"I am your grace's most humble servant," replied Gray pausing, as he dreaded to tell his name before Achanna, lest it might reveal to the Douglases his royal mission, and blight his hope of meeting Murielle.
"But your name, sir," said the duke, with growing displeasure; "your name?"
"Yes," added Achanna, imitating him, "we must have your name."
"I am the laird of Luaig," replied Gray, with ready wit, taking the name of a little obscure loch, which lies in a narrow glen near his father's castle of Foulis.
CHAPTER XXX.
BOLD SCHEMES.
Many have ruined their fortunes; many have escaped ruin by want of fortune. To obtain it the great have become little, and the little great.—Zimmerman.
"Luaig, laird of Luaig," said Albany, ponderingly; "I do not recognize the name."
"Lairds are plenty as heather hills in the far north country," said Achanna, sneeringly.
"And I have been long enough in France and elsewhere to forget even my mother tongue, as well as my dear mother's face; yet she was Isabel of Lennox," said Albany, sadly; "but lairds in the north are plenty, I know."
"And poor as plenty," added Achanna.