And she made him the prettiest little courtesy, turning at the same time her eyes in mock humility on the ground.

“Oh, Maud Lindesay,” said Sholto, with a little conflicting sob in his throat, ill becoming so noted a warrior as the captain of the castle-guard of the Black Douglas, “if you knew how I loved you, you would not treat me thus.”

The girl came nearer to him and laid a white and gentle hand on the sleeve of his blue archer’s coat.

“Nay, lad,” she said more soberly, lifting a finger to his face, “surely you are no milksop to mind how a girl flouts you.  Love the Earl—­say you?  Well, is it not our duty to the bread we eat?  Is he not worthy?  Is he not the head of our house?”

“Cheat me not with words.  The Earl loves you,” said Sholto, lifting his head haughtily out of her reach. (To have one’s chin pushed this way and that by a girl’s forefinger, and as it were considered critically from various points of view, may be pleasant, but it interferes most seriously with dignity.)

“He may, indeed,” drolled the minx, “one can never tell.  But he has never said so.  He is perhaps afraid, being born without the self-conceit of some people—­archers of the guard, fledgling captains, and such-like gentrice.”

“Do you love him?” reiterated Sholto, determinedly.

“I will tell you for that gold buckle,” said Maud, calmly pointing with her finger.

Instantly Sholto pulled the cap from his head, undid the pin of the archery prize, and thrust it into his wicked sweetheart’s hands.

She received it with a little cry of joy, then she pressed it to her lips.  Sholto, rejoicing at heart, moved a step nearer to her.  But, in spite of her arch delight, she was on the alert, for she retreated deftly and featly within the chamber door of the Fair Maid of Galloway.  There was still more mirthful wickedness in her eyes.

“Love the Earl?—­Of course I do.  Indeed, I doat upon him,” she said.  “How I shall love this buckle, just because his hand gave it to you!”

And with that she shut to the door.

Sholto, in act to advance, stood a moment poised on one foot like a goose.  Then with a heart blazing with anger, and one of the first oaths that had ever passed his lips, he turned on his heel and strode away.

“I will never think of her again—­I will never see her.  I will go to France and perish in battle.  I will throw me in the castle pool.  I will—­”

So the poor lad retreated, muttering hot and angry words, all his heart sore within him because of the cruelty of this girl.

But he had not proceeded twenty steps along the corridor, when he heard the door softly open and a low voice whispered, “Sholto!  Sholto!  I want you, Sholto!”

He bent his brows and strode manfully on as if he had not heard a word.

“Sholto!—­dear Sholto!  Do not go, I need you.”

Against his will he turned, and, seeing the head of Maud Lindesay, her pouting lips and beckoning finger, he went sulkily back.