"That," she said, "you must yourself discover; perhaps I have gone a step too far in opening our interview."
"Suppose," said Roland Graeme, "we should begin as in a tale-book, by asking each other's names and histories?"
"It is right well imagined," said Catherine, "and shows an argute judgment. Do you begin, and I will listen, and only put in a question or two at the dark parts of the story. Come, unfold then your name and history, my new acquaintance."
"I am called Roland Graeme, and that tall woman is my grandmother."
"And your tutoress?--good. Who are your parents?"
"They are both dead," replied Roland.
"Ay, but who were they? you had parents, I presume?"
"I suppose so," said Roland, "but I have never been able to learn much of their history. My father was a Scottish knight, who died gallantly in his stirrups--my mother was a Graeme of Hathergill, in the Debateable Land--most of her family were killed when the Debateable country was burned by Lord Maxwell and Herries of Caerlaverock."
"Is it long ago?" said the damsel.
"Before I was born," answered the page.
"That must be a great while since," said she, shaking her head gravely; "look you, I cannot weep for them."
"It needs not," said the youth, "they fell with honour."
"So much for your lineage, fair sir," replied his companion, "of whom I like the living specimen (a glance at the casement) far less than those that are dead. Your much honoured grandmother looks as if she could make one weep in sad earnest. And now, fair sir, for your own person--if you tell not the tale faster, it will be cut short in the middle; Mother Bridget pauses longer and longer every time she passes the window, and with her there is as little mirth as in the grave of your ancestors."
"My tale is soon told--I was introduced into the castle of Avenel to be page to the lady of the mansion."
"She is a strict Huguenot, is she not?" said the maiden.
"As strict as Calvin himself. But my grandmother can play the puritan when it suits her purpose, and she had some plan of her own, for quartering me in the Castle--it would have failed, however, after we had remained several weeks at the hamlet, but for an unexpected master of ceremonies--"
"And who was that?" said the girl.
"A large black dog, Wolf by name, who brought me into the castle one day in his mouth, like a hurt wild-duck, and presented me to the lady."
"A most respectable introduction, truly," said Catherine; "and what might you learn at this same castle? I love dearly to know what my acquaintances can do at need."
"To fly a hawk, hollow to a hound, back a horse, and wield lance, bow, and brand."
"And to boast of all this when you have learned it," said Catherine, "which, in France at least, is the surest accomplishment of a page. But proceed, fair sir; how came your Huguenot lord and your no less Huguenot lady to receive and keep in the family so perilous a person as a Catholic page?"
"Because they knew not that part of my history, which from infancy I have been taught to keep secret--and because my grand-dame's former zealous attendance on their heretic chaplain, had laid all this suspicion to sleep, most fair Callipolis," said the page; and in so saying, he edged his chair towards the seat of the fair querist.
"Nay, but keep your distance, most gallant sir," answered the blue-eyed maiden, "for, unless I greatly mistake, these reverend ladies will soon interrupt our amicable conference, if the acquaintance they recommend shall seem to proceed beyond a certain point--so, fair sir, be pleased to abide by your station, and reply to my questions.--By what achievements did you prove the qualities of a page, which you had thus happily acquired?"
Roland, who began to enter into the tone and spirit of the damsel's conversation, replied to her with becoming spirit.
"In no feat, fair gentlewoman, was I found inexpert, wherein there was mischief implied. I shot swans, hunted cats, frightened serving-women, chased the deer, and robbed the orchard. I say nothing of tormenting the chaplain in various ways, for that was my duty as a good Catholic."
"Now, as I am a gentlewoman," said Catherine, "I think these heretics have done Catholic penance in entertaining so all-accomplished a serving-man! And what, fair sir, might have been the unhappy event which deprived them of an inmate altogether so estimable?"
"Truly, fair gentlewoman," answered the youth, "your real proverb says that the longest lane will have a turning, and mine was more--it was, in fine, a turning off."
"Good!" said the merry young maiden, "it is an apt play on the word --and what occasion was taken for so important a catastrophe?--Nay, start not for my learning, I do know the schools--in plain phrase, why were you sent from service?"
The page shrugged his shoulders while he replied,--"A short tale is soon told--and a short horse soon curried. I made the falconer's boy taste of my switch--the falconer threatened to make me brook his cudgel--he is a kindly clown as well as a stout, and I would rather have been cudgelled by him than any man in Christendom to choose--but I knew not his qualities at that time--so I threatened to make him brook the stab, and my Lady made me brook the 'Begone;' so adieu to the page's office and the fair Castle of Avenel--I had not travelled far before I met my venerable parent--And so tell your tale, fair gentlewoman, for mine is done."
"A happy grandmother," said the maiden, "who had the luck to find the stray page just when his mistress had slipped his leash, and a most lucky page that has jumped at once from a page to an old lady's gentleman-usher!"
"All this is nothing of your history," answered Roland Graeme, began to be much interested in the congenial vivacity of this facetious young gentlewoman,--" tale for tale is fellow-traveller's justice."
"Wait till we are fellow-travellers, then," replied Catherine.
"Nay, you escape me not so," said the page; "if you deal not justly by me, I will call out to Dame Bridget, or whatever your dame be called, and proclaim you for a cheat."
"You shall not need," answered the maiden--"my history is the counterpart of your own; the same words might almost serve, change but dress and name. I am called Catherine Seyton, and I also am an orphan."
"Have your parents been long dead?"
"This is the only question," said she, throwing down her fine eyes with a sudden expression of sorrow, "that is the only question I cannot laugh at."