CHAPTER XXXIII.

HOUSE OF THE DYCK GRAF.

With every exertion, the best of men can do but a moderate amount of good; but it seems in the power of the most contemptible individual to do indescribable mischief.--WASHINGTON IRVING.

While the lonely Sir Patrick Gray, full of sombre and exciting thoughts, retired to his hostelry to consider and to plan the deliverance of Murielle from her own family, the house of Messire Jacques de Lalain, the Dyck Graf or hereditary governor of Bommel, which had been assigned as a temporary residence to the powerful Scottish noble and his retinue, became brilliantly lighted up.

In the principal chamber were grouped together many of the personages whom we last saw together, at the abbot's house in Edinburgh, on that eventful evening of November, 1440. It was noble in aspect, loftily ceiled, and floridly decorated in the Flemish fashion of that age of profusion, the walls and roof being covered with quaint devices and heraldic blazons, by Jan Van Eyck, a native of Maeseyk, who, in 1410, attained great perfection in the mixing of oil colours. Within a fireplace, lined with Dutch tiles, blazed a pile of logs across the massive bar of the and-irons. On an oaken buffet stood a gigantic lion, formed entirely of Delft ware, the crest of Gueldres, as it sprang from a ducal crown. From the ceiling hung a gilded chandelier, a veritable pyramid of candles, which shed a flood of light upon the guests below.

And striking groups they formed, the ladies having long veils of the richest white lace, falling from the summits of their lofty horned head-dresses; while their other garments, cote-hardies and skirts, were of the finest silk, taffeta, and gauze, covered with pearls, jewels, and embroidery; the hues and fashion of the attire of all these noble demoiselles making them resemble the queens of clubs and spades, just as we may see them on a pack of cards.

The apparel of the gentlemen was much of the same material--gay in colour, and gorgeous as embroidery and jewels could make it, with here and there a richly engraved cuirass of Milan plate, a gorget of burnished steel, or a diamond studded dagger-hilt, to impart a military character to the wearer.

An old cavalier, with a high bald forehead, a beard so long that Ferdinand of Toledo might have envied it, and who wore the mantle and jewel of the Golden Fleece of Burgundy, was conversing in French with the earl of Douglas. He was Jacques de Lalain, a noble Burgundian knight, hereditary Burg Graf of the town and castle of Bommel. While seeming to converse with the earl, who was speaking of King Charles VII. and Duke Philip the Good, and what might result from a war between France and Burgundy, with the adverse parts which Scotland and England were certain to take therein, he was gazing with pleasure on a group of Scottish girls, who by the fine carriage of their heads, their general bearing, and more than all by the whiteness of their hands, evinced that they inherited the best blood and highest breeding in the land.

They were, in fact, the Countess Margaret and Murielle, her sister; the countess of Ormond; dark-eyed Maud Douglas, of Pompherston; Mariota, of Glendoning; the golden-haired Caillean Rua; Lady Jean, of Cairnglas; and the three daughters of Sir Alan Lauder. The gentlemen who conversed with them, and played at chess with some, at tables (an old name for backgammon) with others, were the knights and esquires of the earl's retinue.

Amid these were two persons already introduced to the reader--Robert, duke of Albany, and Ludwig, count of Endhoven, whom as a simple Burgundian knight, he had, with his usual recklessness, dared to introduce to this high circle.

It was not without secret emotions of pleasure and satisfaction, that the _blasé_ royal outlaw beheld the girlish beauty of Murielle. Though in no mood for marrying, and long since used to consider women only as tools or playthings, to be cast aside when no longer needed, he conceived that he might find such a wife, for a time, the reverse of a tedium or an encumbrance; and, that on the simple condition of wedding her, he could enter with ardour into those daring schemes which promised vengeance to Douglas and a throne to himself.

Gay, handsome, and richly dressed, he leaned upon the high back of her chair, and insisted on conversing with her, flattering himself that he was making considerable progress, though the memory of Gray's sad loving eyes, and of his lover's kiss, yet lingered in her mind; but she was too well bred to treat the duke as he deserved; too gentle and too timid to repel him; and, moreover, too proud to acknowledge the footing upon which he affected to place himself with her--a position on which she was daily rallied by the countess and her ladies of the tabourette, until her little heart waxed wroth.

There were times also, when Albany, piqued by a coldness and reserve that were new to him, actually nursed himself into the conviction that he was desperately in love with this little beauty--if love in a heart so _roué_ were a possibility.

Near them sat Count Ludwig, affecting to be entirely occupied with a bloodhound, which the Dyck Graf had presented to the countess. It was a spotless dog, of "Black St. Hubert's breed," but _white_ as snow, and was named Souyllard, after that famous hound of the prince of Lorraine, which is thus extolled in the "Noble Art of Venerie:"

"My name first came from holy Hubert's race; Souyllard my sire, a hound of singular grace."

