‘Damn his black tongue!’ growled my lord, and looked at his letters. ‘But he’s in the right of it,’ he added. ‘Cold, cold is my nest the now.’
Archie moistened his lips. ‘They took the seals from you this morn, cousin?’
‘It is not three hours since they had them.’
‘Do you guess what did it?’
Morton laughed shortly. ‘Ay! It was my Crown-Matrimonial, I doubt.’
‘And do you guess who did it?’
He did not laugh now. ‘Have done with your idle questioning. Who should do it but the fiddler?’
‘One more question,’ says Archie, ‘by your leave. Do you guess who sits in your seat?’
‘Ay, I think it, I think it. She will give it to one of her familiars—her Huntly, or her fine Bothwell.’