The autumn of the year was well advanced, when the Earl of Morton, one morning, rather unexpectedly, entered the antechamber of Murray, in which Halbert Glendinning was in waiting.
“Call your master, Halbert,” said the Earl; “I have news for him from Teviotdale; and for you too, Glendinning.—News! news! my Lord of Murray!” he exclaimed at the door of the Earl's bedroom; “come forth instantly.” The Earl appeared, and greeted his ally, demanding eagerly his tidings.
“I have had a sure friend with me from the south,” said Morton; “he has been at Saint Mary's Monastery, and brings important tidings.” “Of what complexion?” said Murray, “and can you trust the bearer?” “He is faithful, on my life,” said Morton; “I wish all around your Lordship may prove equally so.”
“At what, and whom, do you point?” demanded Murray.
“Here is the Egyptian of trusty Halbert Glendinning, our Southland Moses, come alive again, and flourishing, gay and bright as ever, in that Teviotdale Goshen, the Halidome of Kennaquhair.”
“What mean you, my lord?” said Murray.
“Only that your new henchman has put a false tale upon you. Piercie Shafton is alive and well; by the same token that the gull is thought to be detained there by love to a miller's daughter, who roamed the country with him in disguise.”
“Glendinning,” said Murray, bending his brow into his darkest frown, “thou hast not, I trust, dared to bring me a lie in thy mouth, in order to win my confidence?”
“My lord,” said Halbert, “I am incapable of a lie. I should choke on one were my life to require that I pronounced it. I say, that this sword of my father was through the body—the point came out behind his back—the hilt pressed upon his breast-bone. And I will plunge it as deep in the body of any one who shall dare to charge me with falsehood.”
“How, fellow!” said Morton, “wouldst thou beard a nobleman?”