Starting from his seat he examined the pouch; shook it, turned it outside in; he then opened his gaberdine and examined the lining of his bonnet; then he searched all about the chamber, and became convinced that the letter for his captain was lost—irretrievably lost.
"May I drink bilge, but it's clean awa'!" said he, and stood for a time bewildered; "and what shall I say to Robert Barton, or to the winsome lady who gied it, wi' this handsome chain—that I've been drunk—drunk as a Sluys pilot! Oh, Willie Wad, Willie Wad—dool be on thee for this."
The gunner sat down for a moment, and his honest heart was swollen by the mingled emotions of shame and anger. He prayed for help to St. Barbara, who was the patron of all cannoniers, and whose altar stood in St. Mary's Church close by; but she probably turned a deaf ear to him, for praying did not mend the matter; then starting up, he stormed and swore roundly, shouting the while on Tibby Tarvet, whom he roused without ceremony from her box-bed in one of the lofty garrets, and whom he threatened with the vengeance of the Baron Bailie, and all the terrors of the Burgh laws enacted "anent evil ale-wives," if his lost letter was not forthcoming.
Then Tib stormed in turn, and reminded him that he too was liable to a fine, or six hours' detention in the iron jougs, for being intoxicated in an ale-house after ten o'clock at night,—for such was the law.
Finding thus that the hostess might in the end have the best of the dispute, the poor gunner had to smother his wrath and "sheer off."
CHAPTER XLIX.
THE KING'S WARK.
"Virtue!—to be good and just—-
Every heart when sifted well,
Is a clot of warmer dust,
Mixed with cunning sparks of hell!"
The bell in the tower of St. Anthony's preceptory—a tower demolished by the English cannon in 1559—was just tolling eleven, when Hew Borthwick blew the copper horn which hung by a chain at the outer gate of the King's Wark, and hastily inquired for the Laird of Blackcastle, or for the Lords Home or Hailes. These names secured to him an immediate passage among the Douglases, Homes, and Hepburns who loitered about or slept on the floor or benches of the passages, hall, and vestibule, and two pages, having the Hepburn arms—two Scottish lions rending an English rose—ushered the bravo at once into a chamber, the walls of which were hung with old amber-coloured arras, sewn over with red stars and green thistles, the work, it was said, of Elizabeth, Duchess of Brittany, daughter of James I.
This apartment was encumbered by arms and armour; halberts and lances were piled against the walls; two large sconces of tin, having in each four candles, gave sufficient light to the two reckless young lords, who were playing at chess, and sipping wine from silver cups, while the pages were conveying away the remains of the baked chicken and pie of plumdames on which they had just made their rere-supper.