"You have chosen a perilous time, assuredly, to enter Galloway on the king's service," observed the stranger, loftily; "and if my words displease, I can give full reparation when your errand is sped." "'Tis enough, sir," said Gray, hoarsely; "on the morrow I _shall_ have sure vengeance. No man shall slight the king in my presence, and live." "By my sooth, his last messenger--the Rothsay herald, who came hither anent the laird of Teregles--left Galloway faster than he entered it. We are about to teach this James Stuart, that the realm of Scotland was not made for _his_ especial use. What? after fighting for centuries, and defeating Romans, Saxons, Danes, and Normans--in short, all the invaders of England--we are now to tremble before this boy-king and his little Gueldrian wife? Has he forgotten how his father died?" "How--what mean you?" asked Gray, making a vigorous effort to control his passion. "In the Black Friary at Perth," said the other, grinding his teeth, "with the swords of Grahame and Athole clashing in his heart." "Be assured our king has _not_ forgotten it--but hush--be wary." "And wherefore hush?" was the fierce response. "Because they who did that deed, the most foul murder of God's anointed king, perished miserably on the scaffold more than twenty years ago. Their ashes have long since mingled with the earth, for fire consumed and the wind of heaven scattered them; but their names exist in the execration of all good men and true." "Hard words," said the other, scoffingly; "hard words, sir, for us, who are on the eve, perhaps, of a most just rebellion against his son, if he and his Flemish princess, with that old fox, Crichton, push us too severely; and then I think his dainty Falkland knights, and well-fed Lothian infantry, may find it perilous work to march through Nithsdale and penetrate among the wild hills of Galloway." Gray did not answer; they had now emerged from the wood, and the Loch of Carlinwark was shining like a mirror in the full splendour of the moonlight. At some distance he could discern the three old thorn-trees, where, on a similarly calm and lovely moonlit night, he had first plighted love, life, and hope, to Murielle; and now, as then, he could see Thrave, her home and her prison, casting its long black shadows on the Dee. "Here is Thrave," said the stranger, reining up his powerful horse beside the barbican-gate. "And you, sir?----" "I am James, earl of Douglas," replied the other, sternly and loftily; "you are on the king's errand, Sir Patrick Gray--'tis well; I bid you welcome; but remember, save for that tabard which you wear, by the bones of St. Bryde, I would hang you by the neck from that stone knob above the gate!" Gray bowed and smiled bitterly, as they rode into the court-yard, and he found himself inclosed by the gates and surrounded by the followers of his mortal enemy.