He was tall and, we have said, strongly formed. His complexion was pale and sallow, though his hair was black as jet. His dark eyes had ever a malicious twinkle, and a villanous expression was impressed on his whole face by a wound received at the battle of Linlithgow, where the sword of the bastard of Arran—the same ignoble steel that slew the good and gentle Earl of Lennox—had laid his left cheek open, at the same moment completely demolishing the bridge of his nose, which had never at any time been very handsome. His attire consisted of a dirty and greasy doublet, formed of what had once been peach-coloured velvet, discoloured in several places by perspiration, slops of wine, and the rust of his armour. It was rent under the arms, torn at the slashes, and, in lieu of buttons, was tied by faded ribbons, and, where these had failed, by plain twine. His russet sarcenet trunk hose were in the same condition. He wore cuarans of rough hide on his feet, and had a long horn-hafted dagger of butcherly aspect in his calfskin girdle. Add to all this black masses of elf-lock hair, a shaggy beard and moustache, and we hope that the reader sees before him Allan Duthie of the Millheugh.
A deep quiet laugh stole over his features on making himself master of the contents of this letter, with the purport of which our seventeenth chapter has made the reader familiar. He gave a meaning glance at his ruffianly and unscrupulous retainers, who were intently eyeing the stranger as a prize or prey. Then he surveyed the latter, the aspect of whose lithe, stalwart, and well-armed figure made him resolve that a little policy would be wiser than an open and unprovoked assault, before securing him. Moreover, he feared that in a scuffle the gay suit of French plate armour, which he meant to appropriate, and which, he flattered himself, would exactly fit his burly figure, might suffer damage; and this he by no means desired, especially when this unsuspicious visitor, who had brought his own death-warrant, might be much more easily killed or captured without it. All this passed through his subtle mind in a moment. Then he turned to Florence, saying with an artful smile,—
"Ye are right welcome, fair sir, to the poor cheer o' Millheugh Ha'; but will ye no unstrap this braw harness, and draw nearer the ingle; for though the month be August, the cauld wind soughs at the lumheid, as if some wrinkled hag were byding there, on her way hame frae the moon or the warlock-sabbath."
"I thank you," replied the young man; "and if one of your servitors will so fer favour me as to undo the straps of this steel casing——"
"That will I, mysel', do blythely, Fawside," said the laird, who with great readiness unfastened the various buckles of some portions of the beautiful suit of mail, and removed them, with the shining and embossed coursing-hat, to a side buffet, muttering while doing so,—"By the deil's horns, he has a pyne doublet under a'; but a dab wi a dirk may soon make a hole in that. Look weel to this harness, lads,—as if it were mine ain," he added aloud, with a wink to some of his people, who seemed quite to understand the hint. "And so ye have come from Edinburgh——"
"Last," said Florence, laughing; "but a month since I was in Paris."
"Oho!—and what new plots are the bloody Guises hatching—for they are aye up to some develrie anent us, eh?"
"I know of none, laird," said Florence with reserve; "I have come from France certainly, but I have not the honour to be ranked either as a friend or confidant of the Cardinal de Guise or the Duc de Mayenne. Indeed, I never saw them but once, for a few minutes, in the gallery of the Louvre."
"Yet Bothwell styles you a spy of the Guises!" thought Millheugh. "Well, well, sir," he added aloud; "'tis no matter o' mine. Serve up the supper quick; but, ere sitting down, sir, would ye take off your braw belt and sword?"
"Nay, Millheugh," said Florence smiling, though certain undefined suspicions occurred to him; "I am never unarmed even in my own house; and you, I see, wear your belt and Tynedale knife."