"Oh, I am equal to anything," said Beatrice, in the confidence of young strength and health. "I think, on this nice jennet which the queen gave me, and with you, my dear brother, by my side, I could ride over half Scotland."
"Perhaps I may try you," said Gowrie, with a smile.
"What mean you, brother mine?" asked Beatrice, gazing at him. "You look dark and mysterious."
"How far can you fly in a night, busy bee?" asked Gowrie.
"As far as a swallow," answered the young lady, looking up in his face.
But Gowrie, after a moment's thought, said, "No, sixty miles is too far; still we will go on as far as we can, and then stop for the night."
"Man of mysteries, what do you mean?" cried Beatrice, in her usual gay tone. "Whither are you going to take me? To some deep dungeon of one of your castles in the mountains, to keep me a prisoner there during your good pleasure?"
"Yes," answered Gowrie, "I am."
"But what has your poor sister done?" cried Beatrice, laughing. "I have divulged none of your secrets. I have discovered none of your plots. I am not even going to marry without your leave."
"You have asked indiscreet questions," said Gowrie, assuming a gruff tone--"indiscreet questions about a lady with black eyes. Is not that offence enough to a tyrant brother like myself?"