The reckless Ludwig, as he gazed on the beauty of Murielle, began to conceive some very daring schemes on his own account, as his armed Brabanciones, to the number of some hundreds, lurked in the Peel morass and woods on the other side of the Waal. He allowed his imagination to run riot, and while affecting to caress the powerful hound on the one hand, and converse with the abbot of Tongland on the other, he saw before him only the sweet girl's gentle eyes, which drooped, and her little coral mouth, which paled, whenever his bold glance fell on her.

The abbot and she exchanged smiles from time to time. He was full of commiseration and alarm for Sir Patrick Gray, whose preceptor he had been, and he was thinking of that peaceful and pleasant time in Tongland Abbey, when he was wont to take him once daily to read the works of St. Augustine, or a page of the Gospels in old monkish Latin. Each of these stood under an iron grating in the church, where a leaf of them was turned daily for the behoof of the learned or the pious; but Gray and MacLellan, like wayward boys, to get rid of the task which bored them, stole the key of the grille, and threw it into the Dee.

The poor old abbot had very little idea of the real character of the personage with whom he was conversing; and the reader may imagine the astonishment with which the robber count listened to him, and the undisguised merriment with which he treated his great project regarding the restoration of the Man of Sin. In short, Count Ludwig deemed our worthy abbot neither a well-deserving divine nor eccentric pedant, but a veritable madman, and so often muttering several times, "Der Teufel hole dich!" or "Sangdieu!" and so forth, he ceased to listen, and continued to gaze covertly at Murielle.

The recent interview with her lover gave a brilliance to her beauty, and a radiance to her expression; her slight but finely rounded form, being clad in cloth of silver under a robe of white gauze, seemed to stand forth in brilliant relief from the dark tapestry of the room. A silver caul confined her hair; her ornaments were all Scottish pearls, and everything about her appeared pure, girlish, and angelic--and so thought both the _roué_ duke and the ruffian count.

Her eyes wandered frequently to the latter, though he terrified her, and she knew not why; but she pitied him for having such a terrible scar on his face, and it made her think of Patrick Gray. Little dreaming that _his_ sword had inflicted it, she timidly inquired of the duke where that wound was received.

"In a battle with the Burgundians," replied the others readily, "a desperate one, when he slew all their men-at-arms."

"But is not he of Burgundy?" said Murielle with surprise.

"Ah, true; I meant to say with the French--but they fight so many," added the unabashed duke.

After this Murielle relapsed into silence, for she listened to Albany rather than conversed with him. Hitherto she had steadily refused to meet him; but she was too little in stature and too gentle in spirit to be a _heroine_ either in romance or history; and perceived now the futility of resisting further to receive him, as it had been arranged that the duke was to accompany the earl to Rome, to the end that during the journey he might ingratiate himself with her, and that _there_ the marriage would be performed, after his betrothal to Mademoiselle of France had been cancelled by the Vatican--a measure which the French king, since Albany's change of fortune and position, most earnestly desired.

And now James Achanna entered, with a smile spreading over his cat-like visage, when he saw how this goodly company were grouped.

He wished to gain the ear of the earl, but that formidable personage was conversing with the Dyck Graf.

When approaching he passed close to Murielle, who, while seeming to listen to Albany, was lost in reverie, and was unconsciously drawing from her pretty finger a pearl ring which Gray in happier times had given her. At that moment it suddenly slipped from her hand, and rolled among the rushes of the floor.

Quick as his wicked thought, Achanna let his handkerchief drop in the same place, and adroitly picked them up together.

"Good," he muttered, "this may prove useful."

We shall soon see what use he made of this ring.

Cautious in action, stealthy in step and eye, sharp in question but vague in answer--his eyes and ears ever open, and his tongue always prepared to speak in an age when men were slower in word than deed,--James Achanna was indeed a fitting tool for an unscrupulous feudal lord. Taking the opportunity of the Dyck Graf addressing a few words to the countesses of Douglas and Ormond, he said to the earl in a whisper,--"Would it please you, my lord, to play a game with me at tables?"

Then perceiving that the earl glanced at him with some disdain in his eye and hauteur in his manner, the politic Achanna added in a low voice,--"I have that to say which must be said instantly, and which none must overhear."

"Oh, we are to play a double game!" replied the earl with a sudden glance of intelligence; "bring hither the tables, the men, and the dice."

Achanna and he withdrew into the recess of a window. The tables were speedily opened, the men were marshalled, and the game began; but Achanna waited until his lord should make the first move.

"Proceed," said the latter impatiently.

"I am, then, to make the first move?"

"If it please you--begin."

They bent their heads near, as if interested in the game, and proceeded to push their men about vaguely, but vigorously.

"I told you, my lord, that I had met a certain Laird of Luaig," commenced Achanna.

"Yes, yes, at Grave."

"Well, I had my suspicions that the pretended laird of Luaig was no other than he we all wot of."

"Whom mean you--Gray?"

"Sir Patrick Gray of Foulis, captain of the king's guard; and now my suspicions are confirmed."

