Very different was the character of the Earl of Buchan; morose, fierce, his natural hardness of disposition unsoftened by one whisper of chivalry, although educated in the best school of knighthood, and continually the follower of King Edward, he adhered to him first, simply because his estates in England were far more to his taste than those in Scotland, towards which he felt no filial tie; and soon after his marriage, repugnance to his high-minded and richly-gifted countess, which ever seemed a reproach and slur upon himself, kept him still more aloof, satisfied that the close retirement in which she lived, the desert and rugged situation of his castle, would effectually debar her from using that influence he knew she possessed, and keep her wholly and solely his own; a strange kind of feeling, when, in reality, the wide contrast between them made her an object of dislike, only to be accounted for by the fact that a dark, suspicious, jealous temper was ever at work within him.

“Now, do but look at that fellow’s doublet, Comyn.  Look, how gay they pass below, and here am I, with my new, richly-broidered suit, with which I thought to brave it with the best of them—­here am I, I say, pent up in stone walls like a caged goldfinch, ’stead of the entertainment I had pictured; ’tis enough to chafe the spirit of a saint.”

“And canst thou think of such things now, thou sorry fool?” demanded Buchan, sternly, pausing in his hurried stride up and down the narrow precincts of the chamber; “hast thou no worthier subject for contemplation?”

“None, save thy dutiful wife’s most dutiful conduct, Comyn, which, being the less agreeable of the two, I dismiss the first I owe her small thanks for playing the representative of my house; methinks, her imprisonment would better serve King Edward’s cause and ours too.”

“Aye, imprisonment—­imprisonment for life,” muttered the earl, slowly.  “Let but King Edward restore me my good sword, and he may wreak his vengeance on her as he listeth.  Not all the castles of Scotland, the arms of Scottish men, dare guard a wife against her husband; bitterly shall she rue this deed.”

“And thy son, my gentle kinsman, what wilt thou do with him, bethink thee?  Thou wilt find him as great a rebel as his mother; I have ever told thee thou wert a fool to leave him so long with his brainstruck mother.”

“She hath not, she dared not bring him with her to the murderer of his kinsman—­Duncan of Fife, I tell thee she dare not; but if she hath, why he is but a child, a mere boy, incapable of forming judgment one way or the other.”

“Not so much a child as thou thinkest, my good lord; some sixteen years or so have made a stalwart warrior ere this.  Be warned; send off a trusty messenger to the Tower of Buchan, and, without any time for warning, bring that boy as the hostage of thy good faith and loyalty to Edward; thou wilt thus cure him of his patriotic fancies, and render thine interest secure, and as thou desirest to reward thy dutiful partner, thou wilt do it effectually; for, trust me, that boy is the very apple of her eye, in her affections her very doting-place.”