Altoncroft, sullenly sheathing his dagger, answered with a growl—“The audacious falsehoods of this varlet would have moved patient Job; and I am not to be blamed.”
“I swore no falsehoods, but gave leal and soothfast witnessing,” retorted Johnston, who was now resting on his left elbow; “and this I’ll also swear, that next time we meet in a fair field we shall not part thus,” shaking his gauntleted right hand at his enemy.
“Come awa’ oot o’ this sturyfyke, master,” whispered the gaberlunzie to Ruthven. “You stand in deadly peril; for Royston Scott is nae craw to shoot at. Come awa’.”
He succeeded in drawing Ruthven out of the tumult. Altoncroft obeyed the Sheriff by leading his men back some space, and so allowed his victim’s comrades to gather around him and do what they could to staunch his wound. Under the impression that the gentle Johnston was dying, the attendant priest pressed through the confusion, knelt on the grass at his side, and holding up a crucifix, prepared to shrive him; but Edie scouted the notion that his end was near.
“Dinna fear for me, holy father,” he said, smiling grimly. “As broken a ship has come to land; and Death and me winna shake hands at this time o’ day. And never think that I have perjured mysel’; for the sin o’ perjury is not on my conscience. The ground is not Ballinshaw’s, you say? I never made faith that it is. Bethink ye, holy father, o’ my words. I swore that I stood on my master’s ground; and so I did. Pull aff my boots, and you will find, in the soles o’ them, an inch or twa o’ earth from the yard o’ Ballinshaw tower. That saves my conscience, and makes the matter but a jest: so if I am to die, I winna die with a falsehood in my mouth.” He finished with a hollow laugh at the deception which he had practised.
At this juncture a horseman, with the royal cognizance, the rampant red lion, emblazoned on his breast, galloped up the side of the stream, and made directly towards the Sheriff, to whom he delivered a sealed packet. The knight cut asunder the silken strings that bound it, broke the seal, and opening the packet, eagerly scanned the paper which it contained. His cheek reddened, his eyes sparkled, and he bit his nether lip, then deliberately re-folding the document, which seemed to have given him both surprise and mortification, he handed a few coins to the messenger, who, after making dutiful acknowledgment, turned his horse, and rode off as rapidly as he had come.
“A strange revolution of Fortune’s wheel,” whispered the Sheriff to his chief attendant. “The King’s Grace has appointed George Hepburn, the kinsman of Altoncroft, Sheriff in my room, and commends me to resign my office into his hands without delay, for which purpose he is to be at Jedburgh to-morrow at noon. This is the work of my unfriends at our fickle Sovereign’s court. Altoncroft cannot yet know of the change, else he would spurn my authority and provoke strife: therefore, I must dismiss him at once. I should have arrested him when he stabbed the witness; but I feared that such action would only embroil the business still further; and I am now glad it was not done.”
The Sheriff went over to Royston Scott, and said that after what had happened on the field, the arbitration proceedings behoved to be adjourned to some future day, and also enjoined him to retire, and to keep the peace. Altoncroft obeyed, and departed with his followers.
“There’s the main danger blawn ower,” said the gaberlunzie, viewing with much satisfaction the rude Laird’s retreat. “We winna toom a tankard wi’ the gentle Johnston the nicht; and wha kens whether he’ll see the morn? We’ll tak’ the road, wi’ your leave, master, as lang as the play is fair.”