"Do you consider bearing to me the letters of Henry of Valois; that covering our retreat at Inveresk, and routing by three desperate charges the demi-lances of Vane and the Spaniards of Gamboa; that saving the life of the Countess of Yarrow, and assisting to escort the queen to Stirling, are no services?"
"Lord regent, they were but duties which every loyal gentleman owed to the crown, and nothing more."
"I dispute while I admire your modest spirit. You shall be a knight, as your father was; though that is but a meagre recompense as knighthoods go in these days of ours. Have you no boon to ask?"
Florence glanced timidly towards the Countess of Yarrow, and was silent, though his poor heart was beating with love and anxiety. Claude Hamilton detected the glance, rapid and covert though it was, and frowned so deeply, that Arran, though unable to understand what new turn matters had taken between these troublesome and hereditary enemies, was too politic to notice it, but held out his right hand to the old baron, saying,—
"And thou, stout kinsman, I rejoice to see thee safe, for I heard somewhat of a dangerous wound."
"Nay, Arran, I am free even of a scratch."
"'Twas not your fault, laird, if you escaped so well."
Preston felt the compliment these words conveyed, and bowed low in reply. These conversational remarks over, the regent and others were about to resume the consideration of the present warlike and political crisis, when the constable of the castle entered hurriedly to announce "a messenger from Edinburgh, with tidings for my lord regent."
"Admit him instantly," exclaimed Arran, starting from his seat; and all eyes were turned towards the door.
The messenger appeared, clad still in his riding-cloak, armour, and muddy boots, the spurs of which bore traces of blood, for he had ridden hard and fast.