“There is something more than usually interesting about that poor friendless boy,” said the lady to Agnes, after her new page had been dismissed from her presence for a short time.
“A most interesting youth, notwithstanding the niggardly way in which dame Nature seems to have treated him,” said Agnes archly; “but as to his being friendless, I shrewdly suspect that he is a rogue for making that pretence.”
“What mean you, Agnes?” demanded Bigla.
“I mean that the varlet had no need to have come to Kincherdie to look for protection, seeing that he hath long been the favourite of one of the bravest young knights in all the country round,” said Agnes.
“Of whom do you speak?” demanded Bigla.
“Of a certain Sir John Grant, son and heir of old Sir Patrick Grant of Freuchie,” replied Agnes, with an air of mock gravity; “but, perhaps, you have never seen nor heard of the man.”
“O Agnes!” cried Bigla, energetically clasping her hands, and throwing down her eyes and blushing deeply.
“You have heard of him, then, lady?” said Agnes.
“A truce to your raillery,” said Bigla seriously, “and tell me quickly all you know or guess of this matter.”
“Why, all I know of the matter is simply this,” said Agnes, in the same tone, “last Whitsuntide the Lady Bigla Cumin saw, for the first time, the handsome young knight, Sir John Grant of Freuchie, at the church of Inverallan. The knight, with becoming gallantry, stepped gracefully forward and lifted the lady to her saddle, sighing deeply as he resigned the precious load to her prancing palfrey. The lady’s bower damsel, the quick-sighted Agnes Cumin, soon perceived that the said knight and lady had made a mutual impression on each other. With her wonted acuteness and ingenuity, the said damsel soon extracted the truth from the said lady; and seeing that a misformed imp of a page, then in attendance on the said knight, hath now, without any apparent cause, left so good a master in order to undergo the ceremony of being baptized as a Cumin in the nauseous hen-trough, the said acute damsel ventures readily to pronounce that the flame burns as brightly and warmly at Freuchie as it does in my lady’s bower at Kincherdie—that is all.”