"He is in a torpor, at present," she said; "and may so lie for two or three days; but so long as there is no fever he will, I hope, know you when he opens his eyes. There is nought to do but to keep wet cloths round his head, and to put on a fresh poultice over the wound, every hour."

Now Armstrong took his place by his son's pallet. For a time, the work of making preparations for Oswald's departure, and of sending off messages to his friends, had prevented his thoughts from dwelling upon his loss. Throughout the night, the picture of his home, as he had left it when he rode out that morning; and the thought that it was now an empty sh.e.l.l, his wife dead, his daughters carried off, and his son lying between life and death, came to him with full force, and well nigh broke him down.

In the meantime, the little party were making across the hills, and before morning they came upon the northern road, fifteen miles from the Bairds' hold. Here Oswald and Roger dismounted. It was arranged that the men should return with the horses into the hills, and should there rest until late in the afternoon, and then mount and ride for Parton.

One or other of them was to come down, at seven o'clock each evening, to the road half a mile from the village; and was there to watch till nine. If no one came along, they were then to return to their lodging.

"I feel stiff in the legs, master," Roger said; "a fifty-mile ride, up and down the hills, is no joke after a hard day's work."

"They will soon come right again, Roger. I feel stiff, myself, though pretty well accustomed to horse exercise. However, when we present ourselves at the hold, dusty and footsore, we shall look our characters thoroughly."

Neither were sorry when they arrived at a small village, a quarter of a mile from the Bairds' hold. They went in together to the little ale house, and vigorously attacked the rough fare set before them.

"Hast thou travelled far?" their host asked, as he watched them eating.

"Indifferently far," the monk said: "'tis five-and-twenty miles hence to Moffat, and it would have seemed farther to me, had not this good fellow overtaken me, and fell in with my pace. He is good company, though monkish gowns have but little in common with steel pot and broadsword; but his talk, and his songs, lightened the way."

"Whither are you going, father?"

"I am making my way to Carlisle," he said. "I have a brother who is prior in a small monastery, there, and it is long since I have seen him. Who lives at the stronghold I saw on the hills, but a short distance away?"

"It is the hold of William Baird, the head of that family; of whom, doubtless, you may have heard."

"I have heard his name, as that of a noted raider across the border,"

the monk said; "a fierce man, and a bold one. Has he regard for the church? If so, I would gladly take up my abode there, for a day or two; for in truth I am wearied out, it being some years since my feet have carried me so long a journey."

"As to that, I say nothing," the host said. "It would depend on his humour whether he took you in, or shut the gates in your face without ceremony; but methinks, at present, the latter were more likely than the former; for his hold is full of armed men, and I should say it were wisest to leave him alone, even if you had but the bare moor to sleep upon."

"Nevertheless, I can but try," the monk said. "He may be in one of those good tempers you spoke of. And I suppose he has also a priest, in his fortalice?"

"Ay, the Bairds are not--but I would rather not talk of them. They are near neighbours, and among my very best customers."

As he spoke, four armed men came in at the door.

"Good day, Wilson! Whom have you here? An ill-a.s.sorted couple, surely.

A monk, though a somewhat rough one, and a man-at-arms."

"Fellow travellers of a day," Roger said calmly. "We met on the road, and as I love not solitude, having enough and to spare of it, I accosted him. He turned out a good companion."

"You are a man of sinew yourself, monk, and methinks that you would have made a better soldier than a shaveling."

"I thought so sometime, myself," the monk said; "but my parents thought otherwise, and it is too late to take up another vocation, now."

"Is that staff yours?" the soldier asked, taking it up, and handling it.

"Yes, my son. In these days even a quiet religious man, like myself, may meet with rough fellows by the way; and while that staff gives support to my feet, it is an aid to command decent behaviour from those I fall in with. I have not much to lose, having with me but sufficient to buy me victuals for my journey to Carlisle; where, as I have just told our host, I am journeying to see a brother, who is prior at a convent there."

"This fellow--where did you fall in with him?"

"He overtook me some twenty miles north, on the road to Glasgow."

"And are you travelling to Carlisle, too?" the man said to Oswald.

"Nay," he said, "I purpose not going beyond the border. I have lost my employment, and have tried, in vain, to find another as much to my liking. I have come south to seek service, with one who will welcome a strong arm to wield a sword."

"Hast tried the Douglas?"

"No," he said, "the Douglas has men enough of his own, and methinks I should not care to be mewed up in one of his castles. I have had enough of that already, seeing that I was a man-at-arms with George Dunbar, till he turned traitor and went over to the English."

