The door of Margaret Douglas's chamber still stood open, and Sholto
found Earl William seated upon the foot of the bed, endeavouring by
every means in his power to distract his sister's attention from her
fears. Maud Lindesay, now more completely dressed than when he had
first seen her, sat on the other side of the little lady's couch. She
was laughing as he entered at some merry jest of the Earl's. And at
the sound of her tinkling mirth Sholto's heart sank within him. So
soon as she caught sight of the new captain of the guard the gladness
left her face, and she became grave and sober, like a gossip long
unconfessed when the holy father comes knocking at the door.

At sight of her emotion Sholto resolved that if his fears should prove
to be well founded, he would resign his honourable office. For to
abide continually in the castle, and hourly observe Maud Lindesay's
love for another, was more than his philosophy could stand.

In the meantime there was only his duty to be done. So he saluted the
Earl, and in a few words told him that which he had seen. But the soul
of William Douglas was utterly devoid of suspicion, both because he
held himself so great that none could touch him, and also because,
being high of spirit and open as the sky, he read into the acts of
others his own straightforwardness and unsuspicion.

The Earl rose smilingly, declaring to Margaret that to-morrow he would
hang every dog and puppy in Galloway on the dule tree of Thrieve,
whereupon the child began to plead for the life of this cur and that
other of her personal acquaintances with a tearful earnestness which
told of a sorely jangled mind.

"Well, at least," cried Earl Douglas, "I will not have such brutes