Nevertheless, it was with an easier heart that Sholto wended his way out of the castle yett, all arrayed in the new suit of armour his lord had sent him.  It was made of chain of the finest, composed of many rings set alternately thick and thin, and the whole was flexible as the deer leather which he wore underneath it.  Over this a doublet of blue silk carried the Lion of Galloway done in white upon it, and all the cerulean of the ground was dotted over with the Douglas heart.  But, greatest joy of all, there was brought to him by command of the Earl a suitable horse, not heavily armed like a charger for the tilt, but light of foot, and answering easily to the hand.  Blue and red were the silken housings, fringed with long silver lace, through which could be seen here and there as the wind blew the sheen of the glossy skin.  The buckles and bits were also of massive silver, and at sight of them the cup of Sholto’s happiness was full.  For a space, as he gazed upon his steed, he forgot even Maud Lindesay.

Then when he was mounted and out upon the green, waiting for the coming forth of his lord, what delight it was to feel the noble dark grey answer to each touch of the rein, obeying his master’s thought more than the strength of his wrist or the prick of his heel.

As he waited there, his predecessor in office, old Sir John of Abernethy, Landless Jock as he was nicknamed, came out from the main doorway.  He carried a gleaming headpiece from which the blue feather of the Douglas fell over his arm half-way to the ground.  On its front was a lion crest which ramped among golden fleur-de-lys.  The old man held it up for Sholto to take.

“Hae,” he said in a surly tone, “this is his lordship’s new helmet just brought as a present frae the Dauphin of France.  So he has cast off the well-tried one, and with it also the auld servant that hath served him these many years.”

“Nay, Sir John,” said Sholto, with courtesy, taking the helmet which it was his duty as his master’s esquire to carry before him on a velvet-covered placque, “nay—­well has the good servant deserved his rest, and to take his ease.  The young to the broil and the moil, the old to the inglenook and the cup of wine beneath the shade.”

“Ah, lad, I envy ye not, think not that of puir Landless Jock,” said the mollified old man, sadly shaking his head; “I also have tried the new office, the shining armour, and felt the words of command rise proudly in the throat.  I envy you not, though your advancement hath been sudden—­and well—­for my own son John I had hoped, though indeed the loon is paper backed and feckless.  But now there remains for me only to go to the Kirk of Saint Bride in Douglasdale, and there set me down by my auld master’s coffin till I die.”

At that moment there issued forth from the gateway the young Earl, holding by the hand the Lady Sybilla.  His mother, the Countess, came to the door to see them ride away.  The Queen of the Sports was in a merry mood, and as she tripped down the steps she turned, and looking over her shoulder she called to the Lady Douglas, “Fear not for your son, I will take good care of him!”