He told us he had left home at the early age of sixteen as his uncle's
esquire, and had fought in France, then down in Holland with the
Dutch; had been captured by the Spanish and had joined the Spanish
army, as it mattered not where he fought, so that there was a chance
for honorable achievement and a fair ransom now and then. He told us
how he had gone to Barcelona and Salamanca, where he had studied, and
thence to Granada, among the Moors; of his fighting against the
pirates of Barbary, his capture by them, his slavery and adventurous
escape; and his regret that now drowsy peace kept him mewed up in a
palace.

"It is true," he said, "there is a prospect of trouble with Scotland,
but I would rather fight a pack of howling, starving wolves than the
Scotch; they fight like very devils, which, of course, is well; but
you have nothing after you have beaten them, not even a good whole
wolf skin."

In an unfortunate moment Mary said: "Oh, Master Brandon, tell us of
your duel with Judson."

Thoughtful, considerate Jane frowned at the princess in surprise, and
put her finger on her lips.

"Your ladyship, I fear I can not," he answered, and left his seat,
going over to the window, where he stood, with his back toward us,
looking out into the darkness. Mary saw what she had done, and her
eyes grew moist, for, with all her faults, she had a warm, tender
heart and a quick, responsive sympathy. After a few seconds of painful
silence, she went softly over to the window where Brandon stood.