“Content am I,” said Bucklaw; “Scotland has little left that I care about; and if carrying the Master with us will get us a better reception in France, why, so be it, a God’s name.  I doubt our own merits will procure us slender preferment; and I trust he will send a ball through the Keeper’s head before he joins us.  One or two of these scoundrel statesmen should be shot once a year, just to keep the others on their good behaviour.”

“That is very true,” replied Craigengelt; “and it reminds me that I must go and see that our horses have been fed and are in readiness; for, should such deed be done, it will be no time for grass to grow beneath their heels.”  He proceeded as far as the door, then turned back with a look of earnestness, and said to Bucklaw:  “Whatever should come of this business, I am sure you will do me the justice to remember that I said nothing to the Master which could imply my accession to any act of violence which he may take it into his head to commit.”

“No, no, not a single word like accession,” replied Bucklaw; “you know too well the risk belonging to these two terrible words, ’art and part.’” Then, as if to himself, he recited the following lines: 

“The dial spoke not, but it made shrewd signs, And pointed full upon the stroke of murder.

“What is that you are talking to yourself?” said Craigengelt, turning back with some anxiety.

“Nothing, only two lines I have heard upon the stage,” replied his companion.

“Bucklaw,” said Craigengelt, “I sometimes think you should have been a stage-player yourself; all is fancy and frolic with you.”

“I have often thought so myself,” said Bucklaw.  “I believe it would be safer than acting with you in the Fatal Conspiracy.  But away, play your own part, and look after the horses like a groom as you are.  A play-actor—­a stage-player!” he repeated to himself; “that would have deserved a stab, but that Craigengelt’s a coward.  And yet I should like the profession well enough.  Stay, let me see; ay, I would come out in Alexander: 

     Thus from the grave I rise to save my love,
     Draw all your swords, and quick as lightning move. 
     When I rush on, sure none will dare to stay: 
     ’Tis love commands, and glory leads the way.”

As with a voice of thunder, and his hand upon his sword, Bucklaw repeated the ranting couplets of poor Lee, Craigengelt re-entered with a face of alarm.

“We are undone, Bucklaw!  The Master’s led horse has cast himself over his halter in the stable, and is dead lame.  His hackney will be set up with the day’s work, and now he has no fresh horse; he will never get off.”

“Egad, there will be no moving with the speed of lightning this bout,” said Bucklaw, drily.  “But stay, you can give him yours.”

“What! and be taken myself?  I thank you for the proposal,” said Craigengelt.

“Why,” replied Bucklaw, “if the Lord Keeper should have met with a mischance, which for my part I cannot suppose, for the Master is not the lad to shoot an old and unarmed man—­but if there should have been a fray at the Castle, you are neither art not part in it, you know, so have nothing to fear.”