“Pshaw,” cried Laurence, “I never yet saw the lass I liked better than myself.  And I never expect to see one that I shall like better than the fat revenues of the Abbacy of Dulce Cor!”

He paused a moment as if roguishly considering some point.

“Besides,” he went on, “wed I may not, but woo—­that is another matter!  I have never yet heard that an Abbot—­”

“Good-day!” cried Sholto, suddenly, at this point, “I will not stay to hear you blaspheme!”

And leaving his father and Laurence to ride westward he turned him back towards Thrieve.

“I will surely return to-morrow,” cried Malise; “I must first see this gay bird safely in mew.  Aye, and bid the Abbot William clip his wings too!”

So in the gay morning sunshine and with the reflection of the lift glinting dark blue from tarn and lakelet, Sholto MacKim rode towards the Castle of Thrieve.  He bethought him on all that was bygone.  The Avondales were gone, James the Gross might die any moment—­might even now be dead and William Douglas be Earl in his place!

He thought over William of Avondale’s last words to himself, spoken with deep solemnity and in all the dignity of a great spirit.

“Sholto, you and yours have brought to justice the chief betrayer.  The time is at hand when, having the power, I will settle with Crichton and Livingston, the lesser villains.  And in that count and reckoning you must be my right-hand man.  Keep your Countess, the sweet young Margaret, safe for my sake.  She is very precious to me—­indeed, beyond my life.  And for this time fare you well!”

And he had reached a mailed hand to the captain of the Douglas guard, and when Sholto would have bent his head upon it to kiss it, William of Avondale gripped his suddenly as one grasps a comrade’s hand when the heart is touched, and so was gone.

At the verge of the flowery pastures that ring the isle of Thrieve, Sholto met Maud Lindesay, wandering alone.  At sight of her he leaped from his horse, and, without salutation of spoken speech, walked by her side.

“How came you here alone?” he asked.

Maud made her little pouting movement of the lips, and kicked viciously at a tuft of grass.

“I forgot,” she said hypocritically, “I ought to have asked leave of that noble knight the Captain of Thrieve.  We poor maids must not breathe without his permission—­no, nor even walk out to meet him when we are lonesome.”

Maud Lindesay lifted her eyes suddenly and shot at Sholto a glance so disabling, that, alarmed for the consequences, she veiled her eyes again circumspectly by dropping her long lashes upon her cheek.

“Did you really come out to meet me, Maud?” cried Sholto, all the life flooding back into his cheeks, “in this do you speak truth and no mockery?”

“I only said that we maidens were so much in fear of our Castle Governor, that we must not walk out even to meet him!”