Yet though thou shouldst be dragg'd in scorn
To yonder tree,
Thou shall not want one faithful friend
To share the cruel fates' decree.
Ballad of Jemmy Dawson.
Master George Heriot and his , as she might justly be termed, for his affection to Margaret imposed on him all the cares of a , were by the yeoman of the guard to the of the , where they found him seated with his lady. They were received by both with that decorous civility which Master Heriot's character and supposed influence demanded, even at the hand of a old soldier and courtier like Sir Edward Mansel. Lady Mansel received Margaret with like courtesy, and informed Master George that she was now only her guest, and no longer her prisoner.
“She is at liberty,” she said, “to return to her friends under your charge—such is his 's pleasure.”
“I am glad of it, madam,” answered Heriot, “but only I could have wished her freedom had taken place before her foolish interview with that singular young man; and I your ladyship permitted it.”
“My good Master Heriot,” said Sir Edward, “we act according to the commands of one better and wiser than ourselves—our orders from his Majesty must be and obeyed; and I need not say that the wisdom of his Majesty doth more than ensure—”
“I know his Majesty's wisdom well,” said Heriot; “yet there is an old proverb about fire and flax—well, let it pass.”
“I see Sir Mungo Malagrowther stalking towards the door of the lodging,” said the Lady Mansel, “with the gait of a crane—it is his second visit this morning.”
“He brought the warrant for discharging Lord Glenvarloch of the charge of treason,” said Sir Edward.
“And from him,” said Heriot, “I heard much of what had befallen; for I came from France only late last evening, and somewhat unexpectedly.”
As they , Sir Mungo entered the apartment—saluted the Lieutenant of the Tower and his lady with ceremonious civility—honoured George Heriot with a patronising nod of acknowledgment, and Margaret with—“Hey! my young charge, you have not your masculine yet?”
“She does not mean to lay it aside, Sir Mungo,” said Heriot, speaking loud, “until she has had satisfaction from you, for betraying her disguise to me, like a false —and in very deed, Sir Mungo, I think when you told me she was about in so strange a dress, you might have said also that she was under Lady Mansel's protection.”
“That was the king's secret, Master Heriot,” said Sir Mungo, throwing himself into a chair with an air of atrabilarious importance; “the other was a well-meaning hint to yourself, as the girl's friend.”
“Yes,” replied Heriot, “it was done like yourself—enough told to make me unhappy about her—not a word which could relieve my uneasiness.”
“Sir Mungo will not hear that remark,” said the lady; “we must change the subject.—Is there any news from Court, Sir Mungo? you have been to Greenwich?”
“You might as well ask me, madam,” answered the Knight, “whether there is any news from hell.”
“How, Sir Mungo, how!” said Sir Edward, “measure your words something better—You speak of the Court of King James.”
“Sir Edward, if I spoke of the court of the twelve Kaisers, I would say it is as confused for the present as the infernal regions. Courtiers of forty years' , and such I may write myself, are as far to seek in the matter as a minnow in the . Some folk say the king has frowned on the Prince—some that the Prince has looked grave on the duke—some that Lord Glenvarloch will be hanged for high treason—and some that there is matter against Lord Dalgarno that may cost him as much as his head's worth.”
“And what do you, that are a courtier of forty years' standing, think of it all?” said Sir Edward Mansel.
“, nay, do not ask him, Sir Edward,” said the lady, with an look to her husband.
“Sir Mungo is too witty,” added Master Heriot, “to remember that he who says aught that may be repeated to his own prejudice, does but load a piece for any of the company to shoot him dead with, at their pleasure and convenience.”
“What!” said the bold Knight, “you think I am afraid of the trepan? Why now, what if I should say that Dalgarno has more wit than honesty,—the duke more sail than ballast,—the Prince more pride than prudence,—and that the king—” The Lady Mansel held up her finger in a warning manner—“that the king is my very good master, who has given me, for forty years and more, dog's wages, videlicit, bones and beating.—Why now, all this is said, and Archie Armstrong [Footnote: The Court jester.] says worse than this of the best of them every day.”
“The more fool he,” said George Heriot; “yet he is not so wrong, for is his best wisdom. But do not you, Sir Mungo, set your wit against a fool's, though he be a court fool.”
“A fool, said you?” replied Sir Mungo, not having heard what Master Heriot said, or not choosing to have it thought so,—“I have been a fool indeed, to hang on at a close-fisted Court here, when men of understanding and men of action have been making fortunes in every other place of Europe. But here a man comes indifferently off unless he gets a great key to turn,” (looking at Sir Edward,) “or can beat with a hammer on a pewter plate.—Well, sirs, I must make as much haste back on mine errand as if I were a fee'd messenger.—Sir Edward and my lady, I leave my commendations with you—and my good-will with you, Master Heriot—and for this breaker of bounds, if you will act by my counsel, some by fasting, and a gentle use of the rod, is the best cure for her giddy fits.”
“If you propose for Greenwich, Sir Mungo,” said the Lieutenant, “I can spare you the labour—the king comes immediately to Whitehall.”
“And that must be the reason the council are summoned to meet in such hurry,” said Sir Mungo. “Well—I will, with your permission, go to the poor lad Glenvarloch, and some comfort on him.”
The Lieutenant seemed to look up, and pause for a moment as if in doubt.
“The lad will want a pleasant companion, who can tell him the nature of the punishment which he is to suffer, and other matters of concernment. I will not leave him until I show him how absolutely he hath ruined himself from feather to spur, how deplorable is his present state, and how small his chance of mending it.”
