Aline was very impatient to have Ian by himself and was glad when he turned to go, after giving a brief account of his imprisonment and the outline of his main adventures, avoiding all details. The Earl accompanied them to the inn and then took his leave, promising to send Ian an outfit such as more became his station and, at Ian’s special request, everything that under the circumstances could be procured befitting a page of gentle birth. Aline was pleased to find no one in the hostel. Ian was tired and his wounds hurt him, although Aline had attended to them regularly. He sat down by the fire and sighed. It was a cold day and Aline crouched at the hearth-stone by his feet. She put her hand on his knee and looked up. Ian’s eyes were full of tears. Aline had never seen anything like this; she stood up, stroking his head with her delicate hand and kissed him on the forehead. He did not speak, but drew her gently to him. The child threw both her arms about his neck and seated herself on his knee. “Oh, I wish I could comfort you,” she said. It was too much for Ian and two great tears actually rolled down his cheek. “My Father,” was all that he said. Then making an effort, he controlled himself and looked at Aline’s beautiful sympathetic little face. A curious feeling passed through him. He had lost his father; and his father had never been kind to him, and he had gained this child, who was devoted to him. Was this God’s recompense? He passed his fingers through her short locks. “What have you done with all the glory you cut off?” he said. “It is upstairs. I plaited it in four plaits.” “May I have some?” he asked. “You may have it all if you like.” “It was a big sacrifice, child-heart,” he said softly, and kissed her. “May I ask you something,” she said, “even though it does make you sad: but I would rather learn from your own lips? You know you have not told me who you are. Who are you?” He paused a moment, while he continued gently stroking her hair. “I am now the Duke of Ochil, little one.” Aline rose from his knee and crouched down on the hearth again. She gazed up at him wonderingly. In after years as she looked back she understood her feelings; but at the time they were a perplexity even to herself. So far from being pleased that he was a duke, she resented it. It seemed to put a barrier between them;--his Grace, the Duke of Ochil, could not be the same as her dear friend Ian. Ian saw the expression on her face and half-guessed its meaning. “It does not please you, heartsease,” he said. She looked up quickly and then said simply,--“I do not know. It is strange.” CHAPTER XXVI THE BATTLE OF LIDDISDALE The days slipped by and when Hawick had mustered two thousand foot and some 300 horse he decided to move northward up Liddisdale. The Duke of Ochil nominally commanded the cavalry, but was really the guiding spirit of the whole.