“Look more closely,” said Roland; “you will see that each of these horseman who advance so rapidly from Glasgow, carries a footman behind him.”
“Now, by Heaven, he speaks well!” said the black cavalier; “one of you two must go carry the news to Lord Seyton and Lord Arbroath, that they hasten not their horsemen on before the foot, but advance more regularly.”
“Be that my errand,” said Roland, “for I first marked the stratagem of the enemy.”
“But, by your leave,” said Seyton, “yonder is my father's banner engaged, and it best becomes me to go to the rescue.”
“I will stand by the Queen's decision,” said Roland Avenel.
“What new appeal?—what new quarrel?” said Queen Mary—“Are there not in yonder dark host enemies enough to Mary Stewart, but must her very friends turn enemies to each other?”
“Nay, madam,” said Roland, “the young master of Seyton and I did but dispute who should leave your person to do a most needful message to the host. He thought his rank entitled him, and I deemed that the person of least consequence, being myself, were better perilled—”
“Not so,” said the Queen; “if one must leave me, be it Seyton.”
Henry Seyton bowed till the white plumes on his helmet mixed with the flowing mane of his gallant war-horse, then placed himself firm in the saddle, shook his lance aloft with an air of triumph and determination, and striking his horse with the spurs, made towards his father's banner, which was still advancing up the hill, and dashed his steed over every obstacle that occurred in his headlong path.
“My brother! my father!” exclaimed Catherine, with an expression of agonized apprehension—“they are in the midst of peril, and I in safety!”