“Dod!” cried the Bewildered warder, scratching his head, “if ye hae a tongue like that on ye since ye crossed the Border, ye’ve made the maist o’ yer time.” “Is the Yerl o’ Traquair in?” “He’s jist that.” “Then rin awa’ an’ gi’e ma message, for Ah’m wet an’ tired an’ hungry.” The warder sought Traquair in his library, where he sat, an anxious man, with many documents spread out on a table before him. “Yer lordship, there’s a soldier in the uniform of the English rebels at th’ gates, wha says he’s a freen o’ Crummle’s, and begs a word wi’ ye.” “Ah!” said the Earl, frowning, “they’ve caught poor Armstrong, then, and now, in addition to our troubles, we’ll need to bargain with that fiend Noll to save his neck. Everything is against us.” “He may be an Englisher, but he’s got a Scotch accent as broad as th’ Tweed.” “He’s one of our countrymen fighting for Cromwell, and therefore thought by that shrewd villain the better emissary. Bring him in.” “There may be others o’ his like in hiding, ma Lord.” “Close the gates after him, then, and keep a strict watch. There’s no danger on that score yet, but lippen to nothing. This man’s just come to strike a bargain, an’ I’m afraid we must dance to the tune he pipes. Bring him in.” When William and the warder came in together, a moment or two passed before the Earl recognized his visitor, then he sprang forward and held out both his hands. “In God’s name, Armstrong, is this you?” he cried. “What have they done to you? Save us all! Who has shorn and accoutred you like this?” “The necessities of the chase, Traquair. This is a disguise, and although you saw through it, I’m happy to think I deluded Jock Tamson there.” “Losh!” cried Tamson, peering forward, “ye’ll never threep doon ma throat that this is Wull Armstrong.” “Sir William, if you please, Tamson,” corrected the new knight. “The title was bestowed upon me by his Majesty himself, and I shall expect that deference from the lower orders, Tamson, which the designation calls for. Still, Jock, I’ll forgive your familiarity if you’ll help me off with this helmet, that seems glued to my skull.” The old man grasped the edges of the steel cap with both his hands when Armstrong bent his head. He braced his foot against that of the helmet-wearer, and pulled with all his might, but his strength was unequal to the task. “Lord pity us!” growled Will, “catch me ever putting my head in a trap like this again. I’ll have to take it off with a boot-jack.” “Bring in Angus,” laughed the Earl, “he’ll pull either the helmet or the head off you.” The huge Angus came lumbering in after the warder, who went in search of him. “Have you had your supper, Angus?” asked the Earl. “Yes, ma lord.” “Then let us see what strength it’s given you. Tug this iron pot from Armstrong’s head.” Angus, bracing himself as the warder had done, jerked ineffectually several times. “Pull, ye deevil,” cried Armstrong. “Ye’ve no more strength than a three-year-old wean.”