"A message for me--what is it?" said Sholto, testily, being (and small
blame to him) a trifle ruffled in his temper.

"Nay, sir," said the man, respectfully, "that I know not, but methinks
it comes from my lord."

It will not do to say to what our gallant Sholto condemned all
tricksome queans and spiteful damosels in whose eyes dwelt mischief
brimming over, and whose tongues spoke softest words that yet stung
and rankled like fairy arrows dipped in gall and wormwood.

But since the man stood there and repeated, "I judge the message to be
one from my lord," Sholto could do no less than hastily pull on his
doublet and again betake himself along the corridor to the foot of the
stair.

When he arrived there he saw no one, and was about to depart again as
he had come, when the head of Maud Lindesay appeared round the upper
spiral looking more distractedly mischievous and bewitching than ever,
her head all rippling over with dark curls and her eyes fairly
scintillating light. She nodded to him and leaned a little farther
over, holding tightly to the baluster meanwhile.

"Well," said Sholto, roughly, "what are my lord's commands for me, if,
indeed, he has charged you with any?"

"He bids me say," replied Mistress Maud Lindesay, "that, since lamps
are dangerous things in maidens' chambers, he desires you to assist in
the trimming of the waxen tapers to-night--that is, if so menial a
service shame not your knighthood."