"Thank you, my kind lady, thank you; and now, with your leave," added Margaret's guest, whose hunger seemed to be in one of its most active moods—"I'll just see what state the bannocks are in," and he stretched out his hand, took one from the fire, blew on it, tossed it quickly to and fro in his hands—for it was too hot to hold steadily—and, finally, when it had cooled a little, broke it, took a mouthful, pronounced it nearly ready, and, with great gusto, despatched the remainder.
"Dear me, man," said Mrs Grahame, who witnessed this gastronomic feat of her guest with a feeling of increased compassion for his condition; "but ye are awfu' hungry, I dare say, or ye wadna hae eaten a half-raw barley bannock that way."
"The sweetest morsel ever I ate in my life!" replied the stranger, smiling. "I'll never forget it; nor you either, my good dame."
"Pho, nonsense, man; but I see you're dreadfu' hungry;" and she commenced an active turn of the bannocks, to expedite the process of toasting.
This done, she redoubled her exertions in general preparation, and with such effect, that in a few minutes, a little round table, spread with a clean white cloth, which she placed by the elbow of her guest, was covered with the homely but wholesome edibles which she had enumerated—namely, a small basin of fresh eggs, a quarter of a cheese, a plate of butter, a large bowl of milk, and a heaped-up platter of warm smoking barley bread.
"Noo, sir, set to, and do me and yoursel credit by makin a hearty supper. I'm sure ye're welcome; and I houp I needna say that again."
Obeying, without hesitation or further ceremony, the kind and cordial invitation of his hostess, the stalworth stranger commenced a vigorous attack on the tempting viands placed before him; and, had the credit of Mrs Grahame been dependant on the quantity he might consume, it was safe, for he did, indeed, make a splendid meal of it.
The stranger had completed his repast, but his hostess had scarcely removed the surplus and other traces of the meal, when both were suddenly alarmed by the sound of the trampling of horses' feet from without, mingled with occasional shouts by the riders, some of mirth, and some of imprecation.
"No sound of bugle—they cannot be friends!" exclaimed Mrs Grahame's guest, starting to his feet and seizing his sword. "Now, my good weapon," he added, as he unsheathed the shining blade, "stand me in as good stead this night as thou hast hitherto done, and thou shalt find that I will do my duty by thee."
"Fecht, sir! ye'll fecht nane here," exclaimed Margaret Grahame, who had been, during the previous instant, listening eagerly with her ear close to the door, endeavouring to make out who or what the approaching party of horsemen were. "Fecht! ye'll fecht nane," she exclaimed, rushing up to her guest, and seizing him by the sword arm. "It wad be madness, perfect madness. It's a party o' Englishers frae Stirlin Castle—a dizzen at least. And what could your single arm, strong as it is, do against sae mony? No, no, come here—here wi' me," she added, in a state of great excitement. "Leave me to fecht the Englishers; I ken how to do't. I'll fecht them wi' barley bannocks and dauds o' butter. Keep thae chiels chowan, and deil haet else they'll think o'."