Chapter III: Bella's Tale

CATHERINE DOUGLAS.

"'THEY have not discovered him! Heaven be praised!' exclaimed the Queen of Scotland, as, after vainly searching the apartment in which she stood trembling, surrounded by her ladies, Robert Graham and his ruthless band hurried away to examine other parts of the palace."

"'Oh! how my heart throbbed,' cried the youngest of the maidens, 'when the murderer had his foot on the very plank which we had raised to let the king * down to his place of concealment!'"

"'Are they gone?' murmured a low voice which seemed to come from beneath them."

"'Oh! hush, my liege lord! Rest in safety and in silence—they are not distant—they may return—they—'"

"'Hark!' cried Catherine Douglas, with her finger on her lips, and there was a stillness like that of death in the circle. Then sounds wore heard in the distance, the heavy tread of many feet, the clanking of armour, and the terrified ladies caught the words, 'The vault! we have not searched the vault!'"

* James I., King of Scotland.

"The queen stood like a monument of terror, her quivering lips apart, her eyes wildly fixed, every drop of blood banished from her agonised face. 'They come!' she gasped forth."

"Catherine sprang to the door, and closed it in a moment against the approaching murderers."

"'Fix the iron bar across!' cried the Lady Margaret. 'Ere they can force its massive strength, assistance may arrive!'"

"'The bar!' exclaimed the ladies. 'The bar!'"

"'It is gone! We are lost!' cried Catherine. The tread of the murderers was at the door, a hand rudely grasped the lock without—stay, traitors, stay! There is yet a bar—a weak woman's arm is thrust across—Catherine Douglas has sacrificed herself for her king!

"O ruthless men! Can ye force a bloody entry. Should not devotion like hers form a firmer defence than bar of iron or brass! Who shall tell the terrors of that moment—that brief awful moment of unutterable agony? It yields—it breaks—the weak barrier of love—and the murderers force their way to their victim, over the senseless form of Catherine Douglas!"

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"Did they kill the king?" inquired Willy.

"He died by the daggers of the traitors!" replied Bella. "You may read the whole account in the History of Scotland."

"And did the brave lady live with her poor broken arm?" inquired Julia, with tears in her eyes.

"I do not know—the history did not tell. If she lived, it must always have been a comfort to her to think that she had done all that she could!"

"This reminds me," said Mr. Presgrave, "of an incident in English history, perhaps equally touching, and not so well known. The life of Edwin, one of the most illustrious of our Saxon kings, was endangered by an assassin, who, armed with a poisoned dagger, gained admittance to his presence. This man began to deliver a fictitious message; in the midst of it, he clenched his dagger, and rushed upon the king. Lilla, the favourite minister of Edwin, perceived the danger, but had no shield to ward off the blow. The king was off his guard—the dagger was raised; with self-devoted loyalty, Lilla threw himself between his sovereign and the assassin, received the descending blow, and expired!"

"There is something noble and glorious in dying for one's king!" exclaimed Louis. "I could half envy such a death!"

"I have that feeling, too," said Bella. "But one has no chance in these days of doing anything that is wonderful or glorious!"

"But think of the danger and the pain," suggested Amy. "It is easy to talk of sacrifices, but difficult to make them."

"I believe that I could sacrifice life in a glorious cause!" replied the enthusiastic girl; and she said no more than she thought. "And if the eye of a king were upon me—think of that! What courage and strength it would give one!"

"It seems to me," observed Mr. Presgrave, "that in these days, as well as in times gone by, each true subject has not only a chance, but a necessity of doing something noble and glorious! There is no light struggle before us all—hate, selfishness, worldliness are at the door of each, but Faith must hold its firm bar across, and the eye of our King is upon us!"

"But what happens to children like us seems so small," replied Bella. "We know what is right, but we seem to want a motive for exertion to the utmost of our power."

"How can we want a motive, my dear child? The weakest child has an enemy to struggle with, more formidable than any power of man—his own traitorous heart. Angels witness the conflict—Heaven sends aid, and victory is—glory eternal!"

"Oh! When earth's hopes are brightest,
Arm for the inward strife!
With more than mortal foes thou fightest,
And for more than life!"

Percy murmured, but so softly that only Jessy caught the words—"'He that is slow to anger is better than the mighty; and he that ruleth his spirit than he that taketh a city.'"