"Only thirty thousand men, to my certain knowledge, but all good men and true, and God will bless their cause. Have any tidings of Howard's ships reached thee yet?" "Not a whisper--nor has a boat boarded us since the king marched west from Alloa. On board we hear no more than a deep-sea lead, when down. Would that we could meet him!" added Robert Barton, twisting his mustachios. "To me the opening cannon of that English fleet were welcome as a peal of merry marriage bells. Any message from the fair sisters in Strathearn?" "Alas, none! and I suppose there is no intelligence of the lost Lady Margaret?" "None--a strange mystery!" "Can she be with Rothesay among the rebel lords?" "Impossible! for Rothesay then would leave their banner. Hostility, despair, and old Lord Drummond's wiles alone detain the prince among them; for Sir James Shaw, who twice to-day bent the cannon of Stirling against the king, and also Sir Patrick of Kyneff, declare aloud that James has hidden or poisoned her." "I should like to meet, on clear deck or open field, an armed man who would say so much to me!" said Barton, grasping his Jedwood axe. "Dost think we will have a fair day for the battle to-morrow; for the rain so bedevils our gun-matches." "Fair--I think so," said Barton, looking at the starry sky. "As Archy the boatswain says-- "When the mist takes to the German sea, Fair weather, shipmate, it will be; But when the mist rolls owre the land, The rain comes pouring off the sand;" so the mist took to the sea this morning. And now, shipmate of mine, what errand brings thee to the Craigward to-night?" "A message from the Duke of Montrose to the admiral." "Well, and what is his grace's desire?" "That, as we have, perhaps more chance of being vanquished than victorious on the morrow, he will keep his boats along the shore here, to take off all fugitives and wounded men, and so provide a safe retreat for the king, who in case of reverse (which God avert!) will be conveyed by faithful friends this way." "So James retreats _this way_!" said the lurker overhead. "And how shall we know him?" asked Barton. "By the Lord Lindesay's famous grey horse, which he is to ride on the morrow, and by a yellow plume in his helmet." "Good," said Barton; "I shall note them in the log-book of my memory." "Good, and so shall I," muttered the friar, overhead. "_A grey horse and a yellow plume_ will be readily known on the morrow." "Hark," said Barton, as the listener withdrew; "dost thou not hear something?" "Can we be watched?" exclaimed Falconer, grasping the hand-gun at his saddle-bow. "A muffled man--one at least in a friar's cowl, followed me to-night, pace for pace, from the Wolf Craig to the Polmaise." "Cuddie--ho, there!--keep the boat close in," cried Barton, looking sharply round him. "A friar, said ye--and there is one, even now, at the top of the Craigward!"