“Now, Our Lady pity me,” she said, “for no sooner are my prison cares ended, than those which beset me as a woman and a Queen again thicken around me.—Happy Elizabeth! to whom political interest is every thing, and whose heart never betrays thy head.—And now must I seek this other boy, if I would prevent daggers-drawing betwixt him and the young Seyton.”
Roland Graeme was in the same oratory, but at such a distance from Douglas, that he could not overhear what passed betwixt the Queen and him. He also was moody and thoughtful, but cleared his brow at the Queen's question, “How now, Roland? you are negligent in your attendance this morning. Are you so much overcome with your night's ride?”
“Not so, gracious madam,” answered Graeme; “but I am told the page of Lochleven is not the page of Niddrie Castle; and so Master Henry Seyton hath in a manner been pleased to supersede my attendance.”
“Now, Heaven forgive me,” said the Queen, “how soon these cock-chickens begin to spar!—with children and boys, at least, I may be a queen.—I will have you friends.—Some one send me Henry Seyton hither.” As she spoke the last words aloud, the youth whom she had named entered the apartment. “Come hither,” she said, “Henry Seyton—I will have you give your hand to this youth, who so well aided in the plan of my escape.”
“Willingly, madam,” answered Seyton, “so that the youth will grant me, as a boon, that he touch not the hand of another Seyton whom he knows of. My hand has passed current for hers with him before now—and to win my friendship, he must give up thoughts of my sister's love.”
“Henry Seyton,” said the Queen, “does it become you to add any condition to my command?”
“Madam,” said Henry, “I am the servant of your Grace's throne, son to the most loyal man in Scotland. Our goods, our castles, our blood, are yours: Our honour is in our own keeping. I could say more, but—”
“Nay, speak on, rude boy,” said the Queen; “what avails it that I am released from Lochleven, if I am thus enthralled under the yoke of my pretended deliverers, and prevented from doing justice to one who has deserved as well of me as yourself?”
“Be not in this distemperature for me, sovereign Lady,” said Roland; “this young gentleman, being the faithful servant of your Grace, and the brother of Catherine Seyton, bears that about him which will charm down my passion at the hottest.”
“I warn thee once more,” said Henry Seyton, haughtily, “that you make no speech which may infer that the daughter of Lord Seyton can be aught to thee beyond what she is to every churl's blood in Scotland.”