At this moment a horn blew.
"There is supper," the priest said. "We will go down."
The meal was laid in the hall; which, however, was not large enough to contain more than the ordinary retainers of the hold. These, and the men who had come in at the summons of Baird, were provided for in the courtyard, the table being occupied entirely by members of the Baird family, and others who always acted with them. These had not yet taken their seats, when the priest entered with his companion, whom he at once took up to Sir William Baird.
"By Saint Andrew! Monk, I have seen no finer figure, for many a day. A pity that a monk's gown should clothe such limbs as yours."
"That has always been mine own opinion," Roger said, with a heartiness that raised a smile on the hard faces of the men standing round.
"You look as if you had carried arms."
"I did so, in my wild youth," Roger said, "and had no thought of ever donning monk's hood; but I was grievously wounded, in a foray in Northumberland, and when I reached my home at Lauder, I well nigh died of the fever of the wound; and I swore that, if my life was saved, I would become a monk. I got well, and I kept my vow; but methinks, had I but known how dull the life was, I would rather have died of the fever."
As this story was perfectly true, save the name of his birthplace, Roger spoke so heartily that no one doubted his story.
"And your monastery is at Dunbar?
"You have been at Dunbar, Rotherglen. Ask him where the convent stood."