"Having none at all," returned the thirsty parasite.
"Laus Deo! you are right, Achanna. Hallo, tapster! more wine, and quickly too. Think of Robert of Albany having for a server that slipshod varlet, who is all breeches and horn buttons! But you seem to have been severely wounded, laird of Luaig?"
"Almost to death," said Gray, and while Achanna, as if inspired by some undefinable suspicion, surveyed him keenly, he writhed at having to falsify so much, and trembled for the next question; but, on the wine being placed on the table, the careless Albany filled their cups to the brim, saying, "Drink, my friend, drink of this, it comes from the land of old Duke Philip the Good, and you will find it better than arquebusade," he added, referring to a medicinal lotion then famous for gun-shot wounds.
"May I ask in what direction your grace is travelling?" inquired Gray, who had some anxiety in the matter.
"The direction that suits our fancy," replied Achanna.
"I spoke to the duke of Albany," said Gray, with a flash in his eye, and a gush of fury through his heart.
"True, and Albany can answer for himself," said the duke; "we are travelling with all speed to overtake the earl of Douglas and his friends."
"Who are now at Breda?" said Gray, eagerly.
"No; they are at—how name you the place, Achanna?"
"Where?" asked Gray, as the latter hesitated.