The Wolfe of Badenoch and the Franciscan had hardly reached the end of the lake, when they descried a mounted knight approaching them.
“By all that is marvellous,” cried the Wolfe, halting suddenly, “but yonder doth come my very son Andrew!” [[567]]
“Is it indeed Sir Andrew Stewart?” said the Franciscan; “methinks he cometh as if he had little fear of blame about him.”
“By’r Lady, but his coming home thus at all doth look something like honesty,” said the Wolfe; “but do thou let me question him, holy father, nor fear that I will deal over gently with him. So, Sir Andrew,” cried he, as soon as his son was near enough to hear him, “I do rejoice to behold thee again. Whence comest thou, I pray thee?”
“From Elgin straightway, my noble father,” replied Sir Andrew Stewart.
“Marry, and what hath kept thee there so long, then?” demanded the Wolfe; “methought that thou hadst seen enow to teach thee that no whelp of mine could be welcome guest there.”
“In truth, I did so find it indeed,” replied Sir Andrew Stewart.
“Then what a murrain hath kept thee there?” demanded the Wolfe sternly. “Come, thou knowest I am not over patient. Thy story—thy story quickly. What befel thee after thou didst enter the blazing Spital of the Maison Dieu? Didst thou rescue the damosel—the Lady Beatrice?”
“I did,” replied the unblushing knight; “verily, I rushed to the upper chamber through the fire and the smoke, and I did snatch her from the very flames, and bear her forth in safety.”
“There thou liest, caitiff,” roared out the Wolfe; “thou dost lie in the very threshold of thy story. By the mass, but we shall judge of the remainder of thy tale by the sample thou hast already given us. But go on, Sir Andrew. What didst thou with her after thou didst save her, as thou saidst? ay, and tell us, too, how thou didst escape?”