"You look a likely fellow; but, you know, we do not pay men, here, to do our fighting for us. 'Tis all very well for great n.o.bles, like Dunbar and Douglas, to keep men always in arms, and ready to ride, at a moment's notice, to carry fire and sword where they will. War is not our business, save when there is trouble in the air, or mayhap we run short of cattle or horses, and have to go and fetch them from across the border. It is true that there are always a score or two of us up there, for somehow the Bairds have enemies, but most of the followers of the house live on their holdings, raise cattle and mountain sheep, grow oats, and live as best they can."

"For myself, I would rather live with others," Oswald said. "I am used to it, and to live in a hut on the moors would in no way be to my fancy; and if I cannot get a place where I have comrades to talk to, and crack a joke with, I would rather cross the seas, take service with an Irish chieftain, or travel to Wales, where I hear men say there is fighting."

"You need not go very far, if it is fighting that you want," the man said. "Those who ride with the Bairds have their share, and more, of it. If you like to stop here a day or two, I will take an opportunity to talk to William Baird, or to one of his sons, if I find a chance; but I cannot take you up there, now. At the best of times they are not fond of visitors, and would be less so than usual, now."

Other armed men had come in, while the conversation was going on. No further attention was paid to the travellers. The others, sitting down at a table across the room, talked among themselves.

"I care not for the work," one said presently, raising his voice to a higher pitch than that in which the others had spoken. "Across the border, I am as ready for work as another; but when it comes to Scot against Scot, I like it not."

"Why, man," another said, "what qualms are these? Isn't Scot always fighting against Scot? Ay, and has been so, as far back as one has ever heard. It does not take much for a Douglas or a Dunbar to get to loggerheads; and as to the wild clans of the north, they are always fighting among themselves."

"Yes, that is all very well," the other said, "and there is no reason why neighbours should not quarrel, here; but I would rather that they each summoned their friends, and met in fair fight and had it out, than that one should pounce upon the other when not expected, and slay and burn unopposed."

"Ay, ay," two or three others of the men agreed. "It were doubtless better so, when it is Scot against Scot."

"'Tis border fashion," another put in. "There is no law on the border, and we fight in our own fashion. Today it is our turn, tomorrow it may be someone else's. We follow our chiefs, just as the northern clansmen do; and whether it is a Musgrave or a Baird, a Fenwick or an Armstrong, he is chief in his own hold, and cares neither for king nor earl, but fights out his quarrel as it may please him. I am one of William Baird's men, and his quarrel is mine; and whether we ride against the King of Scotland or the King of England, against a Douglas or a Percy, an Armstrong or a Musgrave, it matters not the value of a stoup of ale."

"That is so, Nigel, and so say we all. But methinks that one may have a preference for one sort of fighting over another; and I, myself, would rather fight a matter out, man against man, than fall suddenly on a hold, where none are ready to encounter us."

Roger, during a pause in the conversation at the other table, got up from his seat and stretched himself.

"Well, friend," he said to Oswald, "I will go up and see if they will make me welcome, at the hold. If they do, I may see you no more. If not, I shall return here to sleep. Therefore I bid you good day, and hope that you may find such service as will suit you. Benedicite!"

And, paying for his refreshment, Roger took his staff from the corner, and went out.

"A hearty fellow, and a stalwart one," the man who had spoken to him said. "I should not care to have a crack over the crown, with that staff of his. You met him coming down from the north, comrade?"

"Yes, some twenty miles away. It was near Moffat that I overtook him. I would rather drink with him than fight with him. Seldom have I seen a stronger-looking man."

"I am of your opinion, comrade; and some of these monks are not bad fighters, either. There have been bishops who have led the monks to battle, before now, and they proved themselves stout men-at-arms."

After the others had gone out, Oswald strolled through the village, and then mounted an eminence whence he could take a view across the valley, and of some of the hilltops to the northeast. On one of these, two miles away, he could make out a man standing by a horse. He watched him for some little time, but beyond taking a few steps backwards and forwards, the man did not move.

"He is a lookout," he said to himself, "and is no doubt watching some road from Kelso and Jedburgh. Baird will hardly think that the Armstrongs can have so soon gathered a force sufficient to attack him, but he may have thought it as well to place one of his men on the watch.

"I wonder how Roger is getting on! I think they must have taken him in, or he would have been back before this."

Roger had walked quietly up the hill on which the Bairds' hold was perched. A man stepped forward from the gate, as he neared it.