f the men standing round.

"You look as if you had carried arms."

"I did so, in my wild youth," Roger said, "and had no thought of ever
donning monk's hood; but I was grievously wounded, in a foray in
Northumberland, and when I reached my home at Lauder, I well nigh died
of the fever of the wound; and I swore that, if my life was saved, I
would become a monk. I got well, and I kept my vow; but methinks, had I
but known how dull the life was, I would rather have died of the
fever."

As this story was perfectly true, save the name of his birthplace,
Roger spoke so heartily that no one doubted his story.

"And your monastery is at Dunbar?

"You have been at Dunbar, Rotherglen. Ask him where the convent stood."

As Roger had stayed there, when with Oswald he was at Dunbar, he was
able to answer this, and other questions, satisfactorily. The party
then took their places at table, the priest and Roger sitting at the
bottom of it. The conversation at the upper end naturally turned on the
foray, and a general disbelief was expressed, as to the chance of the
Armstrongs retaliating.

"'Tis out of the question," one of the Bairds said, "they could not
raise fifty men. Doubtless they will send a complaint to Douglas, but
he has his hands well full; and is not likely to quarrel with us about
such a trifle, when he may want our aid, at any moment, either against
Albany or against the English."

"What do you intend to do with the girls?"

"I have not settled yet," William Baird said, shortly. "At any rate,
for the present I shall hold them as hostages. I don't think that
anything is likely to come of the affair; but if we should hear of any
force approaching, likely to give us trouble, we could send word to
them that, if an arrow is loosened at our walls, we will hang the girls
out as marks for their archers. I fancy that will send them trooping
off again, at once."

As soon as the meal was over, and the carousal began, the priest rose
and, accompanied by Roger, retired to his chamber.

Chapter 13: Escape.

Oswald, who was thoroughly fatigued with the events of the last
thirty-six hours, slept soundly, on an armful of rushes that his host
threw down in a corner of the room for him. At eight o'clock, the man
who had spoken to him on the previous evening came in.

"I have spoken to William Baird," he said. "I told him that you seemed
a likely fellow. He called down the monk, and asked him several
questions about