The Earl of Moray and his lady passed a sleepless night, turning in their minds how they could best repair the wrong done by their brother, the Wolfe of Badenoch. Early in the morning one of the Countess’s favourite damsels, Katherine Spears by name, came to beseech an audience of the Earl for her father, Rory Spears. There was nothing extraordinary in this request, for the Earl was so much the friend of his people that he was ever ready to lend an ear to the complaints of the meanest individual among them. The man who now craved an interview was an old partizan of the Earl’s, who had fought under his banner and at his back in many a battle, and who was employed in time of peace in hunting, hawking, and fishing.
As the Earl had a peculiar regard for Rory Spears, the damsel was ordered to send him up immediately to a small turret room, where his Lordship usually received people in his rank of life. Rory’s heavy fishing boots were soon heard ascending the turret stair, and his bulky figure appeared, followed by a great rough allounde and one or two terriers. As Katherine showed him in, there was something peculiarly striking in the contrast between her sylphlike figure, delicate face, and ladylike air, and his Herculean mould and rough-hewn features, in which there was a strangely-mixed and contradictory expression of acuteness and simplicity, good nature, and sullen testiness. His huge shoulders had a natural bend forward, and a profusion of grizzled curls mingled in bushy luxuriance with the abundant produce of his cheeks, lips, and chin. On his head was a close red hood, that lay over his neck and back, and he wore a coarse grey woollen jerkin and hauselines, covered with an ample upper garment of the same materials, and of a form much resembling that constituting a part of the fisherman’s garb of [[290]]the present day. In one hand he brandished a long pole with a sharp iron hook at the end of it, the bend of the hook being projected into a long pike, and the whole so constructed as to be equally serviceable as a hunting-spear or as a fish-clip. He stooped yet more as he entered the low doorway of the turret room, and had no sooner established his thick-soled boots upon the floor than he made an obeisance to the Earl, with his cap under his arm.
“What hath brought thee hither so early, friend Rory?” inquired the Earl.
“In good sooth, my noble Lord, I did think that the Castle mought maybe be lacking provender, wi’ a’ thay knights, grandees, and lordlings ilka day in the hall, an’ so mony o’ their people in the kitchen, so I did gather some of the knaves with their horse beasts, and I hae brought thee ower six fat deer, some wild pollayle, and a dozen or twa o’ salmons, to help the buttery-man to fill his spense; ’tis no deaf nits, I rauken, that’ll fill sae mony mouths.”
“I thank thee, Rory,” said the Earl; “it was indeed most considerate in thee; thy present is most welcome. How fares it with Alice, thy wife?”
“Fu’ weel, my Lord Yearl,” replied Rory; “troth I see no complaints about the woman. And how’s a’ wi’ my Lady Countess?”
“A little indisposed to-day, Rory,” replied the Earl gravely.
“Fie, fie! I’m sorry for that,” said Rory; “I’se warrant feasting and galravaging mun agree but soberly wi’ her Ladyship’s honour. By St. Lowry, but I’m no that mokell the better for it mysel when I drink ower deep.”
“Too much drink is certainly bad, Rory, though the Countess’s indisposition hath nothing of that in it,” replied the Earl smiling: “but a black-jack of ale can do thee but little harm of a morning, so get thee to the kitchen, that thou mayest have thy draught.”
“Thanks, my most noble Yearl,” cried Rory; “a black-jack full of ale—nay, I spoke of gallons; it will take gallons to gi’ me an aching head, I promise thee; nay, one gallon, or twa gallons, peraunter, would do me but little harm. But that wasna just a’ my business, my Lord; I hae something mair to speak to thee about. Wasn’t thee wanting a cast o’ hawks?”