Becky, seeing, hastened. "Dear a' dear! The red-top were afore him, and
I tryin' to make what become to him. He throws arm 'round me, smacks me
on the cheek, and says he: 'Tell Jock to keep the mare, Becky.' Then he
flings away, and never more comes back to the Court. And that day one
year my Jock smacks me on the cheek, and gets on the mare; and when I
ask: 'Where be goin'?' he says: 'For a hunt i' hell wi' Maister Robert,
mother.' And from that day come back he never did, nor any word. There
was trouble wi' the lad-wi' him and Maister Robert at the Court; but I
never knowed nowt o' the truth. And it's seven-and-twenty years since
Maister Robert went."

Gaston leaned over his horse's neck, and thrust a piece of silver into
the woman's hands.

"Take that, Becky Lawson, and mop your eyes no more."

She gaped.

"How dost know my name is Becky Lawson? I havena been ca'd so these
three-and-twenty years--not since a' married good man here, and put
Jock's faither in 's grave yander."

"The devil told me," he answered, with a strange laugh, and, spurring,
they were quickly out of sight. They rode for a couple of miles without
speaking. Jacques knew his master, and did not break the silence.
Presently they came over a hill, and down upon a little bridge. Belward
drew rein, and looked up the valley. About two miles beyond the roofs
and turrets of the Court showed above the trees. A whimsical smile came
to his lips.