"He cannot, he dares not injure a hair of my head," said Lady Jane passionately.
"Canna!" said Charlie, "Gude faith, ye ken that's nonsense. He can as easily hang ye, or do ought else w' ye, as I can wipe my beard. An' as for the thing that the Douglas darena do, gude faith, ye ken, I never saw it yet. But I'm sure I wish ye may be safe, for it wad do little good to me to see your bit pease-weep neck rackit."
"It was most unfair, as well as most ungenerous in your prince to detain me," said she, "as my business required urgency. I had regular signed warrandice, and went on the kindest intent; besides, I have a great aversion to be put into the hands of Douglas. How many cows and ewes would you take to set me at liberty?"
"Whisht, whisht, Sir!" said Charlie; "Gudesake haud your tongue! That's kittle ground. Never speak o' sic a thing. But how many could ye afford to gie, an I were to set you at liberty?"
"In the first place, I will give you five hundred head of good English nolt," said Lady Jane.
"Eh? What?" said Charlie, holding his horse still, and turning his ear close round to the lady's face, that he might hear with perfect distinctness the extraordinary proffer. It was repeated. Charlie was almost electrified with astonishment. "Five hunder head o' nout!" exclaimed he: "But d'ye mean their heads by theirsels?—cuttit aff, like?"
"No, no; five hundred good live cattle."
"Mercy on us! Gude faith, they wad stock a' Yardbire—an' Raeburn," added he, after a pause, putting his horse again slowly in motion; "an' Watkerrick into the bargain," added he, with a full drawn sigh, putting the spurs to his beast, that he might go quicker to carry him away from the danger. "For troth, d' ye ken, my lord, we're no that scarce o' grund in Scotland; we can get plenty o' that for little thing, gin we could get ought to lay on't. But it's hard to get beasts, an' kittle to keep them i' our country. Five hunder head o' black cattle! Hech! an Charlie Scott had a' thae, how mony braw lads could he tak at his back o'er Craikcorse to join his master the warden! But come, come, it canna be. War somebody a Scots lord, as he's an English ane, an i' the same danger, I wad risk muckle to set him free. But come, Corby, my fine naig, ye hae carried me into mony a scrape, ye maun carry me out o' this ane, or, gude faith, your master's gane. Ha, lad, ye never had sic a back-fu' i' your life! Ye hae five hunder head o' black cattle on't, ye dog, an' ye're carrying them a' away frae your master an' Yardbire wi' as little ceremony as he took you frae Squire Weir o' Cockermouth. Ah, Corby, ye're gayan like your master, ye hae a lang free kind o' conscience, ye tike!"
"But, my dear Sir," said Lady Jane, "you have not heard the half of my proffer. You seem to be a generous, sensible, and good natured gentleman."