shame and dishonour. On this head I addressed myself, as was fitting, to
the holy Apostle St. Andrew, our patron, to whom is especially dear the
honour of Scotland.

Then, as if he and the other saints had listened to me, I heard sounds of
horses' hoofs, coming up the road from Chinon way, and also voices.
These, like the others of the night before, came nearer, and I heard a
woman's voice gaily singing. And then awoke such joy in my heart as
never was there before, and this was far the gladdest voice that ever yet
I heard, for, behold, it was the speech of my own country, and the tune I
knew and the words.

"O, we maun part this love, Willie,
That has been lang between;
There's a French lord coming over sea
To wed me wi' a ring;
There's a French lord coming o'er the sea
To wed and take me hame!"

"And who shall the French lord be, Elliot?" came another voice, a man's
this time, "though he need not cross the sea for you, the worse the luck.
Is it young Pothon de Xaintrailles? Faith, he comes often enough to see
how his new penoncel fares in my hands, and seems right curious in
painting."

It may be deemed strange that, even in this hour, I conceived in my heart
a great mislike of this young French lord, how unjustly I soon well
understood.

"O, nae French lord for me, father,