“But alas! that night’s revel was far worse than ever I had thought. There was young Damian of Lancaster, Sir Henry Walcott and Guy De Montalvan—roistering and dissolute blades all of them—and two or three more whose names I knew not. I had brought a fair venison pasty to the lodge; but for this they nothing cared. ’Twas the love of drink and gaming that brought them there; and the fires were scarce lighted and the table spread ere they had broached a cask of wine and the dice were rattling on the boards. Their gaming soon was fast and furious; and the stakes grew ever higher. Young Boris at first won nearly every cast, till his pouch was bulging with gold pieces; but by ten o’ the clock his luck had turned and he lost and lost. All his winnings went, then all the gold he had or could borrow. Next he wagered the suit of armor which had been his father’s gift when he was knighted, then the great white horse which bore him in the tourney. In another hour all of these were lost and young Guy de Montalvan was richer far than e’er he had deserved. By now all of them were much the worse for wine; and when Sir Boris wished to continue the play when he had naught more to wager, they disputed him with oaths. “Then my young master bethought him for a space whilst the others played on regardless. At last he burst out with a shout: “‘I know the whereabouts of gold that is of right the Morton’s. Gilbert, the old churl who was our forester, hath died this day. At his cot he had, I doubt not, store of gold pieces which my father and I have given him from time to time. Now I have need of them, and will proceed to take what is mine own. Who follows me?’ “There were shouts and laughter at this and clapping of hands. Sir Boris started up and, sword in hand, ran out the door. Then before I could say or do aught to stay them, the whole rioting crew had seized cloaks and weapons and were streaming forth into the forest on the way to Gilbert’s cottage. I left the lodge and ran with all my might along the path to the castle to arouse Lord Morton. But ’twas half a mile and more, and when I reached there my master was deep in sleep. He roused him up at once, and soon, with half a dozen stout men-at-arms at his back, was running through the wood to put a stop to those mad doings. “But alackaday! he was too late to do aught but view the scene of ruin and dishonor to his house and to gather up the bodies of the slain and those who lay in wounds and blood. The rest of the tale I had from old Marvin himself as I tended him but yesterday; and piteous it was, not for him only, who will recover of his hurts, but for all of us who love the name and fame of Morton.