‘For,’ as the peer politely put it, while he filled his cup to the brim, ‘you need have no fear of inconveniencing _me_. We have a saying in Fife of which I have always endeavoured to uphold the truth--“Ask no questions of the Leslies, for their answers are sharp, silent, and to the point.” If he goes down a certain winding-stair in my poor house you might never hear of him again till you wanted him; and if need be, I could produce you his bones, at any rate, twenty years hence. Do not hesitate, I pray you; I am only happy to accommodate the warden. Bothwell, your good health!’ Nor had he overheard the orders accepted so unwillingly by poor ‘Dick-o’-the-Cleugh’ an hour or two before dawn, nor that worthy’s eager remonstrance and extreme unwillingness to fulfil his chief’s behests. Perhaps the henchman never felt so keenly that he was a vassal as when he told off six stout jackmen for the unwelcome duty, and informed them of the catchword, ‘_the Laird’s bidding_,’ at which they were to muffle and pinion their prisoner. Maxwell knew it was useless to complain. A request for a little air was so far complied with that the plaid, while it still blinded him, was enough loosened to admit of his breathing more freely; but no answer was vouchsafed to the few indignant questions that, in his first surprise, he had put to his captors. The pace, too, at which they were now going, forbade conversation, and in the few words exchanged at intervals between the jackman, their prisoner failed to distinguish the tones of ‘Dick-o’-the-Cleugh.’ Notwithstanding the henchman’s treachery, Maxwell’s heart sank a little within him to think that he was deserted by his last friend. After many hours of hard riding, and when he could not but feel that his horse was becoming completely exhausted, the fresh sea-breeze made him aware that he was approaching the Firth. With no unnecessary violence, though with much rapidity, he was, ere long, lifted from the saddle and placed in a boat, but the plaid was still kept round his head, and an unbroken silence preserved even by the men who handled the oars. It must have been long after nightfall when they made the opposite shore, and Maxwell, despite his hardy frame, was becoming faint and exhausted from fatigue, vexation, and want of food. As he was again forced into the saddle, however, a flask of brandy was applied to his mouth, and at the same time a strong bony hand grasped his own warmly, and ‘Dick-o’-the-Cleugh’s’ welcome voice whispered in his ear-- ‘Tak’ anither sup, lad, and keep your heart up. Ye’ve gotten a friend to your back for a’ that’s come and gone yet.’ CHAPTER XXXII. ‘Good morrow, ’tis St Valentine’s day, All in the morning betime; And I a maid at your window, To be your Valentine.’