nch at the long wooden table under the great garland of
fir-boughs, willow catkins, and primroses, hung over the boughs of the
tree, crossed himself, murmured his _Benedictus benedicat_, drew his
dagger, carved a slice of the haunch of ox on the table, offered it to
the reluctant Malcolm, then helping himself, entered into conversation
with the lean friar on one side of him, and the stalwart man-at-arms
opposite, apparently as indifferent as the rest of the company to the
fact that the uncovered boards of the table were the only trenchers, and
the salt and mustard were taken by the point of each man's dagger from
common receptacles dispersed along the board. Probably the only person
really disgusted or amazed was the English Brewster, who, though too
cautious to express a word of his feelings, preserved the most complete
silence, and could scarcely persuade himself to taste the rude fare.

Nor when the meal was over was Sir James disposed to heed the wistful
looks of his attendants, but wandered off to watch the contest in archery
at the butts, where arrow after arrow flew wide of the clout, for the
strength of Scotland did not lie in the long-bow, and Albany's edict that
shooting should be practised on Sundays and holidays had not produced as
yet any great dexterity.

Sir James at first laughed merrily at the extraordinary screwings of
visage and contortions of attitude, and the useless demonstration of
effort with which the clowns aimed their shafts and drew their bow,
sometimes to find the arrow on the grass at their feet, sometimes to see
it producing consternation among the bystanders; but when he saw Brewster
standing silently apart, viewing their efforts with a scorn visible
enough in the dead stolidity of his countenance, he murmured a bitter
interjection, and turned away with folded arms and frowning brow.

Nigel again urged their departure, but at that moment the sweet notes of
a long narrative ballad began to sound to the accompaniment of a harp,
and he stood motionless while the wild mournful ditty told of the cruelty
of the Lady of Frendraught, and how

'Morning sun ne'er shone upon
Lord John and Rothiemay.

Large tears were dropping from under the hand with he veiled his emotion;
and when Nigel touched his cloak to remind him that the horses were
ready, he pressed the old man's hand, saying, with a sigh, 'I heard that
last at my father's knee! It rung in my ears for many a year! Here,
lad!' a