"Which meaneth, the peace of the Lord be about you," continued the priest.
"I never tried Latin but once, good father, and then it was to curse roundly when my Scottish failed—in nomine patris et filii, and so forth."
"And when was this, my sou?"
"Retreating up Yarrow-braes from Cessford's spearmen, with two bullets and three arrows sticking in my body."
The old priest crossed himself, and turned up his eyes; but those of the countess kindled as her son spoke, and some fiery remark was hovering on her lips, when her bower-woman, a demure looking abigail, clad in solemn black taffety, raised the arras, glided in on tiptoe, and whispered something in her ear.
Lady Ashkirk turned very pale.
"Mother dear," said Lady Jane, tenderly, "what has happened?"
"That hen hath crowed again, as Janet tells me."
"Hen—what hen?" said the earl.
"An ill-omened hen in the poultry-yard, whilk hath now crown thrice since you came amongst us. Oh! my doo Archibald! my doo Archibald!—it's a sad boding of evil, whilk the Mother o' God avert."