The after dew of recent tears still glorified her eyes.

“Oh, Sholto,” she cried, “I thought you were gone; I was watching for you to ride away.  I thought—­”

But Sholto, seeing her disorder, and having little time to waste, came quickly forward and took her in his arms without apology or prelude, as is (they say) wisest in such cases.

“Maud,” he said, his utterance quick and hoarse, “we go into the house of our enemies.  Thirty knights and no more accompany my lord, who might have ridden out with three thousand in his train.”

“’Tis all that witch woman,” cried the girl; “can you not advise him?”

“The Earl of Douglas did not ask my advice,” said Sholto, a little dryly, being eager to turn the conversation upon his own matters and to his own advantage.  “And, moreover, if he rides into danger for the sake of love—­why, I for one think the more of him for it.”

“But for such a creature,” objected Maud Lindesay.  “For any true maid it were most right and proper!  Where is there a noble lady in Scotland who would not have been proud to listen to him?  But he must needs run after this mongrel French woman!”

“Even Mistress Maud Lindesay would accept him, would she?” said Sholto, somewhat bitterly, releasing her a little.

“Maud Lindesay is no great lady, only the daughter of a poor baron of the North, and much bound to my Lord Douglas by gratitude for that which he hath done for her family.  As you right well know, Maud Lindesay is little better than a tiremaiden in the house of my lord.”

“Nay,” said Sholto, “I crave your pardon.  I meant it not.  I am hasty of words, and the time is short.  Will you pardon me and bid me farewell, for the horses are being led from stall, and I cannot keep my lord waiting?”

“You are glad to go,” she said reproachfully; “you will forget us whom you leave behind you here.  Indeed, you care not even now, so that you are free to wander over the world and taste new pleasures.  That is to be a man, indeed.  Would that I had been born one!”

“Nay, Maud,” said Sholto, trying to draw the girl again near him, because she kept him at arm’s length by the unyielding strength of her wrist, “none shall ever come near my heart save Maud Lindesay alone!  I would that I could ride away as sure of you as you are of Sholto MacKim!”

“Indeed,” cried the girl, with some show of returning spirit, “to that you have no claim.  Never have I said that I loved you, nor indeed that I thought about you at all.”

“It is true,” answered Sholto, “and yet—­I think you will remember me when the lamps are blown out.  God speed, belovedst, I hear the trumpet blow, and the horses trampling.”

For out on the green before the castle the Earl’s guard was mustering, and Fergus MacCulloch, the Earl’s trumpeter, blew an impatient blast.  It seemed to speak to this effect: 

    "Hasten ye, hasten ye, come to the riding,
      Hasten ye, hasten ye, lads of the Dee—­
    Douglasdale come, come Galloway, Annandale,
      Galloway blades are the best of the three!"