Elizabeth loves fame--and not all that she has
won by her power and her wisdom will equal that which she will acquire
by extending her hospitality to a distressed sister!--not all that she
may hereafter do of good, wise, and great, would blot out the reproach
of abusing our confidence.--Farewell, my page--now my knight--farewell
for a brief season. I will dry the tears of Catherine, or I will weep
with her till neither of us can weep longer."--She held out her hand
to Roland, who flinging himself on his knees, kissed it with much
emotion. He was about to render the same homage to Catherine, when the
Queen, assuming an air of sprightliness, said, "Her lips, thou foolish
boy! and, Catherine, coy it not--these English gentlemen should see,
that, even in our cold clime, Beauty knows how to reward Bravery and
Fidelity!"
"We are not now to learn the force of Scottish beauty, or the mettle
of Scottish valour," said the Sheriff of Cumberland, courteously--"I
would it were in my power to bid these attendants upon her who is
herself the mistress of Scottish beauty, as welcome to England as my
poor cares would make them. But our Queen's orders are positive in
case of such an emergence, and they must not be disputed by her
subject.--May I remind your Majesty that the tide ebbs fast?"
The Sheriff took the Queen's hand, and she had already placed her foot
on the gangway, by which she was to enter the skiff, when the Abbot,
starting from a trance of grief and astonishment at the words of the
Sheriff, rushed into the water, and seized upon her mantle.
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