Barton sprang to the summit of the bank with all the agility of a sailor, and grasping the lurker by the frock, as he was crawling away, dragged him roughly down to the beach. "How now, sir friar, what seek you here?" asked Falconer, recognising the priest he had met at the Wolf Craig. "A passage across the ferry." "Then you are not likely to get it, for the rebels have burned the boat, and the oarsmen have fled," replied Barton, releasing him, and half ashamed of having shown so much warmth before a clergyman. "Why did you not come boldly forward and say go at once, good friar, instead of crawling about there like a parboiled parton--eh?" "This is not a time to venture rashly among armed men." "The friar is right," said Falconer; "and such was perhaps his reason for avoiding me in the Torwood." "Moreover, I am a friend of the Lord Drummond, bound on a peaceful mission to two gentlemen of the king's ships," said the friar, the upper and lower parts of whose face were concealed by his hood. "We know most of the men in the king's ships, father," said Barton, in an altered tone; "and for whom may your message be?" "Robert Barton, captain of the _Yellow Frigate_, and Sir David Falconer, captain of the king's arquebussiers." There was a pause, during which the persons mentioned gazed at each other and then at the friar. "Priest, thou gibest us," said Barton, bluntly; "for we are the men you speak of." "How shall I be assured of that, sirs?" "Ask our names of the boat's crew, if you doubt us," said Falconer. "It is enough--I now recognise ye both, sirs." "A sudden recognition!" "Well, friar, thou'st the weathergage of us, and knowest our rank and rating now; but what would the Lord Drummond with us?" asked Barton. "Step a little this way; what I have to tell must not be overheard," said the friar, drawing them a few paces from the boat. "Sir David Falconer, you love the Lord Drummond's daughter, Sybilla?" Falconer was silent, for the sound of that beloved name made his heart leap under his cuirass. "And you, Robert Barton, love her sister, Euphemia?" "Silence, friar!" said Barton, angrily; "what hast thou to do with this?" "Thus much, that the Lord Drummond, the High Steward of Strathearn, sent me to say, that if you will make the admiral prisoner, seize his ships, and deliver them to the lords, ye yet win your brides; but refuse, and you shall never see them more." "Villain monk, thou liest!--the Lord Drummond is a gentleman!" said Falconer, furiously. "He is more," said the monk, sneeringly; "he is a Scottish noble." "In that word _noble_ lies a world of treason," said Barton; "but he was wise to send a priest on this infernal mission, for with this axe I had cloven a layman to the chine." "Very likely," sneered the monk again; "for useful and honourable men are never appreciated in this world--they are ever unfortunate." "Such priests as thee will be fully appreciated in the world to come," said Falconer.