"It was young Allan Redmain of Kilmory, and him do I charge," said the farmer. "Allan Redmain!" exclaimed Kenric, in alarm at the thought of sitting in judgment upon his own friend. Then he stirred uneasily in his seat, and bit his lips in trying to see a way of escape out of his difficulty. He had sworn lasting friendship for Allan, and remembering the adventure of the day before, when Allan had risked his life for him, he could not bear the thought of giving sentence of punishment if it should be proved that Allan was guilty. Thrown thus betwixt friendship and duty, he sat for many moments in silent thought, wishing that he was no longer a king who had bound himself to do justice to all men. But at last he called aloud for Allan Redmain, and Allan promptly appeared, albeit with lowered head and guilty looks. "Now, David Blair," said Kenric with tremulous voice, "repeat your accusation, and woe betide you if in malice you say aught but the holy truth." "My lord!" said the farmer in surprise. "Am I then to be doubted? And is my word less to be trusted than that of any other honest man of Bute? I repeat that it was Allan Redmain who slew my dog out of mere boyish sport." Allan looked at his accuser with frowning brows. "Allan Redmain, are you guilty or innocent of this offence?" asked the young judge. "In that I slew the dog, my lord, I am guilty," said Allan. "But in that the act was not without just cause, I am innocent. It was in the hay field of Scalpsie, where with a companion I was walking. The dog ran up to us as it were to attack us. My comrade shook his fist at the dog, and thereupon it sprang at his throat, and I took out my dirk and slew the brute." "Brute, say you?" exclaimed the farmer. "My lord, the dog meant no manner of harm, and it was a cruel thing to kill him so. I am now without a watchdog, and must I needs suffer my sheep to be devoured by the wolves because, forsooth, a hot-headed lad would use his knife upon my poor dumb friend? I ask for redress, and redress I shall have." "Who was the comrade of whom you speak?" asked Kenric of Allan. "I refuse to say, my lord," said Allan firmly. "It was your own brother Alpin who is dead, my lord," said David Blair. "What! and you would have me punish one who so defended my own brother?" cried Kenric. "No, David Blair, I cannot do it." But at that the farmer protested warmly, and declared that he would have justice done him, and that it was his lord's duty to deal fairly by all men, notwithstanding that Allan Redmain was the son of the steward. So there was nothing for it but for Kenric to pronounce the penalty.