"Achanna," he exclaimed, curbing his horse, "the common rumour says my kinsmen were slain yesterday,—foully murdered by the chancellor and his minions under form of law."
"Alake, my lord," whined Achanna (who had detailed to him all the transaction most circumstantially, on the preceding evening), "I fear the rumour is but too true; woe worth the day! woe worth the day!"
On this the armed horsemen clenched their mailed hands, or shook their spears aloft, and muttered deep oaths in the hollow of their helmets.
"By St. Bryde of Douglas, I would give a year's rental of Touraine for the head of Livingstone, of Crichton, or even of the wretch who acted as their doomster!" exclaimed Abercorn, still acting as if inspired by grief and indignation.
"A year's rent of Touraine is a pretty sum," said Achanna, musingly.
"Ay, ten thousand crowns," added the earl, grimly.
"How freely he spends his new-won property," thought Achanna, adding aloud, "the headsman was masked, 'tis said."
"By whom?"
"The common rumour."
"Masked was he?" said the laird of Pompherston; "a wise precaution, as there is not a Douglas in the land but will be ready to whet a dagger on his breast bone!"