"
"Nay, you said as much before," said the querulous old man, "and yet I
was put forth from Kinross, and pillaged by troopers on the
road.--They took from me the certificate that you wot of--that of the
Baron--ay, he was a moss-trooper like themselves--You asked me of it,
and I could never find it, but they found it--it showed the marriage
of--of--my memory fails me--Now see how men differ! Father Nicholas
would have told you an hundred tales of the Abbot Ingelram, on whose
soul God have mercy!--He was, I warrant you, fourscore and six, and I
am not more than--let me see----"
"Was not Avenel the name you seek, my good father?" said Roland,
impatiently, yet moderating his tone for fear of alarming or offending
the infirm old man.
"Ay, right--Avenel, Julian Avenel--You are perfect in the name--I kept
all the special confessions, judging it held with my vow to do so--I
could not find it when my successor, Ambrosius, spoke on't--but the
troopers found it, and the Knight who commanded the party struck his
breast, till the target clattered like an empty watering-can."
"Saint Mary!" said the Abbot, "in whom could such a paper excite
such interest! What was the appearance of the knight, his arms, his
colours?"
"Ye distract me with your questions--I dared hardly look at him--they
charged me with bearing letters for the Queen, and searched my mail--
This was all along of your doings at Lochleven."
"I trust in God," said the Abbot to Roland, who stood beside him,
shivering and trembling "with impatience," the paper has fallen into
the hands of my brother--I heard he had been with his followers on the
scout betwixt Stirling and Glasgow.
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