"Save by the pope, so the earl of Douglas is now on his way to Rome with Dame Murielle; I mean to accompany them, and so may you, if you care for attaching yourself to my fortunes, or misfortunes rather. That contract, moreover, was made when my father was regent of Scotland, and the king was a prisoner of war in England--and Mademoiselle of France considers me but as an outlaw now." Then after humming a lively French air, Albany said, "'tis said Murielle Douglas sings like a throstle, when winging its way aloft on a beltane morning. The throstle!" he added, letting his chin drop on his breast with an air of tipsy sadness, "Ah! that makes me think of poor old Scotland, which, despite these desperate plots, I may never see again, and my heart is wrung within me, when I think of the bonnie birken woods that shed their autumn leaves upon my mother's grave." After a pause Albany suddenly raised his head, and Gray was moved to perceive that his fine dark eyes were full of tears; but he again filled and drained his cup of wine, and it had the effect of completely intoxicating him. "It has been arranged that your grace was to meet the earl on his travel?" asked Gray. "Yes; and he sent our good friend Achanna, with a message inviting me to join him and my intended little duchess at Bommel," replied Albany, laughing; "and so I have been travelling so fast, that my horses must have discovered an impatient lover was in the saddle; but what the devil dost think was master Achanna's first information for me?" "I cannot guess," said Gray, not much interested in the matter. "That she has a lover already." "A lover!" exclaimed Gray, in a very different tone. "Aye, a lover here in Flanders," hiccuped Albany, while Gray sat breathless, and toyed with his dagger in the shade. "His name?" said he. "Sir Patrick Gray, captain of my dear cousin's royal guard. _Laus Deo!_ if I discover him, he is extremely likely to rot in Flemish earth, while his papers may be of service to us." "How so?" "Because he is on a mission from the earl's three enemies--my cousin, his regent Livingstone, and the chancellor Crichton--aid me to discover--to kill him, and in Lennox, I will more than double your lands of Luaig." "And object of this mission--" "Ah! that is just what we want to know, though many say, 'tis but to Arnold d'Egmont of Gueldres, anent a royal marriage. But I'll brook no lovers, no rivals, near my throne--_Laus Deo_, no! and I would give all I have--not much certainly--to be as near this Sir Patrick Gray as I am to _you_ at this moment. But a friend of mine is on his track already, I believe--one whom he cannot hope to escape." "A friend?" said Gray. "An unfortunate and valiant Count of Flanders." "Who?"