It opened at her command, and the steward Dryfesdale
entered, and stood before her with a gloomy and perturbed expression
on his brow.
"What has chanced, Dryfesdale, that thou lookest thus?" said his
mistress--"Have there been evil tidings of my son, or of my
grandchildren?"
"No, Lady," replied Dryfesdale, "but you were deeply insulted last
night, and I fear me thou art as deeply avenged this morning--Where is
the chaplain?"
"What mean you by hints so dark, and a question so sudden? The
chaplain, as you well know, is absent at Perth upon an assembly of
the brethren."
"I care not," answered the steward; "he is but a priest of Baal."
"Dryfesdale," said the Lady, sternly, "what meanest thou? I have ever
heard, that in the Low Countries thou didst herd with the Anabaptist
preachers, those boars which tear up the vintage--But the ministry
which suits me and my house must content my retainers."
"I would I had good ghostly counsel, though," replied the steward, not
attending to his mistress's rebuke, and seeming to speak to himself.
"This woman of Moab----"
"Speak of her with reverence," said the Lady; "she is a king's
daughter."
"Be it so," replied Dryfesdale; "she goes where there is little
difference betwixt her and a beggar's child--Mary of Scotland is
dying."
"Dying, and in my castle!" said the Lady, starting up in alarm; "of
what disease, or by what accident?"
"Bear patience, Lady. The ministry was mine."
"Thine, villain and traitor!--how didst thou dare----"
"I heard you insulted, Lady--I heard you demand vengeance--I promised
you should have it, and I now bring tidings of it.
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