"And Madel—this countess, she came to Preston——"
"Last night, and this morning she rode forth over Gladsmuir, with a tasselled hawk on her dainty glove, and Mungo Tennant (oh that I had him within range of an arquebuse!) in attendance upon her, with a stand of birds, where a lash should be, on his knave's shoulders. And they hawked over the whole muir, though 'tis ours if the sword can fence what the king's charter hath failed to define. So I tell thee, son, that ere we lose men or harness in fighting the English, let us have one brave onslaught at Preston tower, and end this matter for ever."
"Its walls are high, its gate is yetlan iron."
"Pshaw! Hear me: Hamilton expects no attack; what, then, so easy as at midnight to surround the tower with forty resolute mounted men, each with a windlan of straw trussed to his saddle-bow; force the outer gate—John Cargill, the smith at Carberry, says he can ding it to shivers wi' his forehammer, so e'en take the loon at his word; kill the keeper; pile the straw at the tower doors, and fire it; set bakehouse, and brewhouse, and mautkiln in a flame; then kill, by push of spear and shot of arquebuse, all who seek to escape; smoke them to death, even as wight Wallace smoked the English at the barns of Ayr. You pause——"
"By an act of the secret council it was ordained that this matter should end, mother; for such is the law."
"Hear him, Westmains!" said she with scornful pity, as the ground-bailie entered, made a low bow, and, according to his wont, marched straight to the ale-barrel. "I talk of the feud in which his father and his brother Willie fell; and he quotes law to me like one of the ten sworn advocates, or a villanous notary of the new college of justice. I tell thee, malapert bairn, that all the secret councils in the world cannot alter the ancient law of Scotland, as written by David II., anent feuds. What says it, Roger?"
"That 'gif the king grants peace to the slayer without the consent of the nearest friends of him who is slain, these friends may seek revenge——'"
"Mark ye that, Florence—may seek revenge!"
"'Lawfully of him or of them who slew their friend.' Thus 'tis lawful to prosecute our feud to the death," added the ground-bailie.
"And in this faith I reared thee since thou wert but a wee bairnie, supping thy first porridge with Father John's apostle-spoon."