“And now, Sir Knave,” said Sang, “do but note my extreme clemency. Thou wouldst have starved me, the knights, and our good company, because we were Scots, for the which grievous sin I did put thee in a prison full of goodly provender and rich drinks; whence I now let thee forth, with thy greedy carcase crammed to bursting, and thy whole person plump and fair as a capon. Do but behold him, I beseech ye, how round he looks. Now get thee to thine augrim-stones, and cast up thine account withal. Thou knowest pretty well what we have had, for thou didst give me the victuals and wine with thine own hand.”
“Nay, good Sir Squire,” said Kyle, glad to escape, “take it all, in God’s name, as a free gift, and let us part good friends.”
“Nay, nay,” said Master Sang, “we take no such beggarly treats, we Scottish knights and squires. Come, come—thy reckoning, thy reckoning, dost hear? No more words; my master doth wait, and I must haste to join him.”
Kyle, with his wife’s assistance, and that of the pebbles or augrim-stones, by which accounts were usually made out in those days, scored up the first fair reckoning he had ever made in his life, and Sang paid it without a word.
“And now,” said he, “let us, as thou saidst, Master Kyle, let us e’en part good friends. Bring me a stirrup-cup of thy best.”
The host hastened to fetch a cup of excellent Rhenish. They drank to each other, and shook hands with perfect cordiality; and the squire, smacking the pouting lips of Mrs. Kyle, mounted his horse, and rode away to join his party.
As the knights and their small retinue were crossing the Tweed in the ferry-boat, Hepborne cast his eyes up to the keep of the Castle, towering high above them, and frowning defiance upon Scotland. A white hand appeared from a narrow window, and waved a handkerchief; and, by a sort of natural impulse, [[84]]he was about to have waved and kissed his fervently in return.
“Pshaw!” said he, pettishly checking himself, for being so ready to yield to the impulse of his heart. The white hand and handkerchief waved again—and again it waved ere he reached the Scottish shore; but he manfully resisted all temptation, and gave no sign of recognition.
As he mounted, however, he looked once more. The hand was still there, streaming the little speck of white. His resolution gave way—he waved his hand, and his eyes filling with tears, he dashed the rowels of his spurs against the sides of his steed, sprang off at full gallop, and was immediately lost amongst the oak copse through which lay their destined way.