“I cannot blame you; I cannot blame you,” said the Earl dejectedly, drawing a deep sigh. Then, turning to the others, he continued, “Gentlemen, there’s no more to be said. We must convene again. Would to-morrow, or the day after, be convenient for you?”
It was agreed that the meeting should take place two days from that time.
“I warn you,” said the Earl to Henderson, “that I have no other candidate to propose, and will confine myself to agreeing with whatever resolution you come to.”
“You are not angry with me, Traquair?” asked Armstrong.
“Not in the least, Will. I appreciate your point of view, and were I in your place I should have reached exactly the same conclusion.”
“Then I must beg a bed from you to-night. I have no wish to stay in this place, and if you are bent for home, as I surmise, I’ll just trot my nag alongside o’ yours.”
“I was this moment going to ask you, for I confess I’ll ride the safer that your stout arm is near.”
The company left the inn together, and in the middle of the road, before the house, they found Angus, with a torch, standing guard over a shapeless bundle huddled at his feet. The bundle was making faint pleadings to the man-at-arms, to which that warrior was listening with stolid indifference. The murmurs ceased as the group of men drew near. Traquair extended a cordial invitation to all or any to spend the night at the castle, which was the nearest house, but the others did not accept. Each man got upon his horse, and some went one direction, and some another.
“Fling your lighted torch into the loft,” said Traquair to Angus, “that will prevent this woif worrying about his property. When you’ve done that, throw him across your horse and follow us. Has there been sign of any one else about?”
“No, ma lord,” replied Angus, promptly obeying the injunction about the torch. He then tossed the howling human mass in front of his saddle, sprang into his seat, and went down the road after the two who preceded him, the flames from the burning bothy already throwing long shadows ahead.