“And I hope your lordship disna want that muckle,” said Caleb; “for, considering a’ things, I trust we support the credit of the family as weel as things will permit of,—­only Bucklaw is aye sae frank and sae forward.  And there he has brought out your lordship’s palfrey, without the saddle being decored wi’ the broidered sumpter-cloth! and I could have brushed it in a minute.”

“It is all very well,” said his master, escaping from him and descending the narrow and steep winding staircase which led to the courtyard.

“It may be a’ very weel,” said Caleb, somewhat peevishly; “but if your lordship wad tarry a bit, I will tell you what will not be very weel.”

“And what is that?” said Ravenswood, impatiently, but stopping at the same time.

“Why, just that ye suld speer ony gentleman hame to dinner; for I canna mak anither fast on a feast day, as when I cam ower Bucklaw wi’ Queen Margaret; and, to speak truth, if your lordship wad but please to cast yoursell in the way of dining wi’ Lord Bittlebrains, I’se warrand I wad cast about brawly for the morn; or if, stead o’ that, ye wad but dine wi’ them at the change-house, ye might mak your shift for the awing:  ye might say ye had forgot your purse, or that the carline awed ye rent, and that ye wad allow it in the settlement.”

“Or any other lie that cam uppermost, I suppose?” said his master.  “Good-bye, Caleb; I commend your care for the honour of the family.”  And, throwing himself on his horse, he followed Bucklaw, who, at the manifest risk of his neck, had begun to gallop down the steep path which led from the Tower as soon as he saw Ravenswood have his foot in the stirrup.

Caleb Balderstone looked anxiously after them, and shook his thin grey locks:  “And I trust they will come to no evil; but they have reached the plain, and folk cannot say but that the horse are hearty and in spirits.”  Animated by the natural impetuosity and fire of his temper, young Bucklaw rushed on with the careless speed of a whirlwind.  Ravenswood was scarce more moderate in his pace, for his was a mind unwillingly roused from contemplative inactivity, but which, when once put into motion, acquired a spirit of forcible and violent progression.  Neither was his eagerness proportioned in all cases to the motive of impulse, but might be compared to the sped of a stone, which rushes with like fury down the hill whether it was first put in motion by the arm of a giant or the hand of a boy.  He felt, therefore, in no ordinary degree, the headlong impulse of the chase, a pastime so natural to youth of all ranks, that it seems rather to be an inherent passion in our animal nature, which levels all differences of rank and education, than an acquired habit of rapid exercise.