Away, away--Tell them to hoist
sail and ply oar, as ever they would have good of the Douglas's hand!"
"Mother Nicneven will not be lightly found, or fetched hither on these
conditions," answered Dryfesdale.
"Then grant her full assurance of safety--Look to it, for thine own
life must answer for this lady's recovery."
"I might have guessed that," said Dryfesdale, sullenly; "but it is my
comfort I have avenged mine own cause, as well as yours. She hath
scoffed and scripped at me, and encouraged her saucy minion of a page
to ridicule my stiff gait and slow speech. I felt it borne in upon me
that I was to be avenged on them."
"Go to the western turret," said the Lady, "and remain there in ward
until we see how this gear will terminate. I know thy resolved
disposition--thou wilt not attempt escape."
"Not were the walls of the turret of egg-shells, and the lake sheeted
ice," said Dryfesdale. "I am well taught, and strong in belief, that
man does nought of himself; he is but the foam on the billow, which
rises, bubbles, and bursts, not by its own effort, but by the mightier
impulse of fate which urges him. Yet, Lady, if I may advise, amid this
zeal for the life of the Jezebel of Scotland, forget not what is due
to thine own honour, and keep the matter secret as you may."
So saying, the gloomy fatalist turned from her, and stalked off with
sullen composure to the place of confinement allotted to him.
His lady caught at his last hint, and only expressed her fear that the
prisoner had partaken of some unwholesome food, and was dangerously
ill.
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