The poor miller was inexpressibly alarmed on perceiving the four armed knights enter; the richness of their armour and accoutrements impressed him still more, and he hastened to say, in an explanatory manner—
"His horse threw him at our door—a wicked horse, sirs;—we have done a' we could—on my life, sirs, I assure you—my gude wife and I—that the horse——"
"Enough, enough, fellow," said Sir Patrick Gray, gruffly. "Stir up that fire, for this den of thine is as dark as a dungeon. Let us see where this king of ours is lying."
Though shocked and startled by the bearing of his visitors, Gawain hastened to throw a quantity of fir-apples on the fire, where they blazed and crackled and diffused a brilliant light throughout the humble apartment, and the highly polished-suit of the ruffians shone like silver as they stooped over the bed of the hapless and helpless king, who was "covered by a coarse checked rug," and on whom they gazed with eyes as pitiless in expression as their hearts were in feeling.
"Does your majesty fear death?" asked Gray.
"Nay, it never was my fear, and now it is my only hope," replied James, in a low voice, "but I asked for a priest, sirs——"
"Well—here I am—a priest, though cased in iron," said Borthwick.
"And for whom fought you to-day, false priest?"
"By the cross of Macgriddy! I fought for my own hand—as Hal o' the Wynd fought, in old King Robert's time; but I am, nevertheless, a priest—behold my tonsure—or what remains of it."
"It is enough—even the unworthy is better than none. And you will hear my confession?"