He entered with his arms folded on his bosom, and
his looks bent on the ground. With the assistance of Roland Graeme, a
table was suitably covered in the next or middle apartment, on which
the domestics placed their burdens with great reverence, the steward
and Douglas bending low when they had seen the table properly adorned,
as if their royal prisoner had sat at the board in question. The door
opened, and Douglas, raising his eyes hastily, cast them again on the
earth, when he perceived it was only the Lady Mary Fleming who
entered.
"Her Grace," she said, "will not eat to-night."
"Let us hope she may be otherwise persuaded," said Douglas; "meanwhile,
madam, please to see our duty performed."
A servant presented bread and salt on a silver plate, and the old
steward carved for Douglas a small morsel in succession from each of
the dishes presented, which he tasted, as was then the custom at the
tables of princes, to which death was often suspected to find its way
in the disguise of food.
"The Queen will not then come forth to-night?" said Douglas.
"She has so determined," replied the lady.
"Our farther attendance then is unnecessary--we leave you to your
supper, fair ladies, and wish you good even."
He retired slowly as he came, and with the same air of deep dejection,
and was followed by the attendants belonging to the castle. The two
ladies sate down to their meal, and Roland Graeme, with ready
alacrity, prepared to wait upon them.
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