ning, inconsiderate Douglas blood rushed and sang in his
veins, responsive to that subtle shining.

He was with a fair woman, and she not unwilling to be kind. That was
ever enough for all the race of the Black Douglas. What the Red
Douglas loved is another matter. Their ambitions were more reputable,
but greatly less generous.

"My lord," said the lady, giving him her hand, "will you lead me to
the table? I cannot offer you the refreshment of any elaborate
toilet, but here, at least, is wheaten bread to eat and wine of a good
vintage to drink."

"You yourself scarce need such earthly sustenance," he answered
gallantly, "for your eyes have stolen the radiance of the stars, and
'tis evident that the night dews visit your cheek only as they do the
roses--to render them more fresh and fair."

"My lord flatters well for one so young;" she smiled as she seated
herself and motioned him to sit close beside her. "How comes it that
in this wild place you have learned to speak so chivalrously?"

"When one answers beauty the words are somehow given," he said, "and,
moreover, I have not dwelt in grey Galloway all my days."

"You speak French?" she queried in that tongue.

"Ah," she said when he answered, "the divine language. I knew you were
perfect." And so for a long while the young man sat spellbound,
watching the smiles coming and going upon her red and flower-like
lips, and listening to the fast-running ripple of her foreign talk. It
was pleasure enough to hearken without reply.

It seemed no common food of mortal men that was set before William
Douglas, served with the sweep of white arms and the bend of delicate
fingers upon the chalice stem. He did not care to eat, but again and
again he set the wine cup down empty, for the vintage was new to him,
and brought with it a haunting aroma, instinct with strange hopes and
vivid with unknown joys.

The pavilion, with its cords of sendal and its silver hanging lamps,
spun round about him. The fair woman herself seemed to dissolve and
reunite before his eyes. She had let down the full-fed river of her
hair, and it flowed in the Venetian fashion over her white shoulders,
sparkling with an inner fire--each fine silken thread, as it glittered
separate from its fellows, twining like a golden snake.

And the ripple of her laughter played upon the young man's heart
carelessly as a lute is touched by the hands of its mistress.
Something of the primitive glamour of the night and