Their daggers, belts, and cuirasses were flung aside, and they wore loose ample gowns of dark woollen cloth, lined with brightly coloured silk, and edged with stripes of fine sable.
"Thou hast come betimes, sir," said Hailes; "and doubtless hast succeeded, too."
"I seldom fail in aught I undertake, my lord. A ready wit, a clear head, a bold heart, and nimble hands, are ever required by those who have light purses and high ambition," was the confident reply.
"Thou hast rather an active tongue too, sirrah," said Lord Home, frowning.
"'Tis the only inheritance my good mother left me," said the unabashed Borthwick.
"Enough of this—the letter, if thou hast it!"
Borthwick still lingered, till Hailes scornfully tossed to him a fleur-de-lys, and then he received the letter at once. He untied the ribbons, opened and scrutinized it with stern and curious eyes. He then counted the lines repeatedly, and looked at the address—but of that and the contents neither he nor Hailes could decypher one word.
"Curse on this conjuror's art!" said he; "'tis the Dean of Dunblane hath taught dame Euphemia and her sisters this clerkly craft. Had they learned how to make hippocras, to knead a pasty, to collar a pig, or to throw a hawk well off, it had been wiser! Canst thou make out this devilish scrawl, my lord?"
"Nay, not I, thank God! If I can mumble Kyrie Eleison, or Christi Eleison, at Mass, 'tis all my book lear."
"Ouf! for a fair dame's epistle, what an odour it hath of herrings and tar!"