But the bolt which Roland had drawn on the
inside, resisted the efforts of the person desirous to enter. "Who is
there?" said Graeme aloud.
"It is I," replied the harsh and yet slow voice of the steward
Dryfesdale.
"You cannot enter now," returned the youth.
"And wherefore?" demanded Dryfesdale, "seeing I come but to do my
duty, and inquire what mean the shrieks from the apartment of the
Moabitish woman. Wherefore, I say, since such is mine errand, can I
not enter?"
"Simply," replied the youth, "because the bolt is drawn, and I have no
fancy to undo it. I have the right side of the door to-day, as you had
last night."
"Thou art ill-advised, thou malapert boy," replied the steward, "to
speak to me in such fashion; but I shall inform my Lady of thine
insolence."
"The insolence," said the page, "is meant for thee only, in fair
guerdon of thy discourtesy to me. For thy Lady's information, I have
answer more courteous--you may say that the Queen is ill at ease, and
desires to be disturbed neither by visits nor messages."
"I conjure you, in the name of God," said the old man, with more
solemnity in his tone than he had hitherto used, "to let me know if
her malady really gains power on her!"
"She will have no aid at your hand, or at your Lady's--wherefore,
begone, and trouble us no more--we neither want, nor will accept of,
aid at your hands."
With this positive reply, the steward, grumbling and dissatisfied,
returned down stairs.
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