Jane Seton; or, The King's Advocate: A Scottish Historical RomanceGrant, James
History
Jane Seton; or, The King's Advocate: A Scottish Historical Romance
Grant, James
Scotland -- History -- James V, 1513-1542 -- Fiction
"Heed it not, good fellow; I will owe thee a score of bonnet-pieces
for that," cried Sir James Hamilton, as he sprang up the steep
winding pathway that led towards the tower, while the oars dipt into
the water, and the boat shot out upon the river, whose waves were
dancing brightly in the glow of a cloudless morning.
Before this, the countess and Sybil, overcome by weariness, the grief
of the past night, and a total deprivation of sleep, bad fallen into
a deep slumber in a chamber of the tower above.
The worthy lady of Barncleugh was somewhat of a termagant, which was
generally averred to be the principal reason why the good laird her
spouse had solicited from the cardinal, and retained, the solitary
castellany of Inchkeith. The lady never came into the island, and
the laird never went out of it; but consumed the long and dreary
days, revelling in the peaceful monotony he now enjoyed, playing
chess with his seneschal, and drinking usquebaugh mixed with a small
proportion of the brackish spring-water of the isle. A table was
placed near the gate of the tower, at a sunny angle of the barbican,
on the very verge of those cliffs named the Climpers; and there, with
the sea rolling nearly a hundred and eighty feet below, the seagulls
and the Solan geese croaking above them, they passed the summer
afternoons, playing chess and drinking, with invincible resolution
and impenetrable gravity, till sunset, when the knight was usually
borne upstairs and put to bed, the damp air having stiffened his
limbs, as he always declared next day--an assertion which the
seneschal (who had his own thoughts on the matter) never dared to
deny.
It may easily be supposed that such a castellan was in no way
calculated to relieve the tedium, soothe the grief and mortification,
or lessen the fears, of the countess and Sybil; for days rolled on
and became weeks, and weeks were approaching a month; and though the
opposite coast and the city, the scene of all their anxieties, were
little more than three miles distant, they remained in total and
blessed ignorance of all that was passing there.
They seemed to be as utterly forgotten as if they had been in the
_oubliettes_ of the cardinal.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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