This was much older
still than Queen Mary's rooms. Ellen admired the wild
melancholy look of the Gothic pillars and arches springing
from the green turf, the large carved window, empty of glass,
the broken walls; and, looking up to the blue sky, she tried
to imagine the time when the Gothic roof closed overhead, and
music sounded through the arches, and trains of stolid monks
paced through them, where now the very pavement was not.
Strange it seemed, and hard, to go back and realize it; but in
the midst of this, the familiar face of the sky set Ellen's
thoughts off upon a new track, and suddenly they were _at home_,
on the lawn before the parsonage. The monks and the abbey were
forgotten; she silently gave her hand to her uncle, and walked
with him to the carriage.
Arrived at the Crown-room, Ellen fell into another fit of
grave attention; but Mr. Lindsay, taught better, did not this
time mistake rapt interest for absence of mind. He answered
questions, and gave her several pieces of information, and let
her take her own time to gaze and meditate.
"This beautiful sword," said he, "was a present from Pope
Julius Second to James the Fourth."
"I don't know anything about the popes," said Ellen. "James
the Fourth! I forget what kind of king he was."
"He was a very good king; he was the one that died at
Flodden."
"Oh, and wore an iron girdle, because he had fought against
his father, poor man!"
"Why 'poor man,' Ellen? he was a very royal prince; why do you
say 'poor man?' "
"Because he didn't know any better, Sir.
Pages:
839
840
841
842
843
844
845
846
847
848
849
850
851
852
853
854
855
856
857
858
859
860
861
862
863