to me. They gave me welcome with shouts and
laughter, and clasped my hands: "for him that called us wine-sacks, you
have given him water to his wine, and the frog for his butler," they
said, making a jest of life and death. But my own heart for the nonce
was heavy enough again, I longing to take farewell of Elliot, which might
not be, nor might she face that wild company. Howbeit, thinking it good
to have a friend at court, I made occasion to put in the hand of the old
serving-woman all of such small coins as I had won in my life servile,
deeming myself well quit of such ill-gotten gear. And thereafter, with
great mirth and noise, they set forth to climb the hill towards the
castle, where I was led, through many a windy passage, to the chamber of
Sir Hugh Kennedy. There were torches lit, and the knight, a
broad-shouldered, fair-haired man, with a stern, flushed face, was
turning over and gazing at his new Book of Hours, like a child busy with
a fresh toy. He laid the book down when we entered, and the senior of
the two archers who accompanied me told him that I was he who had been
summoned.

"Your name?" he asked; and I gave it.

"You are of gentle blood?" And I answering "Yes," he replied, "Then see
that you are ready to shed it for the King. Your life that was justly
forfeit, is now, by his Royal mercy, returned to you, to be spent in his
service. Rutherford and Douglas, go take him to quarters, and see that
to-morrow he is clad as beseems a man of my command. Now good night to
you--but stay! You, Norman Leslie, you will have quarrels on your hand.
Wait not for them, but go to meet them, if they are with the French men-
at-arms, and in quarrel see that you be swift and deadly. For the
townsfolk, no brawling, marauding, or haling about of honest wenches.
Here we are strangers, and my men must be respected."

He bowed his head: his words had been curt, no grace or kindness had he
shown me of countenance. I felt in my heart that to him I was but a pawn
in the game of battle. Now I seemed as far off as ever I was from my
foolish dream of winning my spurs; nay, perchance never had I sunk lower
in my own conceit. Till this hour I had been, as it were, the hinge on
which my share of the world turned, and now I was no more than a wheel in
the carriage of a couleuvrine, an unconsidered cog in the machine of war.
I was to be lost in a multitude, every one as good as myself, or better;
and when I had thought of