"I have him—I know him! 'Tis Wad, the gunner of the Yellow Frigate, one of Sir Andrew's prime seamen."
"I would they were hung together over yonder steeple!"
"I know his howff, and before midnight will undertake to have this letter, even should I use my poniard for it."
"Use it freely, fellow," said Hailes, putting a hand into the velvet purse which hung at his glittering girdle. "My Castle of Hailes, near Linn-Tyne, is a sure hiding-place, and such as thee need not fear a feud with the overlord of this regality. We lodge with the Lord Angus in the King's Wark; bring us there this looked-for letter as soon as you find it, and heed not the hour of night."
"We who bide upon the Borders are used to have our rest broken at all hours," added the other peer.
"Blackcastle, hand these coins to our new ally; and now let us begone, for there is here that horrid odour of sawdust and stale liquors which I never knew an hostel to be without."
"Fare-you-well, Master Borthwick," said Lord Home.
"God keep you, sir," added Hailes, turning away.
Borthwick found himself mechanically counting the money as he descended the stair. He had received twenty half-lyons, or five-shilling pieces.
"St. Nicholas, patron of thieves, I honour thee!" thought he. "What with the fleurs-de-lys of Sir Patrick Gray, the half-lyons of Lord Hailes, the rents of my three tenements in Stirling; and the rose-nobles of King Henry, which are ever descending on me in a golden shower, I shall die a rich man! Die—ugh!" he added, with something between a sneer and a shudder, while he shut his eyes like one who sees a horror; "why should people die at all, especially when they have plenty of money?"