ing to the
narrative, like the croak of the old corbies that sat on the pinnacles;
and her laugh came again full of glee through the loopholes, or echoed
from the battered curtain or recesses of the ballium.

That such a person as merry old Innerkepple should have a bitter and
relentless foe in the proprietor of the old strength called Otterstone,
in the neighbourhood, is one of the most instructive facts connected
with the system of war and pillage that prevailed on the Borders,
principally during the reign of Henry VIII. of England and James V. of
Scotland, when the spirit of religion furnished a cause of aggression
that could not have been afforded by the pugnacious temperaments of the
victims of attack. Magnus Fotheringham of Otterstone had had a deadly
feud with Kenneth Kennedy, the father of the good old Innerkepple, and
ever since had nourished against his neighbour a deadly spite, which he
had taken many means of gratifying. His opponent had acted merely on the
defensive; but his plea had been so well vindicated by his retainers,
who loved him with the affection of children, that the splenetic
aggressor had been twice repulsed with great slaughter. Most readily
would the jovial baron, who had never given any cause of offence, have
seized upon the demon of Enmity, and, _obtorto collo_, forced the fiend
into the smoking flagon of spiced wine, while he held out the hand of
friendship to his hereditary foe; but such was Otterstone's inveteracy,
that he would not meet him but with arms in his hands, so that all the
endeavours of the warm-hearted and jolly Innerkepple to overcome the
hostility of his neighbour, were looked upon as secret modes of wishing
to entrap him, and take vengeance on him for his repeated attacks upon
the old castle.

Some short time previous to the period about which we shall become more
interested, Innerkepple, with twenty rangers, was riding the marches of
his property, when he was set upon by his enemy, who had nearly twice
that number of retainers. Taking up with great spirit the plea of their
lord, the men who were attacked rallied round the old chief, and fought
for him like lions, drowning (perhaps purposely) in the noise of the
battle the cries of Innerkepple, who roared, at the top of his voice--

"Otterstone, man--hear me!--A pint o' my auld Canary will do baith you
and me mair guid than a' that bluid o' your men and mine. Stop the
fecht, man. I hae nae feud against you, an' I'm no