As is always the case, he grew more and more confirmed in his ill humour, so soon as the eye of jealousy began to view everything in the light of prepossession.

Sholto awaked the cellarer out of his crib, who, presently, with snorts of disdain and much jangling of steel keys, drew half a tankard from a keg of spirit in the cellar on the dungeon floor and handed it grudgingly to the captain of the guard.

“The Frenchman wants it, does he?” he growled.  “Had the messenger been old Landless Jock, I had known down whose Scottish throat it had gone, but this one is surely too young for such tricks.  See that you spill it not by the way, Master Sholto,” he called out after him, as that youth betook himself up to the chamber of the ambassador of France.

At the shut portal he paused and knocked.  His hand was on the pin to enter with the tankard as was the custom.  But the door opened no more than an inch or two, and the dark face of the cropped servitor appeared in the crevice.

“In a moment, sir,” he said, and again vanished within, while a strong animal odour disengaged itself almost like something tangible from the chinks of the doorway.

Sholto stood in astonishment with the eau de vie in his hand, till presently the door was opened again very quickly.  The form of the servitor was seen, and with a swift edging motion he came out, drawing the door behind him as before.  He held a bar of iron in his hand like the fastening of a window, and a little breath of heat told the smith’s son that though black it was still warm from the fire.

“Take this iron,” he said abruptly, “and bring it to me fully heated.  I am finishing a little device which his Excellency needs for the combat of the morrow.”

The captain of the guard was nettled at the man’s tone.  Also he desired much to know what his master was doing on the floor above.

“Heat it at your own nose, fellow,” he said rudely; “I am captain of the castle-guard, and must attend to my own business.  Take the spirit out of my hand if you do not want it thrown in your face.”

The swarthy, bullet-headed man glared at him with eyes like burning coals, but Sholto cared no jot for his anger.  Forthwith he turned his back upon him, glad at heart to have found some one to quarrel with, and hoping that the ambassador’s squire might prove courageous and challenge him to fight on the morrow.

But the man only replied:  “I am Henriet, servant of the marshal.  I bid you remember that I shall make you live to regret these words.”

CHAPTER XVII

THE LAMP IS BLOWN OUT

The door of Margaret Douglas’s chamber still stood open, and Sholto found Earl William seated upon the foot of the bed, endeavouring by every means in his power to distract his sister’s attention from her fears.  Maud Lindesay, now more completely dressed than when he had first seen her, sat on the other side of the little lady’s couch.  She was laughing as he entered at some merry jest of the Earl’s.  And at the sound of her tinkling mirth Sholto’s heart sank within him.  So soon as she caught sight of the new captain of the guard the gladness left her face, and she became grave and sober, like a gossip long unconfessed when the holy father comes knocking at the door.