The Earl nodded, as if Sholto had been making a report to him.  Then he went nearer and began to finger his squire’s accoutrements, finally opening his belt pouch and taking out the stone that was therein.

“Where gat you this hone!” he said, holding it to the light; “it looks not the right blue for a Water-of-Ayr stone.”

Sholto answered that it came from the Parton Hills, and, as the Earl replaced it, he possessed himself of the square letter and thrust it into the bosom of his doublet.

As soon as William Douglas was alone, he broke the seal and tore open the parchment.  It was written in a delicate foreign script, the characters fine and small: 

“My lord, do not, I beseech you, come to Edinburgh or think of me more.  Last night my Lord of Retz spied upon us and this morning he hath carried me off.  Wherever you are when you receive this, turn instantly and ride with all speed to one of your strong castles.  As you love me, go!  We can never hope to see one another again.  Forget an unfortunate girl who can never forget you.”

There was no signature saving the impression of the joined serpents’ heads, which he remembered as the signet of the ring he had found and given back to her on the day of the tournament.

“I will never give her up.  I must see her,” cried the Earl of Douglas, “and this very day.  Aye, and though I were to die for it on the morrow, see her I will!”

CHAPTER XXXII

“EDINBURGH CASTLE, TOWER, AND TOWN”

It was with an anxious heart that Sholto rode out behind his master over the bald northerly slopes of the Moorfoots.  For a long time David Douglas kept close to his brother, so that the captain of the guard could speak no private word.  For, though he knew that nothing was to be gained by remonstrance, Sholto was resolved that he would not let his reckless master run unwarned into danger so deadly and certain.

He rode up, therefore, and craved permission to speak to the Earl, seizing an occasion when David had fallen a little behind.

“Thou art a true son of Malise MacKim, whatever thy mother may aver,” cried the Earl.  “I’ll wager a gold angel thou art going to say something shrewdly unpleasant.  That great lurdain, thy father, never asks permission to speak save when he has stilettos rankling where his honest tongue should be.”

“My lord,” said Sholto, “bear a word from one who loves you.  Go not into this town of Edinburgh.  Or at least wait till you can ride thither with three thousand lances as did your father, and his father before him.”

The Earl laughed merrily and clapped his young knight on the shoulder.

“Did you not tell me the same ere we came to the Castle of Crichton, and lo! there we were ten days in the place and not a man-at-arms within miles except your own Galloway varlets!  Sholto, my lad, we might have sacked the castle, rolled all the platters down the slopes into the Tyne, and sent the cooks trundling after them, for all that any one could have done to stop us.  Yet here are we riding forth, feathers in our bonnets, swords by our sides, panged full of the Chancellor’s good meat and drink, and at once, as soon as we are gone, Sholto MacKim begins the same old discontented corbie’s croak!”