O mony a mile Sir Patrick rode
Throughout the border land;
To gie that letter braw and braid,
Into the earlis hand.—Old Ballad.

Reining in his horse, while all his party did the same, the elder gentleman, who was without the helmet, but wore a plumed cap, and who appeared to be the leader, hastily addressed Gray in German, but finding that he did not reply, repeated his question in French.

"There has been fighting here, messire?"

"As you may plainly see," replied Gray quietly, while carefully wiping his sword-blade, for the lofty bearing of the speaker displeased him.

"About what did you quarrel?"

"Faith, I can scarcely tell you."

"Speak, messire!" said the other, authoritatively.

"A knife that hung from the branch of a tree, it would seem. You have strange fashions among you here in Gueldres," said Gray, with returning anger.

"You are not yet in old Gueldreland, but in Brabant," replied the other; "you appear to be a stranger?"

"Yes, messire, I am a stranger," replied Sir Patrick, who had now mounted, gathered up his reins, and had his horse fully in hand, ready for any emergency, and resolved to admit of no molestation.

"May I ask what object takes you towards Gueldreland?"

"You may, messire, but what if I decline to reply?"

"I can prove that I have the right to ask such questions, and to enforce answers."

"I am come from the court of Scotland to visit old Duke Arnold—is he in Gueldres?"

"No; in Brabant."

"That is unfortunate."

"Not so much so as you suppose. But with whom were you fighting?"

"Those who fought with me: some outlaws, to all appearance, but they got more than they gave."

"Outlaws!" reiterated the armed horseman with displeasure.

"A rabble led by one who called himself Count Ludwig of Endhoven."

"Ha!" exclaimed the other, while all his followers uttered exclamations expressive of surprise and interest.

"Is it thus," said Gray, "your lords of Gueldres amuse themselves upon the highway?"

"I tell you, messire, that you are in Brabant. So these were Ludwig and his Brabanciones? I would give a thousand guilders for his head! But there was blood upon your sword?"

"I laid Count Ludwig's cheek open from eye to chin."

"Then beware you, messire: he is cruel as a pagan, and revengeful as an Italian; and he will track you and seek you day and night while you are among us, to work you mischief, unless, in the interim, he is broken alive upon the wheel by some burg graf or burgomaster. You are going, you say, to the court of the duke of Gueldres?"

"Where I am not likely to arrive soon if I remain chattering here," replied Gray coldly, as he disliked the inquisitorial manner of his questioner, who laughed and said,—

"Are you seeking knight-service? If so, you had better turn your horse's head towards Burgundy, where Duke Philip III. is putting his sword to the grindstone."

"Nay, messire," replied Gray, with increasing displeasure; "I have come on a mission from the court of Scotland, where I have the honour to be Captain of the King's Guard."

"Your name?"

"Sir Patrick Gray, younger of that ilk."

"And this mission?" said the other hastily.

"Concerns not you, messire, but the marriage of the Princess Mary d'Egmont," replied Gray, moving his horse away.

"To your young king?—good. You have, then, a letter for—for the duke?" said the other, following him.

"Yes."

"Permit me to see it. Excuse me, messire, but I have both reason and authority for my request."

Gray, who thought he had been rather unwise in stating the object of his mission to a total stranger, reluctantly opened a pocket in his saddlelap, and drew forth a large square letter, which was covered with a silken wrapper, tied with white ribbon crosswise, and sealed with yellow wax, the colour used by the kings of Scotland and France.

"Messire, you will perceive that it is correctly addressed," said Sir Patrick; "and it is my best credential for being reserved."

"Exactly; I thank you," replied the other, taking the letter in his gauntletted hand, and deliberately tearing it open.

"Messire!" exclaimed Gray, furiously, as he drew his sword; "are you mad, or weary of life, that you dare to open a letter——"

"For Arnold d'Egmont, count of Zutphen, and duke of Gueldres, you would say?"

"Yes, surrender it, messire, or by every saint in heaven, I shall kill you where you stand!"

"Beware—beware!" exclaimed some of the attendants, lowering their lances.

"And why beware?" demanded the sturdy Scot.

"Because I am Arnold himself," replied the old duke, with a hearty laugh, in which the three knights of the Golden Fleece joined.

"You, monseigneur?" said Gray, sinking the point of his sword, and reining back his horse.

"Behold my banner and escort, with Ravenstein, Berg, and Nassau, my three most faithful friends."

"Pardon me," said Gray, sheathing his sword, and reining back his horse.

"I have nothing to pardon, Sir Patrick Gray," replied the duke; "we shall all ride forward together, but this letter, which you have travelled so far to lay before me, is written in the young king's name, and announces, that so soon as affairs are peaceful in his kingdom, his lord chancellor, accompanied by John, bishop of Dunkeld, and Messire Nicholas Otterbourne, official of Lothian, with a suitable train, will visit our court at Gueldres, to receive the Princess Mary, and conduct her to her new home. Poor child! she is very young and tender, to be trusted among your unruly mountaineers. The letter shall be laid before the duchess and council. Meantime, messire, I thank you for the care with which you have brought hither the missive of your king, and the valour with which you were ready to defend it, at all hazards, even against four-and-twenty mounted men."

Sir Patrick bowed low, and kissed the hand which the duke extended towards him.

"You will ride on with us, Sir Patrick," he resumed. "I have a hunting-lodge near Vlierden, on this side of Peel Morass, seventeen miles distant. There we shall halt for to-night, and to-morrow depart for the capital."