Now, by the love I once bore thee,” said the matron, “I could slay thee with mine own hand, when I hear thee talk of a dearer faith being due to rebels and heretics, than thou owest to thy church and thy prince!”
“Be patient, my good sister,” said the serving-man; “I will give him such reasons as shall counterbalance the scruples which beset him—-the spirit is honourable, though now it may be mistimed and misplaced.—Follow me, young man.”
“Ere I go to call this stranger to a reckoning,” said the page to the matron, “is there nothing I can do for your comfort and safety?”
“Nothing,” she replied, “nothing, save what will lead more to thine own honour;—the saints who have protected me thus far, will lend me succour as I need it. Tread the path of glory that is before thee, and only think of me as the creature on earth who will be most delighted to hear of thy fame.—Follow the stranger—he hath tidings for you that you little expect.”