The Black Douglas | Page 6

"They will not make the worse soldiers for that, Malise. I pray you
forgive them for my sake."
The master armourer took the hand of his young lord on which he was
about to draw a riding glove of Spanish leather. Very reverently he
kissed the signet ring upon it.
"My dear lord," he said, "I can refuse naught to any of your great and
gracious house, and least of all to you, the light and pleasure of it--aye,
and the light of a surly old man's heart, more even than the duty he
owes to his own married wife! Oh, be careful, my lord, for you are the
desire of many hearts and the hope of all this land."
He hesitated a moment, and then added with a kind of curious
bashfulness--
"But I am concerned about ye this nicht, William Douglas--I fear that

ye could not--would not permit me--"
"Could not permit what--out with it, old grumble-pate?"
"That I should saddle my Flanders mare and ride after you. Malise
MacKim would not be in the way even if ye went a-trysting. He kens
brawly, in such a case, when to turn his head and look upon the hills
and the woods and the bonny sleeping waters."
The Earl laughed and shook his head.
"Na, na, Malise," he said, "were I indeed on such a quest the sight of
your grey pow would fright a fair lady, and the mere trampling of that
club-footed she-elephant of yours put to flight every sentiment of love.
Remember the Douglas badge is a naked heart. Can I ride a-courting,
therefore, with all my fighting tail behind me as though I besought an
alliance with the King of England's daughter?"
Silently and sadly the strong man watched the young Earl ride away to
the south along that fair lochside. He stood muttering to himself and
looking long under his hand after his lord. The rider bowed his head as
he passed under the rich blazonry of the white May-blossom, which,
like creamy lace, covered the Three Thorns of Carlinwark, now deeply
stained with rose colour from the clouds of sunset.
[Illustration: WILLIAM OF DOUGLAS REINED UP DARNAWAY
UNDERNEATH THE WHISPERING FOLIAGE OF A GREAT
BEECH.]
"Aye, aye," he said, "the Douglas badge is indeed a heart--but it is a
bleeding heart. God avert the omen, and keep this young man safe--for
though many love him, there be more that would rejoice at his fall."
The rider on Black Darnaway rode right into the saffron eye of the
sunset. On his left hand Carlinwark and its many islets burned rich with
spring-green foliage, all splashed with the golden sunset light.
Darnaway's well-shod hoofs sent the diamond drops flying, as, with
obvious pleasure, he trampled through the shallows. Ben Gairn and

Screel, boldly ridged against the southern horizon, stood out in dark
amethyst against the glowing sky of even, but the young rider never so
much as turned his head to look at them.
Presently, however, he emerged from among the noble lakeside trees
upon a more open space. Broom and whin blossom clustered yellow
and orange beneath him, garrisoning with their green spears and golden
banners every knoll and scaur. But there were broad spaces of turf here
and there on which the conies fed, or fought terrible battles for the
meek ear-twitching does, "spat-spatting" at each other with their fore
paws and springing into the air in their mating fury.
William of Douglas reined up Darnaway underneath the whispering
foliage of a great beech, for all at unawares he had come upon a sight
that interested him more than the noble prospect of the May sunset.
In the centre of the golden glade, and with all their faces mistily
glorified by the evening light, he saw a group of little girls, singing and
dancing as they performed some quaint and graceful pageant of
childhood.
Their young voices came up to him with a wistful, dying fall, and the
slow, graceful movement of the rhythmic dance seemed to affect the
young man strangely. Involuntarily he lifted his close-fitting feathered
cap from his head, and allowed the cool airs to blow against his brow.
"See the robbers passing by, passing by, passing by, See the robbers
passing by, My fair lady!"
The ancient words came up clearly and distinctly to him, and softened
his heart with the indefinable and exquisite pathos of the refrain
whenever it is sung by the sweet voices of children.
"These are surely but cottars' bairns," he said, smiling a little at his own
intensity of feeling, "but they sing like little angels. I daresay my
sweetheart Magdalen is amongst them."
And he sat still listening, patting Black Darnaway meanwhile on the

neck.
"What did the robbers do to you, do to you, do