"Maister Ian be Sir William's eldest, sir. On'y one that's left, sir.
On'y three to start wi': and one be killed i' battle, and one had trouble
wi' his faither and Maister Ian; and he went away and never was heard on
again, sir. That's the end on him."

"Oh, that's the end on him, eh, landlord? And how long ago was that?"

"Becky, lass," called the landlord within the door, "wheniver was it
Maister Robert turned his back on the Court--iver so while ago? Eh, a
fine lad that Maister Robert as iver I see!"

Fat laborious Becky hobbled out, holding an apple and a knife. She
blinked at her husband, and then at the strangers.

"What be askin' o' the Court?" she said. Her husband repeated the
question.

She gathered her apron to her eyes with an unctuous sob:

"Doan't a' know when Maister Robert went! He comes, i' the house 'ere
and says, 'Becky, gie us a taste o' the red-top-and where's Jock?' He was
always thinkin' a deal o' my son Jock. 'Jock be gone,' I says, 'and I
knows nowt o' his comin' back'--meanin', I was, that day. 'Good for
Jock!' says he, 'and I'm goin' too, Becky, and I knows nowt o' my comin'
back.' 'Where be goin', Maister Robert?' I says. 'To hell, Becky,' says
he, and he laughs. 'From hell to hell. I'm sick to my teeth o' one,
I'll try t'other'--a way like that speaks he."

Belward was impatient, and to hurry the story he made as if to start on.