"But, lo!--what scurvy companion do they bring with them?" added the haughty Euphemia. "Sir Hew Borthwick," said Lizzie, "who cheated our butler at dice, and stole the gateward's bugle." "_Sir!_--how can you thus pollute the title of knighthood?" asked the eldest sister. "But do not the people call him so?" said Margaret. "He is a mansworn priest," continued Euphemia, "and I marvel that the Lord Bishop of Dunblane permits him to be at liberty. Was not Father Arbuckle built up in the gable of Gilston kirk for the same crime--abandoning his cloister?" "Oh, frightful!" said the gentle Margaret, with a shudder; "'tis so unlike _you_, dear Effie, to urge such an expiation; moreover, I do not believe it." "Not believe!" repeated Euphemia, as they all descended from the bartizan by a turret stair; "has not our father told us that he saw it done--yea, and guarded the kirk with the lances of the stewardry for ten days; and there, in the wall, the bones of the friar, poor man! are yet remaining. But, hark! there are our visitors." At that moment Sir David Falconer blew the copper horn which hung at the tirling-pin of the house door. CHAPTER IV. THE SISTERS. "A sailor's life is a life of woe, He works now late, now early; Now up, now down, now to and fro, But then he takes it cheerly. And yet think not our fate is hard. Though storms at sea so treat us, For coming home, a sweet reward, With smiles our sweethearts greet us." T. DIBDIN. In an apartment which had three large windows overlooking the river, the ladies seated themselves in a group to await their visitors; and two, at least, were flushed and palpitating, for they expected acknowledged lovers. The younger girls were all expectation too, anticipating certain gifts or presents; Margaret, alone, was, as usual, pale, calm, and quiet--even sad. The lofty walls of the chamber were hung with pale brown leather, stamped with rich golden figures; the ceiling was covered with grotesque gilding, and upon every available place appeared the sleuth-hound of the Drummonds, with their motto, _Gang warily_. A magnificent Dutch buffet, having bulbous shapen legs, and deep recesses, stood at one end, and was surmounted by a large hound in delft ware; a gift by which Barton, whose father brought it from Flanders, first made an impression on the old lord's heart. The chairs were of oak, with crimson cushions; but the floor had no other carpet than a matting of plaited straw. There was a high stone mantelpiece covered with carving; an iron grate, the enormous basket of which (the season being summer) was filled with sea-shells, and on each side was a sculptured niche or ambre, so common in old Scottish houses of that age. "Heaven be praised, our anchor hath again hold of Scottish ground!" said Falconer, as a page conducted him and Barton up stairs. "How so--thou art either more of a lover or less of a sailor than I, David?"