Piersie’s men were too much crestfallen to return his jibes, so he rode back to the group that surrounded the conqueror, chuckling over his triumph. The good old Sir Walter de Selby, his eyes running over with gratitude, approached Sir Patrick Hepborne, and embraced him cordially.
“The time hath been,” said he, “the time hath been, Sir Patrick, when it pleased Heaven to permit me to reap the same guerdon of inward satisfaction thou art now feeling, and could the weight of a few years have been lifted from off this hoar head, by God’s blessing, thou shouldst not have had this noble chance of gathering fame at the cost of Sir Rafe Piersie. As it is, I thank thee heartily for thy gallant defence of an old man, as well as for the generous use thou hast made of thy victory. Come, let us to the Castle, that by my treatment of thee, and Sir Rafe Piersie, I may forthwith prove my gratitude to the one and my forgiveness of the other.
“Thanks, most hospitable knight,” said Sir Patrick, “I beseech thee in mine own name, and that of my friend, to receive our poor thanks for thy kind reception of us at Norham. But [[80]]now our affairs demand our return to our own country; nay, had it not been for this unlooked-for deed of arms, we had been ere now some miles beyond that broad stream. We boune us now for Scotland. Farewell, and may the holy St. Cuthbert keep thee in health and safety. We may yet haply meet again.”
Sir Walter de Selby was grieved to find that all his efforts to detain the two knights were ineffectual.
“Since it is thy will, then, to pleasure me no longer with thy good company and presence, Sirs Knights, may the blessed Virgin and the holy St. Andrew guide you in safety to your friends; and may you find those you love in the good plight you would wish them to be.” And saying so, he again cordially embraced both the knights, and slowly returned towards the Castle with his attendants.
The bustle and commotion occasioned by the appearance of the knights and their followers on the mead of Norham, the sound of the bugle, and the clash of the shock, had brought out many of the inhabitants of the village to see what was a-doing. Amongst these was the black-eyed Mrs. Kyle, who came up to Master Mortimer Sang, and laying hold of his bridle-rein—
“When goest thou for Scotland?” said she anxiously.
“Even now, fair dame,” said he calmly.
“Then go I with thee, Sir Squire,” returned she. “Let me have a seat on that batt-horse; I can ride right merrily there.”
“Nay, my most beautiful Mrs. Kyle,” replied Sang, “that may in no wise be, seeing I am an honest virtuous esquire, not one of those false faitors who basely run away with other men’s wives. Thou canst not with me, I promise thee.”