But these were the days when no man awaked without having the
possibility of either a knighthood or the gallows tree to encourage
him to do his duty between dawn and dark.

The lords of Douglas had gone within, and were now drinking the Cup of
Appetite as their armour was being unbraced by the servitors, and the
chafed limbs rubbed with oil and vinegar after the toils of the
tourney. But still Sholto stood where his master had left him, looking
at the green scum of duckweed which floated on the surface of the moat
of Thrieve, yet of a truth seeing nothing whatever, till a low voice
pierced the abstraction of his reverie.

"Sir Sholto!" said Mistress Maud Lindesay, "I bid you a long good-by,
Sir Sholto MacKim! Say farewell to him, Margaret, as you hear me do!"

"Good-by, kind Sir Sholto!" piped the childish voice of the Maid of
Galloway, as she made a little courtesy to Sholto MacKim in imitation
of her companion. "I know not where you are going, but Maudie bids me,
so I will!"

"And wherefore say you good-by to me?" cried Sholto, finding his words
at once in the wholesome atmosphere of raillery which everywhere
accompanied that quipsome damosel, Mistress Maud Lindesay.

"Why, because we are humble folk, and must get our ways upstairs out
of the way of dignities. Permit me to kiss your glove, fair lord!" and
here she tripped down the steps and pretended to take his hand.

"Hold off!" he cried, snatching it away angrily, for her tone vexed
and thwarted him.

The girl affected a great terror, which merged immediately into a meek
affectation of resignation.

"No--you are right--we are not worthy even to kiss your knightly
hand," she said, "but we will respectfully greet you." Here she swept
him a full reverence, and ran up the steps again before he could take
hold of her. Then, standing on the topmost step, and holding her
friend's hand in hers, she spoke to the Maid of Galloway in a tone
hushed and regretful, as one speaks of the dead.

"No, Margaret," she said, "he will no more play with us. Hide-and-seek
about the stack-yard ricks at the Mains is over in the gloamings. Sir
Sholto cares no more for us. He has put away childish things. He will
not even blow out a lamp for us with his own honourable lips. No, he
will call his squire to do it!"

Sholto looked the indignation he would not trust himself to speak.

"He will dine with the Earl in hall, and quaff and stamp and shout
with the best when they drink the