artificer in Italy. All these years has it been perfecting for him. It
comes too late. His eyes shall never see it, nor his body wear it. But
I give it to you. No Avondale shall ever do it upon him. It will fit
you, for you and he were of a bigness. No sword can cut through these
links, were it steel of Damascus forged for a Sultan. No spear-thrust
can pierce it, though I leave you to avenge the bruise. Yet it will
lie soft as silk, concealed and unsuspected under the rags of a beggar
or the robes of a king. The cap will turn the edge of an axe, even
when swung by a giant's hand, yet it will fit into the lining of a
Spanish hat or velvet bonnet. This your present errand may prove more
dangerous than you imagine. Go and put it on."

Sholto kneeled down and kissed the hand of his liege lady. Then when
he had risen she gave him down the armour piece by piece, dusting
each with her kerchief with a sort of reverent action, as one might
touch the face of the dead. In Sholto's hands it proved indeed light
almost as woven cloth of homespun from Dame Barbara's loom, and
flexible as the spun silk of Lyons which the great wear next their
bodies.

With it there went an under-suit of finest and softest leather, that
the skin should not be chafed by the cunning links as they worked
smoothly over one another at each movement of the body within.

Sholto buckled on his lady's gift with a swelling heart. It was his
dead master's armour. And as piece by piece fitted him as a glove fits
the hand, the spirit of William Douglas seemed to enter more and more
into the lad.

Then Sholto covered this most valuable gift with his own clothing
which he had brought from the house of Carlinwark, and presently
emerged, a well-looking but still slim squire of decent family.

Then the Countess belted on him the sword of price which went
therewith, a blade of matchless Toledan steel, but covered with a
plain scabbard of black pigskin.

"Draw and thrust," commanded the lady, pointing at the rough stone of
the wall at the end of the passage.

Sholto looked ruefully at the glittering blade which he held in his
hand, flashing blue from point to double guard.

"Thrust and fear not," said the Countess of Douglas the second time.

Sholto lunged out at the stone with all his might. Fire flew from the
smitten blue whinstone where the point, with all the weight of his
young body behind it, impinged on the wall. A tingling shock of
acutest agony ran up