“Ay, in good sooth, are there—tribes of them have appeared in Germany, and in Spain, and in England,” answered Balafre. “By the blessing of good Saint Andrew, Scotland is free of them yet.”
“Scotland,” said Cunningham, “is too cold, a country for locusts, and too poor a country for thieves.”
“Or perhaps John Highlander will suffer no thieves to thrive there but his own,” said Guthrie.
“I let you all know,” said Balafre, “that I come from the Braes of Angus, and have gentle Highland kin in Glen Isla and I will not have the Highlanders slandered.”
“You will not deny that they are cattle lifters?” said Guthrie.
“To drive a spreagh [to plunder] or so, is no thievery,” said Balafre, “and that I will maintain when and how you dare.”
“For shame, comrade!” said Cunningham, “who quarrels now? The young man should not see such mad misconstruction—Come, here we are at the Chateau. I will bestow a runlet of wine to have a rouse in friendship, and drink to Scotland, Highland and Lowland both, if you will meet me at dinner at my quarters.”
“Agreed—agreed,” said Balafre; “and I will bestow another to wash away unkindness, and to drink a health to my nephew on his first entrance to our corps.”
At their approach, the wicket was opened, and the drawbridge fell. One by one they entered; but when Quentin appeared, the sentinels crossed their pikes, and commanded him to stand, while bows were bent, and harquebusses aimed at him from the walls, a rigour of vigilance used, notwithstanding that the young stranger came in company of a party of the garrison, nay, of the very body which furnished the sentinels who were then upon duty.
Le Balafre, who had remained by his nephew's side on purpose, gave the necessary explanations, and, after some considerable hesitation and delay, the youth was conveyed under a strong guard to the Lord Crawford's apartment.