A great shout went up from the throng. The hands of both combatants were shaken. Keppoch's defeat was avenged. Such swordsmanship had never before been seen by any son of Ian. The reputation of both master and pupil was made on the spot. Lochiell and Keppoch vied with each other in civilities, and the event became a daily one--but after this with a pair of foils, which the master-at-arms deftly manufactured. In many such ways the months passed, and the spring came again with delicate green kindling along the watercourses, as the birch began to cast her tresses to the winds, and the grass tufts fought hard with the conquering heather. But upon a day late in the month of May the party at Keppoch was broken by a sudden definite call. Three horsemen rode up to the door one blazing noontide. Scarlett and Keppoch were playing cards, the chief eagerly and noisily, Scarlett with the dogged use-and-wont of a hundred camps. Wat Gordon was cleaning his arms and accoutrements in the hall; for though they two had landed with little save the swords by their sides--now, thanks to their quality as swordsmen, and also somewhat to the weight of the gold in Wat's belt (which had so nearly been the death of him in the Suck of Suliscanna), they had been equipped with all the necessities of war. The first of the three riders who entered into the hall of Keppoch was no other than my Lord Dundee. He looked thirty years older than when Wat had seen him last riding by in the gloaming to the house of Balmaghie--grayer, more wearied, sadder, too, with his face drawn and pale in spite of the sun and the wind. He greeted Keppoch courteously but without great cordiality, glanced his eye once over Jack Scarlett, and seemed to take his quality in a moment--gravely saluting the good soldier of any rank and all ranks. Then he looked about him slowly. "Why, Lochinvar!" he cried, astonished, "what wind hath blown you here--not recruiting for the Prince of Orange, I hope, nor yet trying to cut my favor with Keppoch?" "Nay," said Wat, "but, if an outlaw and an exile may, ready as ever to fight to the death for King James." "Why, well said," answered my Lord Dundee, smiling, "yet, if I remember rightly, I think you owed his Majesty not so much favor." "In the matter of the Privy Council and my Lord Wellwood?" said Wat, shrugging his shoulders. "As to that, I took my risks like another. And if I had to pay the piper--why, it was at least no one but myself who called the tune." "Not my lady--my late Lady Wellwood, I mean?" said Dundee, glancing at him with the pale ghost of mirthfulness on his face. Wat shook his head. "Of my own choice I took the barred road, and wherefore should I complain that I had to settle the lawing when I came to the toll-gates? But at least I am glad that you bear me no grudge, my lord," said Wat, "for doubtless, after all, it was a matter of the king's justice."