The emissaries of the Chancellor and Sir Alexander Livingston did not accompany the others back to the castle after the short and haughty answer which they had received, but with their followers returned the way they had come to their several headquarters, giving, as was natural between foes so bitter, a wide berth to each other on their northward journeys to Edinburgh and Stirling.

“What think you of this day’s doings, Mistress Lindesay?” asked Sholto as he swung along beside the train with little Margaret Douglas’s hand still clutching the thick curls at the back of his neck.

The maid of honour tossed her shapely head, and, with a little pretty upward curl of the lip, exclaimed:  “’Twas as stupid a tourney as ever I saw.  There was not a single handsome knight nor yet one beautiful lady on the field this day.”

“What of James of Avondale when knights are being judged?” said Sholto, with a kind of gloomy satisfaction, boyish and characteristic; “he at least looked often enough in your direction to prove that he did not agree with you about the lack of the beautiful lady.”

At this Maud Lindesay elevated her pretty nostrils yet further into the air.  “James of Avondale, indeed—­” she said, “he is not to be compared either for dignity or strength with the Earl himself, nor yet with many others whom I know of lesser estate.”

“Sholto MacKim,” cried the clear piping voice of the little Margaret, “how in the world am I to keep hold of your hair if you shake and jerk your head about like that?  If you do not keep still I will send for that pretty boy over there in the scarlet vest, or ask my cousin James to ride with me.  And he will, too, I know—­for he likes bravely to be beside my dear, sweet Maud Lindesay.”

After this Sholto held his head erect and forth-looking, as if he had been under the inspection of the Earl and were doubtful of his weapons passing muster.

There came a subtle and roguish smile into the eyes of Mistress Maud Lindesay as she observed the stiffening of Sholto’s bearing.

“Who were those others of humbler estate?” he queried, sending his words straight out of his lips like pellets from a pop-gun, being in fear lest he should unsettle the hand of the small tyrant upon his hair.

“Your brother Laurence for one,” replied the minx, for no other purpose than to see the flush of disappointment tinge his brow with sudden red.

“I wish my brother Laurence were in—­” he began.  But the girl interrupted him.

“Hush,” she said, holding up her finger, “do not swear, especially at a son of the holy church.  Ha, ha!  A fit clerk and a reverend will they make of Laurence MacKim!  I have heard of your ploys and ongoings, both of you.  Think not I am to be taken in by your meekness and pretence of dutiful service.  You go athwart the country making love to poor maidens, and then, when you have won their hearts, you leave them lamenting.”