And practical William of Avondale whispered in his cousin’s ear, “And the lands for the youth that we spoke of.”

“Moreover,” said the Earl, “that you may suitably support the knighthood which your sword has won, I freely bestow on you the forty-shilling lands of Aireland and Lincolns with Screel and Ben Gairn, on condition that you and yours shall keep the watch-fires laid ready for the lighting, and that in time you rear you sturdy yeomen to bear in the Douglas train the banneret of MacKim of Aireland.”

Sholto stood before his generous lord trembling and speechless, while James Douglas shook him by the elbow and encouraged him roughly, “Say thy say, man; hast lost thy tongue?”

But William Douglas nodded approval of the youth.

“Nay,” he said, “let alone, James!  I like the lad the better that he hath no ready tongue.  ’Tis not the praters that fight as this youth hath fought this day!”

So all that Sholto found himself able to do, was no more than to kneel on one knee and kiss his master’s hand.

“I am too young,” he muttered.  “I am not worthy.”

“Nay,” said his master, “but you have fairly won your spurs.  They made me a knight when I was but two years of my age, and I cried all the time for my nurse, your good mother, who, when she came, comforted me with pap.  Surely it was right that I should make a place for my foster-brother within the goodly circle of the Douglas knights.”

[Illustration:  “I AM TOO YOUNG,” HE MUTTERED; “I AM NOT WORTHY.”]

CHAPTER XXIV

THE SECOND FLOUTING OF MAUD LINDESAY

Sholto MacKim stood on the lowest step of the ascent into the noble gateway of Thrieve, hardly able to believe in his own good fortune.  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.