The Earl was silent and she proceeded.

“But how joyous we shall be at Edinburgh!  Know you that at the Court of Charles that was my name—­La Joyeuse they called me.  We will keep solemn countenances, you and I, while we enter the presence of the King.  We will bow.  We will make obeisances.  Then, when all is over, we will laugh together at the fatted calf of a Tutor, the cunning Chancellor with his quirks of law, and the poor schoolboy scarce breeched whom they call King of Scotland.  But all the while I shall be thinking of the true King of Scots—­who alone shall ever be King to me—­”

At this point La Joyeuse broke off short, as if her feelings were hurrying her to say more than she had intended.

“I did wrong to flout their messengers yesterday,” said William Douglas, his boyish heart misgiving him at dispraise of others; “perhaps they meant me well.  But I am naturally quick and easily fretted, and the men annoyed me with their parchments royal, their heralds-of-the-Lion, and the ‘King of Scots’ at every other word.”

“Who is the youth who rides at the head of your company?” said the Lady Sybilla.

“His name is Sholto MacKim, and it was but yesterday that I made him captain of my guard,” answered the Earl.

“I like him not,” said the Lady Sybilla; “he is full of ignorance and obstinacy and pride.  Besides which, I am sure he loves me not.”

“Save that last, I am not sure that a Douglas has a right to dislike him for any such faults.  Ignorance, obstinacy, and pride are, indeed, good old Galloway virtues of the ancientest descent, and not to be despised in the captain of an archer guard.”

“And pray, sir, what may be the ill qualities which, in Captain Sholto, make up for these excellent Scottish virtues?” asked the lady, disdainfully.

“He is faithful—­” began the Earl.

“So is every dog!” interjected Sybilla de Thouars.

The Earl laughed a little gay laugh.

“There is one dog somewhere about the castle, licking an unhealed sword-thrust, that wishes our Sholto had been a trifle less faithful.”

The Lady Sybilla sat silent in her saddle for a space; then, striking abruptly into a new subject, she said, “Do you defend the lists to-day?”

“Nay,” answered the Earl, “to-day it is my good fortune to sit by your side and hold the truncheon while others meet in the shock.  But the knight who this day gains the prize, to-morrow must choose a side against me and fight a melee.”

“Ah,” cried the girl, “I would that my uncle were healed of his quinsy.  He loveth that sport.  He says that he is too old to defend his shield all day against every comer, but in the melee he is still as good a lance as when he rode by the side of the Maid over the bridge of Orleans.”

“That is well thought of,” cried the Earl; “he shall lead the Knights of the Blue in my place.”