As the young Earl paused a moment without to tether Black Darnaway to
a fallen trunk of a pine, a chill and melancholy wind seemed to rise
suddenly and toss the branches dark against the sky. Then it flew off
moaning like a lost spirit, till he could hear the sound of its
passage far down the valley. An owl hooted and a swart raven
disengaged himself from the coppice about the door of the pavilion,
and fluttered away with a croak of disdainful anger. Black Darnaway
turned his head and whinnied anxiously after his master.

But William Douglas, though little more than a boy if men's ages are
to be counted by years, was yet a true child of Archibald the Grim,
and he passed through the mysterious encampment to the door of the
lighted pavilion with a carriage at once firm and assured. He could
faintly discern other tents and pavilions set further off, with
pennons and bannerets, which the passing gust had blown flapping from
the poles, but which now hung slackly about their staves.

"I would give a hundred golden St. Andrews," he muttered, "if I could
make out the scutcheon. It looks most like a black dragon couchant on
a red field, which is not a Scottish bearing. The lady is French,
doubtless, and passes through from Ireland to visit the Chancellor's
Court at Edinburgh."

The Black Douglas paused a moment at the tent-flap, which, being of
silken fabric lined with heavier material, hung straight and heavy to
the ground.

"Come in, my lord," cried the low and thrilling voice of his companion