‘Know him?’ repeated the other; ‘he broke my head at Bewcastle market only yesterday was three weeks; but I’m thinking, I’m even with ye now, Jock, my man! All in good part though,’ he added, ‘for little Jock Elliott’s a canny lad, and a far-off cousin o’ my ain.’ ‘_Little_ Jock Elliott!’ observed Maxwell in return. ‘Why, he looked to me nearly as big a man as yourself.’ ‘It’s a name he got when a boy,’ answered the borderer, ‘to know him from his brother, big Jock Elliott, that’s gone to his rest. Ye see they were all Elliotts and Armstrongs that were in the slack[2] the night, _forbye_ “Rough Rob,” and he was a Rutherford,--more shame till him that let himself get guided that way by a Southron!’ [2] The pass. ‘I heard another name too,’ said Maxwell, whose curiosity was thoroughly aroused. ‘Who was the tall man that seemed to be the leader of the party? the man that rode by me just before you struck in so opportunely, and shouted, “A Carmichael!” when he drew his sword.’ ‘Oh! it would be just one o’ the Carmichaels that happened there by chance,’ replied Dick, with an expression of hopeless stolidity overspreading his broad countenance; and Maxwell, seeing it would be useless to question him further on that subject, turned the conversation to the more congenial topics of horses and weapons, and the advantages and disadvantages of the new-fashioned musquetoon. In this manner they journeyed on in rear of the party till the dark towers of Hermitage loomed against the midnight sky, and the clatter of the drawbridge, as it was lowered, together with a considerable bustle inside the walls, announced that preparations were being made for their entrance. Bothwell and Randolph, who had been riding at the head of the party, halted at the postern until the rest came up, and the former proceeded to muster his troop once more ere they crossed the bridge. Maxwell remarked that the prisoner had escaped, but as no one else seemed to take any notice of the circumstance, he discreetly held his tongue. Whilst the gates were being opened, and the drawbridge secured, operations which occupied a considerable time, Bothwell welcomed his guests formally to his ‘poor tower,’ addressing himself, as before, more particularly to Randolph. ‘I regret much,’ said he to the latter, ‘that your duty compels you to be in the saddle again to-morrow at daybreak; but he who serves a Queen, as well I know, must never flag for an hour in his zeal. It shall be my care to provide you with a proper escort, and my own henchman shall accompany you to Edinburgh.’ Randolph thanked the Warden courteously. ‘Your kinsman,’ said he, ‘will perhaps accompany me. He, too, as he tells me, has urgent affairs in the capital, and I could not wish a stouter escort if I carried a king’s ransom along with me.’