“And see,” said the lady, “he hath suspected a trick; but he looks in vain for our waggish friend Dalzell, who hath dived like a duck and disappeared. Ha, ha, ha! see how strangely the High Constable eyes the solemn Earl of Sutherland near him, as if he half believed that grave personage was the perpetrator of the espièglerie. ’Twould be rare sport if he should tax him with it.”
“’Twould be a rich treat indeed,” said Sir David Lindsay.
“Sir Patrick,” said the Earl of Moray, “come hither, I pray thee. Yonder comes James Earl of Douglas and Mar, with his Countess the Lady Margaret Stewart, another sister of my Margery’s.”
“He is indeed a knight worth knowing,” said Hepborne.
“This way, then, and I will introduce thee to him,” said the Earl of Moray. [[265]]
Hepborne followed his host towards that part of the hall where the bold and Herculean Earl of Douglas was making his way with his lady slowly through the assembled company, who crowded eagerly around him to offer him their compliments. His manner was plain and dignified, and he behaved with kindness and affability to all who addressed him, though, on his part, he did not by any means seem to court notice. When Hepborne was brought up to him by his brother-in-law, and his name made known, he gave him a good soldierlike shake by the hand.
“I am right glad to see thee in thine own country, Sir Patrick Hepborne,” said he. “An I mistake not, some storm is a-brewing in England, that may cause us to want all the good lances which Scotland can muster. When King Dickon doth send these hawk-eyed ambassadors to talk of peace, depardieux, but I, for my part, am apt to smell war. My Lord of Fife sayeth that ’tis not so, and he is shrewd enough in common. I have mine own thoughts; but we shall see who is right, and that too ere many days are gone, an the signs of the times deceive me not.”
“’Twere well that we young unschooled soldiers should have something to do, my Lord,” said Hepborne, “were it only to keep our swords from rusting, and lest we should forget our exercises, and such parts of the rudiments of war as chance hath taught us.”
“Thou sayest well, my gallant young friend,” said the Douglas, his eyes flashing as he spoke, again shaking Hepborne heartily by the hand; “but thou art no such novice to forget thy trade so easily. Yet sayest thou well; piping times of peace are the ruin of our Scottish chivauncie, and stiffen the movements of even the most experienced warriors. Such sentiments as these, seasoned with so much modesty, are but what I mought have looked for from the son of that knight of sterling proof of heart as well as hand, my brave old friend Sir Patrick Hepborne, thy father.”
Sir Patrick was more than gratified by the expressions of respect for his father which he had heard drop from every mouth. The blush of honest pride, mingled with that of warm filial affection, rose more that once to his cheek; but it never before mounted with such a rushing tide of joy as it did when this short panegyric fell from the lips of the heroic Douglas. He was not permitted time to reply, for all were so eager to have one word, nay, one glance of recognition from the brave Earl, that his attention was rifled from Hepborne, and he was [[266]]carried away before he could open his mouth to speak to him again.