will in the world it
would be difficult for me to get my stubborn Galloway tongue round the
word. But I am glad to hear you call me by my name, though I fear me, my
Lord, that you must e'en let a thrawn Scots hermit gang his ain gait. If
I were to call you 'Raincy' I should feel like a boy who threw a stone
at election time. Why, sir, my father would rise from his grave and
floor me with the lid of his coffin!"

"By gad, sir," said the Earl, "I believe you are right. That comes of
English public schools and all the rest of it. Add to which that small
daughter of yours is a witch and will make a man say anything--even a
man of my age. But since we are both Galloway men, we may surely call
each other by the names of our holdings. If you are 'Cairn Ferris' to
everybody--well, I am 'Castle Raincy.'"

"To that I see no objection," said Adam, smiling, "though you wear your
rue with a difference!"

"Eh, what's that?" cried the Earl, who did not read Shakespeare--"oh,
something out of a book--I thought such things were your
brother-in-law's perquisite. But I understand--you mean the handle to my
name. That is very well for outside use, but never mind handles to-day.
Let us be young again to-day. Come and see Patsy!"

"Patsy!" that young person's father muttered to himself, "so it has come
to Patsy! Evidently she does not take after me. I have no doubt that the
vixen will be calling him 'Raincy' by the week's end."

CHAPTER XV

THE FECHTIN' FOOL

These were hard days for Stair Garland. He alone had planned and carried
out the deliverance of Patsy. He had dared the spilling of the blood
royal, yet he had given all the profit of it over into the hands of
another. And now Louis Raincy had Patsy safe within the walls of his
grandfather's castle, and all that remained for Stair was liberty to
keep watch and ward outside.

I do not imagine that Louis cared much about the matter. Why should he?
He had other things to think about--bright, young, heart-stirring things
that danced and glistened, flitting up before him just as a sudden
wind-gust may for a moment turn a petal-strewn garden path all rosy.

But, to make up for such ingrate forgetfulness, Patsy thought a good
deal. She knew--no woman could have helped knowing--the fact of Stair's
devotion. But then she had always accepted it as quite natural, which it
was. Also as calling for no particular notice, except, as it were, for a
certain graceful obliviousness on h