He lifted the shoe of the Little Marie in the air. "To the owner of the prettiest foot in the world!" he cried, and pledged her. Four men who had come in after my Lord of Barra now sat themselves down at the table nearest to Wat. The Little Marie, having recovered her slipper and wiped it coquettishly with the tassels of Wat's sash, somewhat reluctantly went away to bring the second bottle of Rhenish. During her absence Lochinvar remained behind, blowing with all his might upon the dying coals of his anger, and telling himself that he had done nothing worthy of reproach, when suddenly John Scarlett plumped himself down into the chair opposite him. He had been in the inn all the time, but only now he had come near Walter Gordon. "Lochinvar," he said, "'tis a sight for sore eyes to see you here! What has happened to the Covenant that you have left the prayer-meeting and come to the Hostel of the Coronation?" "Jack," cried Wat, "you know me better than that. Never was Walter Gordon a great lover of the Covenant all the days of his life." "You ran gayly enough with the hare, then, at any rate!" answered John Scarlett, provokingly. "Nay," replied Wat, "I was hunted by the pack, it is true, but that was because of the dead stroke I gave His Grace the Duke of Wellwood." "And the beginning of that--was it not some matter of doctrine or of the kirk?" asked Scarlett, though he knew the truth well enough. The Rhenish had been mounting to Wat's head, and his heart had grown gay and boastful. "Nay," he cried; "very far indeed from that. 'Twas rather a matter of the favors of my lady the Duchess." One of the men at the next table looked quickly over at Wat's words, and, indeed there seemed to be but little talk among them. Contrariwise, they sat silently drinking their wine, and as it had been, listening to the talk of Wat Gordon and his companion. Presently the Little Marie came daintying and smiling back with the wine, deftly weaving her way among the revellers, and as she went by the neighboring table one of the men at the side on which she tried to pass made free to set his arm about her. "Change about, my lass," he said; "'tis the turn of this table to have your pretty company. By my faith, they have given us a maid as plain-visaged as a Gouda cheese." The Little Marie gave a quick cry, and Wat half started to his feet and laid his hand upon his sword; but Scarlett dropped a heavy palm upon his shoulder and forced him back again into his seat. In a moment the girl had adroitly twisted herself from the clutch of the man, and, in addition, had left the marks of her nails on his cheek. "Take that, my rascal," she cried, "and learn that spies have no dealings with honest maids."