took their bonnets in their hands. Their dark hair was stirred by the
breeze. Sholto also bared his head and looked towards the speck of
white which he could just discern on the summit of the frowning keep.

"Shall ever her eyelashes rise and fall again for me, and shall I see
the smile waver alternately petulant and tender upon her lips?"

This was his meditation. For, being a young man in love, these things
were more to him than matins and evensong, king or chancellor, heaven
or hell--as indeed it was right and wholesome that they should be.




CHAPTER XXIX

CASTLE CRICHTON


Crichton Castle was much more a defenced château and less a feudal
stronghold than Thrieve. It stood on a rising ground above the little
Water of Tyne, which flowed clear and swift beneath from the blind
"hopes" and bare valleys of the Moorfoot Hills. But the site was well
chosen both for pleasure and defence. The ground fell away on three
sides. Birch, alder, ash, girt it round and made pleasant summer
bowers everywhere.

The fox-faced Chancellor had spent much money on beautifying it, and
the kitchens and larders were reported to be the best equipped in
Scotland. On the green braes of Crichton, therefore, in due time the