"
"The good fortune!" repeated the Regent, smiling somewhat sorrowfully,
"take my word, young man, war is the only game from which both parties
rise losers."
"Not always, my lord!" answered the page, with his characteristic
audacity, "if fame speaks truth."
"How, sir?" said the Regent, colouring in his turn, and perhaps
suspecting an indiscreet allusion to the height which he himself had
attained by the hap of civil war.
"Because, my lord," said Roland Graeme, without change of tone, "he
who fights well, must have fame in life, or honour in death; and so
war is a game from which no one can rise a loser."
The Regent smiled and shook his head, when at that moment the door
opened, and the Earl of Morton presented himself.
"I come somewhat hastily," he said, "and I enter unannounced because
my news are of weight--It is as I said; Edward Glendinning is named
Abbot, and--"
"Hush, my lord!" said the Regent, "I know it, but--"
"And perhaps you knew it before I did, my Lord of Murray," answered
Morton, his dark red brow growing darker and redder as he spoke.
"Morton," said Murray, "suspect me not--touch not mine honour--I have
to suffer enough from the calumnies of foes, let me not have to
contend with the unjust suspicions of my friends.--We are not alone,"
said he, recollecting himself, "or I could tell you more."
He led Morton into one of the deep embrasures which the windows formed
in the massive wall, and which afforded a retiring place for their
conversing apart.
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