ane, and
put a foot in the stirrup.

"Who is 'Maister Ian'?"

"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.
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 dev