"Good befall your watch," said Frion; "your worship is before your time."
"Is not all ready?" asked Balmayne.
"That question is mine," replied the other. "You know our treaty—not a hair of my lord's head must be injured."
"Tush! tush! fear not, good conscience-stickier," replied Bothwell, with a contemptuous laugh; "no ill will befall the boy; we but ferry him over the Tweed a few hours earlier than. he dreamed of, and land him all gently on the shore he seeks. As for thy reward, I have said, name it thyself."
"Fair words are these, Sir John Ramsay," said Frion; "but I said before, I must have surer pledge, both for my reward and my lord's safety. King Henry will haggle about payment when the work is done, and the steel you wear is a toper in its way."
"How now, sir knave?" cried Balmayne; "thinkest thou that I will turn midnight stabber?"
The man in the cloak started at these words. He uttered some sound, but again drew back; while the person who continued on horseback said, and his voice was that of the bishop of Moray, King James's uncle, "A truce to this contention, Master Good-fellow—whatever thy name be: I will answer for thy pay, and here is earnest of my truth." He threw a purse at Frion's feet. "The peace of two kingdoms—the honour of a royal, too long dishonoured house are at stake. No time is this to squabble for marks, or the paltry life of a base impostor. I, a prince of Scotland, avouch the deed. It were more friendly, methinks; to unlock his life with the steel key of our friend Wiatt, than to devote him to the gallows. Let Scotland be rid of him, I reck not how."
Again Frion fixed his eyes on the other;—the clouds had fallen low in the sky; the moon was clear; the western breeze murmured among the bushes and the trees, and the beams of the silvery planet played upon the unquiet waters. "We have no time for delay. Sir John," said Frion, "prithee introduce me to our fellow-labourer—this is the king's emissary? You call yourself Wiatt, Master Black Cloak?"
The other made a gesture of impatience as he stepped aside. Balmayne and Moray discoursed aside, till the former bade the secretary lead on; as they went, the Scotchman and Frion conversed in whispers concerning their plans, while their companion followed as if doggedly. Once he cast an impatient glance at the moon—Frion caught that look. "Have I found you, good friend," he thought; "then by our lady of Embrun, you shall acquit you of the debt I claim this night."
