He sought to
make his parting reverence to the Queen and her ladies, but old
Dryfesdale hurried him to the boat.
"We will have no private audiences," he said, "my master; since you
are to be trusted with somewhat, we will try at least to save thee
from the temptation of opportunity. God help thee, child," he added,
with a glance of contempt at his gay clothes, "an the bear-ward be
yonder from Saint Andrews, have a care thou go not near him."
"And wherefore, I pray you?" said Roland.
"Lest he take thee for one of his runaway jackanapes," answered the
steward, smiling sourly.
"I wear not my clothes at thy cost," said Roland indignantly.
"Nor at thine own either, my son" replied the steward, "else would thy
garb more nearly resemble thy merit and thy station."
Roland Graeme suppressed with difficulty the repartee which arose to
his lips, and, wrapping his scarlet mantle around him, threw himself
into the boat, which two rowers, themselves urged by curiosity to see
the revels, pulled stoutly towards the west end of the lake. As they
put off, Roland thought he could discover the face of Catherine
Seyton, though carefully withdrawn from observation, peeping from a
loophole to view his departure. He pulled off his hat, and held it up
as a token that he saw and wished her adieu. A white kerchief waved
for a second across the window, and for the rest of the little voyage,
the thoughts of Catherine Seyton disputed ground in his breast with
the expectations excited by the approaching revel.
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