“And the Chancellor Crichton—­the tutor Livingston—­what of them?” urged Sholto, like a Scot thinking of his native traitors.

The Lady Sybilla waved a contemptuous hand.

“These are but lesser rascals—­they had been nothing without their master and mine.  You of the Douglas house must settle with them.”

“And why have you returned to this country of Galloway?” said Sholto.  “And why are you thus alone?”

“I am here,” said the Lady Sybilla, “because none can harm me with my work undone.  I travel alone because it suits my mood to be alone, because my master bade me join him at your town of Kirkcudbright, whence, this very night, he takes ship for his own country of Brittany.”

“And why do you, if as you say you hate him so, continue to follow him?”

“Ah, you are simple,” she said; “I follow him because it is my fate, and who can escape his doom?  Also, because, as I have said, my work is not yet done.”

She relapsed into her former listless, forth-looking, unconscious regard, gazing through him as if the young man had no existence.  He dropped the rein and the point of his sword with one movement.  The white palfrey started forward with the reins loose on its neck.  And as she went the eyes of the Lady Sybilla were fixed on the distant hills which hid the sea.

So, leaving Sholto standing by the lakeside with bowed head and abased sword, the strange woman went her way to work out her appointed task.

But ere the Lady Sybilla disappeared among the trees, she turned and spoke once more.

“I have but one counsel, Sir Knight.  Think no more of your master.  Let the dead bury their dead.  Ride to Thrieve and never once lose sight of her whom you call your sweetheart, nor yet of her charge, Margaret Douglas, the Maid of Galloway, till the snow falls and winter comes upon the land.”

CHAPTER XXXVIII

THE MACKIMS COME TO THRIEVE

Sholto MacKim stood watching awhile as the white palfrey disappeared with its rider into the purple twilight of the woods which barred the way to the Solway.  Then with a violent effort of will he recalled himself and looked about for his horse.  The tired beast was gently cropping the lush dewy herbage on the green slope which led downwards to his native cottage.  Sholto took the grey by the bridle and walked towards his mother’s door, pondering on the last words of the Lady Sybilla.  A voice at once strenuous and familiar broke upon his ear.

“Shoo wi’ you, impident randies that ye are, shoo!  Saw I ever the like aboot ony decent hoose?  Thae hens will drive me oot o’ my mind!  Sholto, lad, what’s wrang?  Is’t your faither?  Dinna tell me it’s your faither.”

“It is more bitter than that, mither mine.”

“No the Earl—­surely no the Earl himsel’—­the laddie that I hae nursed—­the laddie that was to Barbara Halliburton as her ain dear son!”