"What thought ye?" asked Gray, fiercely. "Merely that this Englishman was not yet on his own side of the border," said Borthwick with a deep smile, as he took the last drain of his wine-pot. "Angus still acts the bearward to this beardless princeling Rothesay," said Gray; "and so is occupied by matters of his own; but the tide of events on which we have ridden so bravely, seems setting in against us now; all we can do is to watch, and watch well; let us be assured in the first place, of what messengers come from the fleet, and whether they say aught of Margaret Drummond; for if she once gain Rothesay's ear, our cause is ruined and for ever lost!" Borthwick bit his tongue with anger, for he trembled for himself alone. "Get thee spies," said Keir; "and let Barton's house, where Rothesay lodges, be watched both day and night. Watch all who come from thence, and from the Laird of Largo." "But spies must be paid, Sir William, and I am short of money." "Already!" cried Gray; "curse thee, fellow; dost think we keep a coin house? Short again, after all received from Howard, from Henry VII., and from us?" "All gone, sirs," he added, doggedly; "patriotism is expensive work." "Here are eight fleurs-de-lys, and not another coin shalt thou have, were it for thy mass when _in articulo mortis_. So away to thy task, while we will watch and deliberate." The worthy functionary of the English faction swept the Laird of Keir's money into the velvet pouch which hung on his right hip beside his poniard, and then quitted the presence of his employers. As he descended the stair of the hostel, a gentleman in black armour touched him roughly on the shoulder. Borthwick grew pale, and clutched the dagger at his girdle; and then perceiving that the iron plates of this personage were somewhat rusty, he said with haughty insolence,-- "Who may you be?" "Your better man, sirrah--therefore attend." "What want ye, sir?" he asked, rather abashed by the other's air and determined manner. "Nothing," was the blunt reply; "that is, personally I seek nothing of such fellows as thee; but the right honourable my very good lord and chief requires your presence in his chamber, here, without delay." Borthwick still kept a hand upon his poniard, as he scanned the speaker's sunburned face. "And who are you?" he asked, after a pause. "One of the Hepburns--Adam of the Black Castle." "Then your chief is the Lord Hailes?" "I have just had the honour of hinting as much," replied the other, with an irony which Borthwick dared not resent. "Lead on, then, laird; I follow you," he said; and then they ascended another of the turnpike stairs with which this hostel was furnished. CHAPTER XLVI. THE GUNNER. "They sin who tell us Love can die; With life all other passions fly, All others are but nonity."--_Southey._