“Jest not, Duncan, or by all the saints, thou wilt drive me mad!” wrathfully exclaimed Buchan.  “It shall be as thou sayest; and more, I will gain the royal warrant for the deed—­permission to this effect may shorten this cursed confinement for us both.  I have forgotten the boy’s age; his mother’s high-sounding patriotism may have tinctured him already.  Thou smilest.”

“At thy marvellous good faith in thy wife’s patriotism, good kinsman—­oh, well perchance, like charity, it covereth a multitude of sins.”

“What meanest thou, my Lord of Fife?” demanded Buchan, shortly and abruptly, pausing in his walk to face his companion, his suspicious temper instantly aroused by Fife’s peculiar tone.  “What wouldst thou insinuate?  Tamper not with me; thou knowest I am no subject for a jest.”

“I have but to look on thee to know that, my most solemn-visaged brother.  I neither insinuate nor tamper with your lordship.  Simply and heartily I do but give thee joy for thy faith in female patriotism,” answered Fife, carelessly, but with an expression of countenance that did not accord with his tone.

“What, in the fiend’s name, then, has urged her to this mad act, if it be not what she and others as mad as she call patriotism?”

“May not a lurking affection for the Bruce have given incentive to love of country?  Buchan, of a truth, thou art dull as a sword-blade when plunged in muddy water.”

“Affection for the Bruce?  Thou art mad as she is, Duncan.  What the foul fiend, knows she of the Bruce?  No, no! ’tis too wild a tale—­when have they ever met?”

“More often than thou listeth, gentle kinsman,” returned Fife, with just sufficient show of mystery to lash his companion into fury.  “I could tell thee of a time when Robert of Carrick was domesticated with my immaculate sister, hunting with her, hawking with her, reading with her, making favorable impressions on every heart in Fife Castle save mine own.”

“And she loved him!—­she was loved,” muttered Buchan; “and she vowed her troth to me, the foul-mouthed traitress!  She loved him, saidst thou?”

“On my faith, I know not, Comyn.  Rumors, I know, went abroad that it would have been better for the Lady Isabella’s peace and honor if this gallant, fair-spoken knight had kept aloof.”

“And then, her brother, carest not to speak these things, and in that reckless tone?  By St. Swithin, ye are well matched,” returned Buchan, with a short and bitter laugh of scorn.

“Faith, Comyn, I love mine own life and comfort too well to stand up the champion of woman’s honor; besides, I vouch not for the truth of floating rumors.  I tell thee but what comes across my brain; for its worth thou art the best judge.”

“I were a fool to mine own interest to doubt thee now, little worth as are thy words in common,” again muttered the incensed earl, resuming his hasty strides.  “Patriotism! loyalty! ha, ha! high-sounding words, forsooth.  And have they not met since then until now?” he demanded, stopping suddenly before his companion.