g up and down on the hard white sand by the sea-shore, watching
the waves, and studying the course of the tides. He was quite a young
man, and 'twas little wonder if the story which the old baron had told
was true, and if all the ladies' hearts in Fife ached for love of him,
for I trow never did goodlier youth walk the earth, and men said of him
that he was as gentle and courteous as he was handsome.

At first when he began to read the King's letter, his face flushed with
pride, for who would not have felt proud to be chosen before all others
in Scotland, to be the captain of the King's Royal bark? But the smile
passed away almost as soon as it appeared, and a look of great sadness
took its place. In silence he gazed out over the sea. Did something warn
him at that moment that this would prove his last voyage;--that never
again would he set foot in his beloved land?

It may be so; who can tell? Certain it is--the old baron recalled it to
his mind in the sad days that were to come--that, when the young sailor
handed back the King's letter to him, his eyes were full of tears.

"'Tis certainly a great honour," he said, "and I thank his Majesty for
granting it to me, but methinks it was no one who loved my life, or the
lives of those who sail with me, who suggested our setting out for
Norway at this time of year."

Then, anxious lest the baron thought that he said this out of fear, or
cowardice, he changed his tone, and hurried him up to his house to
partake of some refreshment after his ride, while he gave orders to his
seamen to get everything ready.

"Make haste, my men," he shouted in a cheerful, lusty voice, "for a
great honour hath fallen to our lot. His Majesty hath deigned to entrust
to us his much loved daughter, the Princess Margaret, that we may convey
her, in the stately ship which he hath prepared, to her husband's court
in Norway. Wherefore, let every man look to himself, and let him meet me
at Aberdour, where the ship lies, on Sunday by nightfall, for we sail
next day with the tide."

So on the Monday morning early, ere it struck eight of the clock, a
great procession wound down from the King's Palace at Dunfermline to the
little landing-stage at Aberdour, where the stately ship was lying, with
her white sails set, like a gigantic swan.

Between the King and his son, the Prince of Scotland, rode the Princess
Margaret, her eyes red with weeping, for in those days it was no light
thing to set out for ano