It is the livery to
which she has brought all Scotland."
"Do not speak so harshly," said Sir Robert; "if she hath done wrong,
she hath dearly abied it; and in losing all real power, one would not
deprive her of the little external homage due at once to a lady and a
princess."
"I say to you once more, Sir Robert Melville," replied Lindesay, "do
as you will--for me, I am now too old to dink myself as a gallant to
grace the bower of dames."
"The bower of dames, my lord!" said Melville, looking at the rude old
tower--"is it yon dark and grated castle, the prison of a captive
Queen, to which you give so gay a name?"
"Name it as you list," replied Lindesay; "had the Regent desired to
send an envoy capable to speak to a captive Queen, there are many
gallants in his court who would have courted the occasion to make
speeches out of Amadis of Gaul, or the Mirror of Knighthood. But when
he sent blunt old Lindesay, he knew he would speak to a misguided
woman, as her former misdoings and her present state render necessary.
I sought not this employment--it has been thrust upon me; and I will
not cumber myself with more form in the discharge of it, than needs
must be tacked to such an occupation."
So saying, Lord Lindesay threw himself from horseback, and wrapping
his riding-cloak around him, lay down at lazy length upon the sward,
to await the arrival of the boat, which was now seen rowing from the
castle towards the shore. Sir Robert Melville, who had also
dismounted, walked at short turns to and fro upon the bank, his arms
crossed on his breast, often looking to the castle, and displaying in
his countenance a mixture of sorrow and of anxiety.
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