“In the auld Scottish fashion, my liege. She is the captive of my bow and my spear,” answered Moniplies. “There was a convention that she should wed me when I avenged her father's death—so I slew, and took possession.”
“It is the daughter of Old Trapbois, who has been missed so long,” said Lowestoffe.—“Where the devil could you mew her up so closely, friend Richie?”
“Master Richard, if it be your will,” answered Richie; “or Master Richard Moniplies, if you like it better. For mewing of her up, I found her a shelter, in all honour and safety, under the roof of an honest countryman of my own—and for secrecy, it was a point of prudence, when wantons like you were abroad, Master Lowestoffe.”
There was a laugh at Richie's magnanimous reply, on the part of every one but his bride, who made to him a signal of impatience, and said, with her usual brevity and sternness,—“Peace—peace, I pray you, peace. Let us do that which we came for.” So saying, she took out a bundle of parchments, and delivering them to Lord Glenvarloch, she said aloud,—“I take this royal presence, and all here, to witness, that I restore the ransomed lordship of Glenvarloch to the right owner, as free as ever it was held by any of his ancestors.”
“I witnessed the redemption of the mortgage,” said Lowestoffe; “but I little dreamt by whom it had been redeemed.”
“No need ye should,” said Richie; “there would have been small wisdom in crying roast-meat.”
“Peace,” said his bride, “once more.—This paper,” she continued, delivering another to Lord Glenvarloch, “is also your property—take it, but spare me the question how it came into my custody.”
The king had bustled forward beside Lord Glenvarloch, and fixing an eager eye on the writing, exclaimed—“Body of ourselves, it is our royal sign-manual for the money which was so long out of sight!—How came you by it, Mistress Bride?”
“It is a secret,” said Martha, dryly.
“A secret which my tongue shall never utter,” said Richie, resolutely,—“unless the king commands me on my allegiance.”