So, Master Roland, you
will e'en please to present this yourself to the Lord Regent; his
presence will be better graced by a young page than by an old
falconer."
"Well said, canny Yorkshire!" replied his friend; "and but now you
were so earnest to see our good lord!--Why, wouldst thou put the lad
into the noose that thou mayst slip tether thyself?--or dost thou
think the maiden will clasp his fair young neck more willingly than
thy old sunburnt weasand?"
"Go to," answered the falconer; "thy wit towers high an it could
strike the quarry. I tell thee, the youth has nought to fear--he had
nothing to do with the gambol--a rare gambol it was, Michael, as
mad-caps ever played; and I had made as rare a ballad, if we had had
the luck to get it sung to an end. But mum for that--_tace_, as I
said before, is Latin for a candle. Carry the youth to the presence,
and I will remain here, with bridle in hand, ready to strike the spurs
up to the rowel-heads, in case the hawk flies my way.--I will soon put
Soltraedge, I trow, betwixt the Regent and me, if he means me less
than fair play."
"Come on then, my lad," said Michael, "since thou must needs take the
spring before canny Yorkshire." So saying, he led the way through
winding passages, closely followed by Roland Graeme, until they
arrived at a large winding stone stair, the steps of which were so
long and broad, and at the same time so low, as to render the ascent
uncommonly easy. When they had ascended about the height of one story,
the guide stepped aside, and pushed open the door of a dark and gloomy
antechamber; so dark, indeed, that his youthful companion stumbled,
and nearly fell down upon a low step, which was awkwardly placed on
the very threshold.
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