“All Langton gives your Highness greeting,” answered Sir Jasper, faltering a little because his feelings were so stirred. “Our bells are ringing you into your kingdom.” The Prince glanced keenly at him, at the faces of the Loyal Meet. He was quick of intuition, and saw, for the first time since crossing the Border, that light of zeal, of courage to the death, which he had hoped to find in England. “We’re something wet and hungry,” he said, with the quiet laugh that had less mirth than sadness in it. “You hearten us, I think. My father, as I was setting sail, bade me remember that Lancashire was always the county of fair women and clean faith.” Lord Murray was tired and wet, like the rest of the army; and, to add to his evil plight, he was consumed by the jealousy and self-importance that were his besetting luxuries. “The church bells, your Highness,” he said, glancing up the street--“I trust it’s no ill omen that they ring so desperately out of tune.” Sir Jasper saw the Prince move impatiently in saddle, saw him struggle with some irritation that was not of yesterday. And he felt, rather than framed the clear thought, that there were hot-and-cold folk among the Scots, as here in Lancashire. Then the Prince’s face cleared. “My lord Murray,” he said suavely, “all bells ring in tune when loyal hands are at the ropes. Your ear, I think, is not trained to harmony. And now, gentlemen, what food is in your town? Enough to give a mouthful to us all? Good! We can spare an hour in Langton, and after that we must be jogging forward.” The hour was one of surprise to Sir Jasper and his friends. Here was an army strong enough to raid the town, to break into the taverns, to commit licence and excess; yet there was no licence, nor thought of it. A Stuart, his fair hair muddied and unkempt, had charge of this march south; and his will was paramount, because his army loved him. No fear, no usual soldier’s obedience to discipline, could have hindered these Scots from rapine when they found the town’s resources scanty for their hunger; but the fearlessness, the comradeship of their leader had put honour, sharp as a sword, between temptation and themselves. “We must foot our bill here, Sir Jasper,” said the Prince as they were preparing to ride out again. “Oh, that can wait----” “No, by your leave! Theft is the trade of men who steal thrones. I will not have it said that any town in England was poorer because a Stuart came that way. Lochiel, you carry our royal purse,” he broke off, with a quick, impulsive laugh. “Peep into it and see how much is left.” “Enough to pay our score, your Highness.” “Then we’re rich, Lochiel! We may be poor to-morrow, but to-day we’re rich enough to pay our debts.”