The subtle earl of Abercorn and Avondale knew well by the advices of his creature, Achanna, that both his nephews were effectually and for ever removed from his path, and that as next of kin, the vast possessions of the house of Douglas--their titles, lands, manors, and fortresses were his--_his beyond recall_! But as yet he found it prudent to affect to doubt the terrible story; and thus he had been swaggering over all the city in his armour, threatening with vengeance, fire and sword, the king, the regent, the chancellor, and all their adherents. "Achanna," he exclaimed, curbing his horse, "the common rumour says my kinsmen _were slain_ yesterday,--foully murdered by the chancellor and his minions under form of law." "Alake, my lord," whined Achanna (who had detailed to him all the transaction most circumstantially, on the preceding evening), "I fear the rumour is but too true; woe worth the day! woe worth the day!" On this the armed horsemen clenched their mailed hands, or shook their spears aloft, and muttered deep oaths in the hollow of their helmets. "By St. Bryde of Douglas, I would give a year's rental of Touraine for the head of Livingstone, of Crichton, or even of the wretch who acted as their doomster!" exclaimed Abercorn, still acting as if inspired by grief and indignation. "A year's rent of Touraine is a pretty sum," said Achanna, musingly. "Ay, ten thousand crowns," added the earl, grimly. "How freely he spends his new-won property," thought Achanna, adding aloud, "the headsman was masked, 'tis said." "By whom?" "The common rumour." "Masked was he?" said the laird of Pompherston; "a wise precaution, as there is not a Douglas in the land but will be ready to whet a dagger on his breast bone!" "Well, sirs, this perilous carle is even now within arm's length of us." "Hah! _here_, say you, Achanna?" said Abercorn. "Even so,--Sir Patrick Gray." "The Captain of the Guard! Was it he?" "None else," was the villainous response. "And he--he," cried twenty voices. "Is now in the Abbot's House, at the feet of Lady Murielle, or, perhaps, at the feet of the countess; I know not which he loves, for there be some in Galloway who aver he affects them both." "In the house here--art thou sure, Achanna?" hissed the earl, through his teeth, while a livid gleam lit his dark and sinister eyes, for he bitterly hated Gray, and had _other_ views for Murielle than she had yet foreseen. Moreover, a ready victim was required to appease the fury which inspired the turbulent followers of his slaughtered nephews, and none could be so fit for his purpose as the Captain of the Guard. "Art thou sure," he added, "that Gray is here?" "Sure, as that the breath of Heaven is in my nostrils!"