Aline started at the tone and looked at Ian: there was a quiet hauteur about it that she had never heard before.
The man seemed to notice it too. “Who is it that wishes to see the Earl?” he said.
“Say, Ian Menstrie, son of Alexander Menstrie; that will do.”
Aline felt a little nervous; as she had never met a real Earl and had something of the child’s imagination about the grandeur of such personages.
The officer returned very quickly, but the change in his manner seemed almost to make him a different man.
“Your Grace,” he said, bowing very low, “the Earl of Hawick is coming at once.”
“I said Ian Menstrie, not Alexander Menstrie,” answered Ian, looking a little annoyed.
“Yes, your Grace,” said the Messenger, “I made it quite clear; the Earl of Hawick understands.”
Aline was very puzzled, they seemed to have strange customs of address in the army, but before she had time to think the Earl appeared. She was a little disappointed. Was that an Earl? He was a fair figure of a man, but was neither as handsome as Ian nor had he, she suddenly thought, as she looked at the two men, the dignity of Ian’s carriage.
“I am so glad to see you again, your Grace,” he said, doffing his bonnet and bowing as the officer had done. “You are the very man we want. I shall never forget how well you managed on that miserable day at Pinkie Cleugh; and Scotland can never repay you for the rout of Lord Wharton on the Western Marches on that cold February day. It was a sorry remnant that he and Grey took back with them, and it marked the turning of the tide. Our country was indeed at a low ebb then.