The earl started, and his eyes flashed with dusky fire, but controlling his emotion he simply asked,--"How?"

"I discovered him by watching the Lady Murielle. Cogsbones! I knew that the cock bird would soon find the hen."

"Sirrah," said the earl frowning, "you speak of a sister of the countess of Douglas--quick to the point, lest I hang you from that window by one of the curtain ropes!"

"Your pardon, Lord Earl; my speech is ruder than my thoughts," cringed the other.

"Quick!" continued the earl, almost grinding his teeth.

In a few words Achanna rapidly related the interview, which, _by chance_, he had overheard, in the church of St. Genevieve, and the earl was filled by such a tempest of anger that he became all but speechless; yet by a great effort of self-control, an effort the more painful that such exertion was quite unusual--he contented himself by glaring from under his black bushy eyebrows at poor unconscious Murielle with an expression as if he would have annihilated her.

"Think you the abbot took her there to meet him?" he asked in a hoarse whisper.

"Where?"

"Thou ass! to the church of St. Genevieve?"

"Heaven forfend! no; 'twas he who saved her from Gray," whined the sycophant vassal.

"It is well," said the earl in a quiet voice, but with fury still kindling in his eye and quivering on his lip; "were it otherwise, by St. Bryde, I'd unfrock and scourge him through these streets of Bommel with a horse halter, a mitred abbot and my confessor though he be!"

"Who, think you, my lord, brought to Lady Murielle at Thrave, the tidings that Gray still lived?"

"I would give this golden chain to know."

"I overheard----"

"His name--his name?"

"Sir Thomas MacLellan, of Bombie."

"Gray's kinsman, the lieutenant of the guard?"

"Yes, my lord," said Achanna, sweeping into his girdle pouch the gold chain which the earl quietly passed to him; "and long ago I had further proof that it was he."

"But for the assurance she received, by letter, of Gray's existence, she would now, I doubt not, have been duchess of Albany, and might have spared us this journey to Rome."

"You remember, my lord, that the letter was tied to an arrow, which struck the turf at her feet as she walked by the side of the Dee?"

"Yes, I remember to have heard so."

"I found that arrow, and a week after, Malise MacKim, the smith, found a quiver full lying among the rushes. The two chevrons _sable_ of MacLellan were painted on it, and the letter which bore the arrow was one of the same sheaf, the same shaft, notch, and feather; for, but a week before, Sir Thomas had bought them in the Friars Wynd, at Dumfries, as he passed south from Edinburgh."

"So, so!" said the earl, grinding his teeth; "if God and St. Bryde of Douglas permit me once again to cross the bridge of Dumfries I shall have a vengeance on MacLellan, so sure and deadly, that all Scotland shall ring with it from sea to sea."

And terribly the earl kept his vow.

"But where," he added, "is our lover at present?"

"That I have yet to discover."

"The Dyck Graf," began the earl, starting up; but Achanna caught his sleeve, saying, "Nay, nay, my lord, he will be certain to protect him. We cannot make a raid in Flanders as we might in Nithsdale."

"True, we must be secret. Oh, that I had them both, this Gray and MacLellan within ten Scottish miles of our gallows knob at Thrave, I would soon mar the interference of the one and the wooing of the other. I would summon all the Corbies in Deeside to his spousals."

"Leave the sequel to me, lord earl," said Achanna, in a low impressive whisper, "and Sir Patrick shall be punished even to _your_ heart's content."

"Assure me but of that, Achanna, and thou shalt pocket a thousand silver crowns," said Douglas, pressing the hand of his trusty vagabond.

With his natural ferocity of disposition, and being usually in the habit of giving full vent to every gust of fury, the earl found great difficulty in preserving an aspect of external composure during the remainder of the evening; but immediately on the Dyck Graf's departure for the castle of Bommel, the company broke up, and Douglas prepared to retire, with a scowl on his brow, and bitterness in his heart.

"God--den to you, father abbot; art still labouring hard to ruin the empire of the prince of darkness? Oh, if ever thou shouldst fall into _his_ hand!" said he with a mocking laugh, as he passed the worthy churchman, who started at the sound, for Douglas seldom laughed, and _never_ in merriment.

Achanna and Count Ludwig, who had been extremely ill at ease in the vicinity of the Dyck Graf, now withdrew together to plot mischief and to discover Gray.

"James Achanna," said Albany, as they were bowing themselves out, "remember that I am to see you to-morrow."

"At Carl Langfanger's auberge, _The Forester_."

"Yes, at noon."

"I am at the disposal of your _highness_," said Achanna, using the title by which kings were then addressed in Scotland and England.

Albany started, and the colour mounted to his usually pale temples as he said, "Sir, I desire that you will not address me thus."

"Why!" asked the earl with surprise as he paused in the doorway.

"Because I consider it premature, and as such unlucky."

"Your grace, perhaps, is right," replied the earl, gloomily, and somewhat contemptuously; "however, time will show."