“Alas!” said the elder brother, “and even these few have been sullied by disagreement. I sound to horse, my brother—the rather that, to avert the consequences of this day's rashness on your part, requires hasty efforts on mine.—Dame, you will oblige me by letting your young relative know that we mount instantly. I intend not that he shall return to Avenel with me—it would lead to new quarrels betwixt him and my household; at least to taunts which his proud heart could ill brook, and my wish is to do him kindness. He shall, therefore, go forward to Edinburgh with one of my retinue, whom I shall send back to say what has chanced here.—You seem rejoiced at this?” he added, fixing his eyes keenly on Magdalen Graeme, who returned his gaze with calm indifference.
“I would rather,” she said, “that Roland, a poor and friendless orphan, were the jest of the world at large, than of the menials at Avenel.”
“Fear not, dame—he shall be scorned by neither,” answered the Knight.
“It may be,” she replied—“it may well be—but I will trust more to his own bearing than to your countenance.” She left the room as she spoke.
The Knight looked after her as she departed, but turned instantly to his brother, and expressing, in the most affectionate terms, his wishes for his welfare and happiness, craved his leave to depart. “My knaves,” he said, “are too busy at the ale-stand, to leave their revelry for the empty breath of a bugle-horn.”
“You have freed them from higher restraint, Halbert,” answered the Abbot, “and therein taught them to rebel against your own.”
“Fear not that, Edward,” exclaimed Halbert, who never gave his brother his monastic name of Ambrosius; “none obey the command of real duty so well as those who are free from the observance of slavish bondage.”
He was turning to depart, when the Abbot said,—“Let us not yet part, my brother—here comes some light refreshment. Leave not the house which I must now call mine, till force expel me from it, until you have at least broken bread with me.”
The poor lay brother, the same who acted as porter, now entered the apartment, bearing some simple refreshment, and a flask of wine. “He had found it,” he said with officious humility, “by rummaging through every nook of the cellar.”
The Knight filled a small silver cup, and, quaffing it off, asked his brother to pledge him, observing, the wine was Bacharac, of the first vintage, and great age.