I’ll no tell ye the wager, Mistress Carmichael; I’m only a fule, ye ken; but “I’ll wager, I’ll wager, I’ll wager wi’ you,” that ye dinna gang oot like a ghaist in the gloamin’ just to pu’ an apple frae a tree. There’s a canny lad wad like ill to jalouse ye kept tryst wi’ anither; that’s just one mair to the count. I doubt I maun be flittin’ frae Holyrood, or we a’ gang daft thegither.’ ‘What does he mean?’ exclaimed Mary Beton, all the duenna aroused within her as she marked the fool’s cunning looks, and her comrade’s obvious discomfiture. ‘Hooly an’ fairly, Mistress Beton!’ exclaimed Geddes, with whom the Queen’s principal lady was no great favourite. ‘Keep your ain breath to cool your ain brose. Will you grudge the lasses their bit ploy, an’ keep back all the Joes to yersel’? “She wad na hae a Lowland laird, Nor be an English lady.” They’ll no threep that on you, Mistress Beton. Na, na; ye’re a true Scotchwoman; an’ it’s just a spoilin’ o’ the Egyptians, as godly John Knox wad call it. Troth, ye’ve made a fule o’ a wiser body than yoursel’, I’m thinkin’. I’ll no grudge Maister Randolph the cap an’ bells, but he’ll get the fee an’ bountith a’ gate the like o’ him gangs, I ken fine. Aweel! ten fingers an’ ten taes, I canna number the fules at Holyrood; for I’m no gude at the countin’, and I canna tell mair than a score; but I’ll gang my ways to the border the morn, for the trade is just over-stockit.’ ‘You give your tongue too much liberty,’ said Mary Beton, who was considerably displeased at James Geddes’s indiscreet allusions, and not disposed to conceal her disapproval. ‘You presume on the Queen’s good nature. Have a care; if I mention your conduct to the master of the household, you will be taken to the porter’s lodge to taste of Robin Hamilton’s discipline once again!’ The fool’s face grew livid, and an ugly gleam shot from his heavy eye. There was evidently some rancour brooding in his heart against the tall porter, who, it may be, in virtue of his office, had been ordered ere now to inflict corporal punishment on the jester. He fell to cursing the Hamiltons with the unmeaning malevolence of insanity. From the proud duke and his unfortunate son, whose state of mind should indeed have obtained immunity from a fellow-sufferer, to the stalwart gate-keeper, he called down upon all who owned the name every evil that madness could imagine, or hatred suggest, and then, stopping suddenly in his curses, he moved awkwardly across the room to where Mary Hamilton, buried in thought, sat somewhat apart from the rest, and seizing the hem of her garment, began mouthing and kissing it, and wetting it with his tears, in a reaction of feeling which, sustained by one so imbecile, it was pitiful to behold.