“Would to God,” said Roland, “that I were with them, and could ransom every drop of their blood by two of mine!”
“Do I not know thou dost wish it?” said Catherine—“Can a woman say to a man what I have well-nigh said to thee, and yet think that he could harbour fear or faintness of heart?—There is that in yon distant sound of approaching battle that pleases me even while it affrights me. I would I were a man, that I might feel that stern delight, without the mixture of terror!”
“Ride up, ride up, Lady Catherine Seyton,” cried the Abbot, as they still swept on at a rapid pace, and were now close beneath the walls of the castle—“ride up, and aid Lady Fleming to support the Queen—she gives way more and more.”
They halted and lifted Mary from the saddle, and were about to support her towards the castle, when she said faintly, “Not there—not there—these walls will I never enter more!”
“Be a Queen, madam,” said the Abbot, “and forget that you are a woman.”
“Oh, I must forget much, much more,” answered the unfortunate Mary, in an under tone, “ere I can look with steady eyes on these well-known scenes!—I must forget the days which I spent here as the bride of the lost—the murdered——”
“This is the Castle of Crookstone,” said the Lady Fleming, “in which the Queen held her first court after she was married to Darnley.”
“Heaven,” said the Abbot, “thy hand is upon us!—Bear yet up, madam—your foes are the foes of Holy Church, and God will this day decide whether Scotland shall be Catholic or heretic.”
A heavy and continued fire of cannon and musketry, bore a tremendous burden to his words, and seemed far more than they to recall the spirits of the Queen.
“To yonder tree,” she said, pointing to a yew-tree which grew on a small mount close to the castle; “I know it well—from thence you may see a prospect wide as from the peaks of Schehallion.”