or Robert, "and his honour Sir
Arthur, and the young laird, and the house of Knockwinnock in a' its
branches, far and near!--it's been a kind and gude house to the puir this
mony hundred years."

"There"--said the Antiquary to Sir Arthur--"we won't dispute--but there
you see the gratitude of the poor people naturally turns to the
civil virtues of your family. You don't hear them talk of Redhand, or
Hell-in-Harness. For me, I must say, Odi accipitrem qui semper vivit in
armis--so let us eat and drink in peace, and be joyful, Sir Knight."

A table was quickly covered in the parlour, where the party sat joyously
down to some refreshment. At the request of Oldbuck, Edie Ochiltree was
permitted to sit by the sideboard in a great leathern chair, which was
placed in some measure behind a screen.

"I accede to this the more readily," said Sir Arthur, "because I
remember in my fathers days that chair was occupied by Ailshie Gourlay,
who, for aught I know, was the last privileged fool, or jester,
maintained by any family of distinction in Scotland."

"Aweel, Sir Arthur," replied the beggar, who never hesitated an instant
between his friend and his jest, "mony a wise man sits in a fule's seat,
and mony a fule in a wise man's, especially in families o' distinction."

Miss Wardour, fearing the effect of this speech (however worthy of
Ailsbie Gourlay, or any other privileged jester) upon the nerves of
her father, hastened to inquire whether ale and beef should not be
distributed to the servants and people whom the news had assembled round
the Castle.

"Surely, my love," said her father; "when was it ever otherwise in our
families when a siege had been raised?"

"Ay, a siege laid by Saunders Sweepclean the bailiff, and raised by Edie
Ochiltree the gaberlunzie, par nobile fratrum," said Oldbuck, "and well
pitted against each other in respectability. But never mind, Sir Arthur--
these are such sieges and such reliefs as our time of day admits of--and
our escape is not less worth commemorating in a glass of this excellent
wine--Upon my credit, it is Burgundy, I think."

"Were there anything better in the cellar," said Miss Wardour, "it would
be all too little to regale you after your friendly exertions."

"Say you so?" said the Antiquary: "why, then, a cup of thanks to you, my
fair enemy, and soon may you be besieged as ladies love best to be, and
sign terms of capitulation in the chapel of Saint Winnox!"

Miss Wardour blushed