“Well, Sir Mungo,” replied the Lieutenant, “if you really think all this likely to be very to the party concerned, I will send a warder to conduct you.”
“And I,” said George Heriot, “will pray of Lady Mansel, that she will lend some of her handmaiden's apparel to this giddy-brained girl; for I shall my reputation if I walk up Tower Hill with her in that mad guise—and yet the silly lassie looks not so ill in it neither.”
“I will send my coach with you instantly,” said the obliging lady.
“Faith, madam, and if you will honour us by such courtesy, I will gladly accept it at your hands,” said the citizen, “for business presses hard on me, and the forenoon is already lost, to little purpose.”
The coach being ordered accordingly, transported the citizen and his charge to his in Lombard Street. There he found his presence was anxiously expected by the Lady Hermione, who had just received an order to be in readiness to attend upon the Royal Council in the course of an hour; and upon whom, in her inexperience of business, and long from society and the world, the intimation had made as deep an impression as if it had not been the necessary consequence of the petition which she had presented to the king by Monna Paula. George Heriot gently blamed her for taking any steps in an affair so important until his return from France, especially as he had requested her to remain quiet, in a letter which accompanied the evidence he had transmitted to her from Paris. She could only plead in answer the influence which her immediately stirring in the matter was likely to have on the affair of her Lord Glenvarloch, for she was ashamed to acknowledge how much she had been gained on by the eager of her youthful companion. The of Margaret's eagerness was, of course, the safety of Nigel; but we must leave it to time to show in what particulars that came to be connected with the petition of the Lady Hermione. Meanwhile, we return to the visit with which Sir Mungo Malagrowther favoured the young nobleman in his place of .
The Knight, after the usual salutations, and having prefaced his with a great deal of regret for Nigel's situation, sat down beside him, and composing his features into the most despondence, began his song as follows:—
“I bless God, my lord, that I was the person who had the pleasure to bring his Majesty's mild message to the Lieutenant, discharging the higher against ye, for any thing against his Majesty's sacred person; for, admit you be on the offence, or of privilege of the Palace and its precincts, usque ad mutilationem, even to dismemberation, as it is most likely you will, yet the loss of a member is nothing to being hanged and quick, after the fashion of a .”
“I should feel the shame of having deserved such a punishment,” answered Nigel, “more than the pain of undergoing it.”
“Doubtless, my lord, the having, as you say, deserved it, must be an excruciation to your own mind,” replied his ; “a kind of mental and metaphysical hanging, drawing, and quartering, which may be in some measure equipollent with the external application of , iron, fire, and the like, to the outer man.”
“I say, Sir Mungo,” repeated Nigel, “and beg you to understand my words, that I am unconscious of any error, save that of having arms on my person when I chanced to approach that of my Sovereign.”
“Ye are right, my lord, to acknowledge nothing,” said Sir Mungo. “We have an old proverb,—Confess, and—so . And indeed, as to the weapons, his Majesty has a special ill-will at all arms , and more especially pistols; but, as I said, there is an end of that matter. [Footnote: Wilson informs us that when Colonel Grey, a Scotsman who the buff dress even in the time of peace, appeared in that military at Court, the king, seeing him with a case of pistols at his girdle, which he never greatly liked, told him, merrily, “he was now so , that, if he were but well victualled, he would be impregnable.”—WILSON'S Life and of James VI., apud KENNET'S History of England, vol. ii. p. 389. In 1612, the tenth year of James's reign, there was a abroad that a shipload of pocket-pistols had been exported from Spain, with a view to a general of the Protestants. Proclamations were of consequence sent forth, prohibiting all persons from carrying pistols under a foot long in the barrel. Ibid. p. 690.] I wish you as well through the next, which is altogether unlikely.”
“Surely, Sir Mungo,” answered Nigel, “you yourself might say something in my favour concerning the affair in the Park. None knows better than you that I was at that moment urged by wrongs of the most nature, offered to me by Lord Dalgarno, many of which were reported to me by yourself, much to the inflammation of my passion.”
“Alack-a-day!-Alack-a-day!” replied Sir Mungo, “I remember but too well how much your choler was , in spite of the various which I made to you respecting the sacred nature of the place. ! alas! you cannot say you leaped into the for want of warning.”
“I see, Sir Mungo, you are to remember nothing which can do me service,” said Nigel.
“Blithely would I do ye service,” said the Knight; “and the best whilk I can think of is, to tell you the process of the punishment to the whilk you will be indubitably subjected, I having had the good fortune to it performed in the Queen's time, on a chield that had written a pasquinado. I was then in my Lord Gray's train, who lay leaguer here, and being always of pleasing and profitable sights, I could not with being present on the occasion.”
“I should be surprised, indeed,” said Lord Glenvarloch, “if you had so far put restraint upon your , as to stay away from such an exhibition.”
“Hey! was your lordship praying me to be present at your own execution?” answered the Knight. “Troth, my lord, it will be a painful sight to a friend, but I will rather punish myself than baulk you. It is a pretty , in the main—a very pretty pageant. The fallow came on with such a bold face, it was a pleasure to look on him. He was dressed all in white, to signify harmlessness and . The thing was done on a scaffold at Westminster—most likely yours will be at the . There were the Sheriffs and the Marshal's men, and what not—the executioner, with his and , and his man, with a pan of hot , and the irons for cautery. He was a fallow that Derrick. This man Gregory is not fit to jipper a with him; it might b............