"Thou seest 'tis very likely yonder tall spectre in the gilt armour may die soon."
"Gramercy me! I knew not that he ailed."
"None are so stupid as those who are resolved not to be otherwise," said the Earl, angrily. "Men die every day about us without ailing. Dost thou not understand me?"
"Devil take me if I do!"
"Oh, head of wood! I fear thou wilt never be lost by rashness."
Ormiston laughed in the hollow of his helmet, as he replied—
"Like thee, I may lose my heart in love a thousand times; but my poor head in politics only once, therefore am I somewhat miserly about it; yet I see what thou meanest," he whispered with sudden energy. "Say forth, and fear not. Hah! knowest thou not how I hate the Lord Darnley for the ruin of my youngest and best beloved sister; and that hatred is without a love for his wife, which I see thou darest to nourish."
With a cold and deep smile they regarded each other keenly under their barred aventayles; and Hepburn of Bolton, Bothwell's most stanch friend, who had partly overheard the conversation, said—
"Ere the month be out, I think it very likely this lordling of the Lennox may die of indigestion, as an old friend of Hob's did yestreen."
"On what did thy friend sup, Ormiston?" asked the Earl.