"I ken nae mair, ladies, than the man in the mune; and neither do the admiral nor Robert Barton; for the English captains, who alone may ken, are vowed to silence. We opine there has been dark treachery at work, but why or how is owre deep for us to fathom; but noo I maun e'en be sheering off, for two armed gallants are heaving in sight, and Barton warned me that this was dangerous ground. These are the letters, whilk will gie a' necessary account of our battle; and lest ye have na time to read and answer them—for I must cut my cable and run—just say, madam, where it will please you to meet the captain and Sir David, who hae muckle to say that none but you maun hear?"
"Oh, we cannot have more to hear than we have to say and ask!" said Euphemia, who had already made herself mistress of Barton's loving epistle, while Sybilla was bending her streaming eyes over Falconer's, who had sent her a handsome gold cross which he had found in one of the captured ships; while Barton had enclosed a book—then a priceless gift—which he had found in the Harry.
"Is the admiral coming over to Leith?" they asked.
"No; his hard-won prizes will he yield to none but to the king; and the king is not here."
"I have a letter ready written for Barton, and in a moment will add where we can meet him; but my poor brain is a chaos now," said Euphemia. "Where shall we say, sister—St. Magdalen's Chapel?"
"On the Figgate-muir—it is so lonely."
"And on what pretence can we visit it?"
"A pilgrimage to pray," said Sybilla.
"People do not believe in pilgrimages now. Hailes would laugh, and our father would storm and refuse——"
"Then where else shall I say?" said Euphemia.