"We hae heard the beauty of the Lancashire lassies highly commended," said the King; "but, faith! it passes expectation. Twa lovelier damsels than these we never beheld. Baith are rare specimens o' Nature's handiwark."
"Your Majesty is pleased to be complimentary," rejoined Sir Richard Assheton.
"Na, Sir Richard," returned James. "We arena gien to flichtering, though aften beflummed oursel'. Baith are bonnie lassies, we repeat. An sae this is Alizon Nutter—it wad be Ailsie in our ain Scottish tongue, to which your Lancashire vernacular closely approximates, Sir Richard. Aweel, fair Alizon," he added, eyeing her narrowly, "ye hae lost your mither, we understand?"
The young girl was not discomposed by this question, but answered in a firm, melancholy tone—"Your Majesty, I fear, is too well acquainted with my unfortunate mother's history."
"Aweel, we winna deny having heard somewhat to her disadvantage," replied the King—"but your ain looks gang far to contradict the reports, fair maid."
"Place no faith in them then, sire," replied Alizon, sadly.
"Eh! what!—then you admit your mother's guilt?" cried the King, sharply.
"I neither admit it nor deny it, sire," she replied. "It must be for your Majesty to judge her."
"Weel answered," muttered James,—"but I mustna forget, that the deil himsel' can quote Scripture to serve his purpose. But you hold in abhorrence the crime laid to your mother's charge—eh?" he added aloud.
"In utter abhorrence," replied Alizon.