‘You shall pledge me in turn, Bothwell,’ said he, filling a large silver measure with wine. ‘Every man of you shall do me reason. These wild lads, who ought to be nephews of my own, and who drink as if they were grandsons of Charlemagne; Mr Maxwell, there, who has just come in, and must be suffocated with thirst; your huge squire of the body, who might hold a cask; and all your gentlemen riders, rovers on land, as their chief used to be at sea. What, Count Bothwell! We have not forgotten the breeze off shore, and the bold Norwegian coast.’ ‘Nay, Marquis,’ answered Bothwell, filling himself a bumper, ‘my Liddesdale lads will drink any toast you please, if they like the liquor. But down on the marches we have a saying that “he who rides in the dark should dismount before daylight,” and faith, now that I am on shore, I have forgotten all about the coast of Norway and the wild North Sea, once for all.’ ‘The toast! the toast!’ exclaimed Lord John Stuart. ‘Let us have the drink first, marquis, and the tale of the warden’s wicked doings afterwards. There’s something in this wine that makes a man marvellously thirsty.’ ‘Waifs and strays!’ replied the marquis, holding his beaker above his head. ‘Count Bothwell first taught me the rights of an admiral on neutral seas. Pledge me, gentlemen; the toast is quite in your own line.’ And d’Elbœuf, laughingly heartily, set his cup on the board--empty. A dark flush swept over Bothwell’s brow. A man does not always like to be reminded of his past exploits, but the company were clamorous for an explanation of the Frenchman’s toast, and d’Elbœuf had drunk too much wine to disappoint them.