ross the sea for you, the worse the luck.
Is it young Pothon de Xaintrailles? Faith, he comes often enough to see
how his new penoncel fares in my hands, and seems right curious in
painting."

It may be deemed strange that, even in this hour, I conceived in my heart
a great mislike of this young French lord, how unjustly I soon well
understood.

"O, nae French lord for me, father,
O, nae French lord for me,
But I'll ware my heart on a true-born Scot,
And wi' him I'll cross the sea."

"Oh, father, lo you, I can make as well as sing, for that is no word of
the old ballant, but just came on to my tongue!"

They were now right close to me, and, half in fear, half in hope, I began
to stir and rustle in the grass, for of my stifled groaning had hitherto
come no profit. Then I heard the horses stop.

"What stirring is that in the wood, father? I am afraid," came the
girl's voice.

"Belike a fox shifting his lair. Push on, Maid Elliot." The horses
advanced, when, by the blessing of the saints, the jackanapes woke in my
breast.

The creature was used to run questing with a little wooden bowl he
carried for largesse, to beg of horsemen for his mistress. This trick of
his he did now, hearing the horses' tramp. He leaped the ditch, and I
suppose he ran in front of the steeds, shaking his little bowl, as was
his wont.

"Oh, father," sounded the girl's voice, "see the little jackanapes! Some
travelling body has lost him. Let me jump down and catch him. Look, he
has a little coat on, made like a herald's tabard, and wears the colours
of France. Here, hold my reins."

"No, lass. Who can tell where, or who, his owner is? Take you my reins,
and I will bring you the beast."

I heard him heavily dismount.

"It will not let itself be caught by a lame man," he said; and he
scrambled up the ditch bank, while the jackanapes fled to me, and then
ran forward again, back and forth.

"Nom Dieu, whom have we here?" cried the man, in French.

I turned, and made such a sound with my mouth as I might, while the
jackanapes nestled to my breast.

"Why do ye not speak, man?" he said again; and I turned my eyes on him,
looking as pitifully as might be out of my blood-bedabbled face.

He was a burly man, great of growth, with fresh red cheeks, blue eyes,
reddish hair, and a red beard, such as are many in the Border marches of
my own country, the saints bless them for true men! Withal he dragged
his leg in wal