Sir Herbert was a man of high courage and probity, who had given himself as a hostage to England for the ransom of James I. He had been a commissioner for the trial of Murdoch, duke of Albany, father of that Duke Robert who was now the _bête noir_ of Murielle; and he had lately been one of the ambassadors who had gone to France to arrange the marriage of the gentle and unfortunate Margaret of Scotland with the Dauphin, afterwards Louis XI, the French Nero, of terrible memory. When brought before Douglas, in the hall, he was surveyed with stern and haughty malevolence. "Your little blockhouse of Terregles," said the earl, mockingly, as he lounged in his canopied chair, "in common with other fortlets of the petty barons of Galloway, is only occasionally decked with a dangling villain, whereas our gallows knob of Thrave has not been without _a tassel for fifty years_, and so it shall be while Dalbeattie wood grows and the Urr water runs!" "True," replied Terregles; "and one who was my henchman, my foster-brother, and my most faithful friend, taken by your ruthless wretch Achanna, is hanging there at this moment." "And having hung the usual time, he shall now be removed to make way for his master." "Earl Douglas, you dare not!" exclaimed Sir Herbert, starting forward. "Dare not! ha! ha! and why?" "I am the king's liege man, and a baron of parliament!" "Is that all you can urge?" asked Douglas, still mocking. "No----" "What more?" "Even now a royal herald is at the gate, with an express order for my release." "Mahoun! its coming has sealed your doom. Achanna, tear off his ruff, and replace it with a hempen cravat," was the stern order of Douglas; so the unfortunate Sir Herbert was instantly hanged in his armour from the gallows knob, while the king's herald was ignominiously expelled. Yet this fierce and unscrupulous lord paid large sums to the Church for masses for the souls of his ancestors, and had periodical fits of prayer and fasting, which were very troublesome, alike to his cooks and hungry retainers. At times he trembled for bad news if he saw a crow in his path, and crossed himself if he saw the new moon for the first time through a window. He smeared himself, like Achanna, with ashes on Ash Wednesday, and ate hot cross-buns with due reverence on Good Friday; and to him the abbot of Tongland, as keeper of the avenue to heaven, or the _other_ place, was alternately a demigod to worship or a bugbear to avoid. Yet, withal, he had connived with Crichton and the regent in the destruction of his kinsmen, and wedded the wealthy widow of Earl William, but consoled himself with the solemn dispensation of Pope Eugene IV., who, however, was then _deposed_ by the Council of Basle. CHAPTER XX. THE MISSION. Of this great voyage which you undertake, Much by his skill and much by my advice Hath he foreknown, and welcome for my sake You both shall be, the man is kind and wise. FAIRFAX'S TASSO.