“Art thou of the blood of the Knight of Avenel?” said the Lady of Lochleven.
“Ay, madam, and that nearly,” replied the pretended soldier.
“It is likely enough,” said the Lady, “for the Knight is the son of his own good works, and has risen from obscure lineage to his present high rank in the Estate—But he is of sure truth and approved worth, and his kinsman is welcome to us. You hold, unquestionably, the true faith?”
“Do not doubt of it, madam,” said the disguised churchman.
“Hast thou a token to me from Sir William Douglas?” said the Lady.
“I have, madam,” replied he; “but it must be said in private.”
“Thou art right,” said the Lady, moving towards the recess of a window; “say in what does it consist?”
“In the words of an old bard,” replied the Abbot.
“Repeat them,” answered the Lady; and he uttered, in a low tone, the lines from an old poem, called The Howlet,—
“O Douglas! Douglas!
Tender and true.”