“Nay, Duncan, I’ll none of them,” cried Hepborne, putting them back with the back of his hand. “Thou art strangely mistaken here. Trust me, mine is not the heart that can use an old friend, yea, and above all, one that did save my very life, with the coldness that thou dost fancy. But thou art now in the presence of——.” He stopped, and would have added “of the King;” but at that moment His Majesty, who had richly enjoyed the scene as far as it had already gone, gave him such a look as at once showed him it was not his pleasure that it should be so speedily terminated. He went on then differently. “But thou art now in the presence of certain lords, with whom I am deeply engaged in discussing divers matters of most grave and weighty import, and deeply affecting the wellbeing of our country and the glory of our King; and of a truth I well know that thou dost love both over much to suffer thine own feelings to let, hinder, or do them prejudice in the smallest jot. Thou [[363]]canst not take offence that I did seem to neglect thee for matters of such moment. By the honour of a knight I will take thee, brave preserver of my life, by the hand,” continued he, seizing MacErchar with great cordiality, “I will take thy hand, I say, in the presence of the whole world, yea, an it were in the presence of King Robert himself. And as for drinking from the same cup with thee, what, have I not drank with thee of the sacred cup of thy hospitality, and thinkest thou I would refuse to drink with thee again? By St. Andrew, though rarely given to vinolence, I would rather swill gallons with thee than that thou shouldst deem me deficient in the smallest hair’s-breadth of gratitude to thee for the potent service thou didst render me at the Shelter Stone of Loch Avon. Put on thy baldrick, man, yea, and the sword also, and think not for a moment that I could have been so base as to slight thee.”
“Oich, oich!—oot, oot!—uve, uve!—fool she was—fool she was, surely,” cried Duncan, at once completely subdued, and very much put out of countenance by these unequivocal expressions of Hepborne’s honest and sincere regard for him. “Oit, oit! troth she was foolish, foolish; na, she’ll keep the sword, ay, and the bonny baudrick—ay, ay, ou ay, she’ll keep them noo till she dies. Uve, uve, she’s sore foolish, sore foolish. Oich, oich, will her honour Sir Patrick pardons her? Troth, she’s sore ashamed.”
“Pardon thee,” said Sir Patrick the younger, again shaking MacErchar heartily by the hand—“pardon thee, saidst thou? By St. Baldrid, but I do like thee the better, friend Duncan, for the proper pride and feeling thou didst show. Thy pride is the pride of an honest heart, and had I, in good verity, been the very paltry and ungenerous knight that appearances did at first lead thee to imagine me to be, by the Rood, but I should have right well merited thy sovereign despisal.”
“Oich, oich,” said Duncan, his eyes running over with the stream of kindly affections that now burst from his heart, and quite confused by his powerful emotions, “she’s over goods—she’s over foolish—out fie, surely, surely, she’s over goods. God bless her honour. But troth, she’ll no be tarrying langer noo to disturb her honour’s honour more at this times; and, ou ay, she’ll come surely to good Squire Mortimer’s at night, to see if her honour’s leisure may serve for seeing her.”
“Nay, nay,” said Hepborne, after consulting the King’s countenance by a glance, to gather his pleasure, “thou shalt not go now. We had nearly done with our parlance, and the renewal of it at this time mattereth not a jot; so sith that thou [[364]]art here, my brave defender, perdie, thou shalt stay until I introduce thee to my father. Father,” continued he, turning to Sir Patrick the elder, “this is a brave soldier who hath fought for his King in many a stark stoure with thee. I do beseech thee to permit him opportunity to speak to thee, and peraunter thou wilt all the more readily do so, when I tell thee that he did save my life from the murderous blows of an assassin, the which had well nigh amortised me, by despatching the foul traitor with a single thrust of his spear.”
“To hear that thou hast saved the life of my beloved son,” replied Sir Patrick, advancing and taking MacErchar by the hand, “were in itself enow to coart me to recognise thee as my benefactor, though I had never seen thee before. But well do I remember thy brave deeds, my worthy fellow-soldier.”
“Oich, oich,” cried Duncan, dropping on his knees, and embracing those of Sir Patrick, but altogether unable to express his feelings, “oich, oich—surely, surely—fat can she say?—foolish, foolish—hoot, toot—ower big rewards for her—ooch—ower good, surely—hoit, oit, Duncan will die hersel for the good Sir Patrick—ay, or for ony flesh o’ hers—och-hone—uve, uve, she cannot speak.”
“Yet did I never hear mortal tongue more eloquent,” said Sir Patrick Hepborne the elder, “sith that its very want of utterance doth show forth the honest and kindly metal of the heart. But by St. Andrew, I do know the heart to be bold as well as kind, seeing I forget not the actions of this heroic mountaineer in the field. Where all are brave, verily ’tis not an easy task to gain an overtopping height of glory; and yet less is it easy in the lower ranks of war, where the individuals stand thicker. Natheless, and maugre all these obstacles to fame, did this man’s deeds in battle so tower above all others, that, humble as he was, I often noted them—yea, and he should have been rewarded too, had I not weaned that he was killed in doing the very feat for the which I would have done him instant and signal honour. What came of thee,” continued Sir Patrick, addressing MacErchar, who had by this time risen to his legs, “what came of thee, my valiant mountaineer, after thou didst so gallantly save those engineer-men and their engine, when basely abandoned by the French auxiliaries, at the siege of Roxburgh, whose retreat thou didst cover against a host of the enemy by thy single targe and sword, until others were shamed into their duty by thy glorious ensample?”
“Oich, oich—he, he, he!—a bonny tuilzie that,” cried Duncan, laughing heartily, “a bonny tuilzie; troth, she was but [[365]]roughly handled yon time. Of a truth, noble Sir Patrick, she did get sike an ill-favoured clewer from a chield with a mokell mace, that she was laid sprawling on the plain; and syne, poo! out ower her body did the English loons come flying after our men, in sike wicked fashion, that the very breath was trampled out o’ her bodys.”
“But how didst thou ’scape with life after all?” demanded Sir Patrick the elder.