The master armourer stopped—­not with any fear of death upon him, but lest a stroke of his master’s dirk should destroy their well-arranged mode of escape.

“O Earl William, my dear lord, hear me,” he said in a gasping voice, still hanging perilously between earth and heaven.  “If I have indeed been a faithful servant, I beseech you come with me—­for the sake of the house of Douglas and of your mother, a widow and alone.”

“Go down, Malise MacKim,” said the Earl, more gently; “I will speak with you only at the rope’s foot.”

So very unwillingly Malise went back.

“Now,” said the Earl, “hearken—­this will I do and no other.  I will remain here and abide that which shall befall me, as is the will of God.  I am bound by a tie that I cannot break.  What life is to another, honour and his word must be to a Douglas.  But I send your son Sholto to you.  I bid him ride fast to Galloway and bring all that are faithful with speed here to Edinburgh.  Go also into Douglasdale and tell my cousin William of Avondale—­and if he is too late to save, I know well he will avenge me.”

“O William Douglas, if indeed ye will neither fleech nor drive, I pray you for the sake of the great house to send your brother David, that the Douglases of the Black be not cut off root and branch.  Remember, your mother is sore set on the lad.”

“I will not go,” cried David, as he heard this; “by the saints I will stand by my brother’s shoulder, though I be but a boy!  I will not go so much as a step, and if by force ye stir me I will cry for the guard!”

By this time the young David was leaning half out of the window, and almost shouting out his words down to the unseen Douglases beneath.

“Go, Sholto,” said the Earl, setting his hand on his squire’s shoulder.  “You alone can ride to Galloway without drawing rein.  Go swiftly and bring back every true lad that can whang bow, or gar sword-iron whistle.  The Douglas must drie the Douglas weird.  I would have made you a great man, Sir Sholto, but if you get a new master, he will surely do that which I had not time to perform.”

“Come, Sholto,” said his father, “there is a horse at the outer port.  I fear the Crichton’s men are warned.  As it is we shall have to fight for it.”

Sholto still hesitated, divided between obedience and grief.

“Sholto MacKim,” said the Earl, “if indeed you owe me aught of love or service, go and do that thing which I have laid upon you.  Bear a courteous greeting from me to your sweetheart Maud, and a kiss to our Maid Margaret.  And now haste you and begone!”

Sholto bent a moment on his knee and kissed the hand of his young master.  His voice was choked with sobs.  The Earl patted him on the shoulder.  “Dinna greet, laddie,” he said, in the kindly country speech which comes so meltingly to all Galloway folk in times of distress, gentle and simple alike, “dinna greet.  If one Douglas fall in the breach, there stands ever a better behind him.”