“By Heaven, he is false at last!” said Seyton; “I ever feared it!”
“He is as true,” said Catherine, “as Heaven itself, and that I will maintain.”
“Be silent, minion,” said her brother, “for shame, if not for fear—Fellows, put off, and row for your lives!”
“Help me, help me on board!” said the deserted Lady Fleming, and that louder than prudence warranted.
“Put off—put off!” cried Henry Seyton; “leave all behind, so the Queen is safe.”
“Will you permit this, madam?” said Catherine, imploringly; “you leave your deliverer to death.”
“I will not,” said the Queen.—“Seyton I command you to stay at every risk.”
“Pardon me, madam, if I disobey,” said the intractable young man; and with one hand lifting in Lady Fleming, he began himself to push off the boat.
She was two fathoms' length from the shore, and the rowers were getting her head round, when Roland Graeme, arriving, bounded from the beach, and attained the boat, overturning Seyton, on whom he lighted. The youth swore a deep but suppressed oath, and stopping Graeme as he stepped towards the stern, said, “Your place is not with high-born dames—keep at the head and trim the vessel—Now give way—give way—Row, for God and the Queen!”
The rowers obeyed, and began to pull vigorously.