"They seem to have found you a rough jouster!"
"I am riding on the king's service, with a pardon for the Lady Seton."
"The Lady Seton!" they all repeated, in varying tones of astonishment and satisfaction.
"Yes, sirs, I am bound for Edinburgh, and have been thrice beset by horsemen, and thrice have swum a river, the Leven, the Ore, and the Lochtie!"
"Sheriff of Fife, what say you to this?" said Parkhill to Norman Leslie.
"That it shall be looked to, and that sharply," replied the young Master of Rothes, as he replaced his pistols in the holsters; "a harmless rider, a messenger of mercy on God's own service, to be molested thus!"
"Besetting the highway—'tis a capital crime."
"Perhaps John of Clatto (for it was he) thought that messengers of mercy, or of Heaven, seldom ride in coats of mail."
"To thy spurs, Balquhan, and on!" said the master; "the poor dame Seton will assuredly fall a victim to the malice of the Hamiltons at midnight—this midnight, for see, the day is dawning. They were setting the stake, and tearing the faggots, on the castle bank, as we left Edinburgh by the West Port last night."
"I go to the King's Horn hostel," said Balquhan; "would I were there, for I am drenched like a water-dog, and well nigh wearied to death. Farewell."