I do not understand them." "Till now, you never disapproved them." "I allowed them in your infancy," replied the countess, "because I thought they went no further than a minstrel's song; but since they are become so dangerous, I rue the hour in which I complied with the entreaties of Sir Richard Maitland, and permitted you and your sister to remain at Thirlestane, to imbibe these romantic ideas from the wizard of Ercildown.** Had not Sir Richard been your own mother's father, I would not have been so easily prevailed on; and thus am I rewarded for my indulgence." **Few personages are so renowned in tradition as Thomas of Ercildown, usually called the Rhymer.

He was a poet and a sage, and believed by his contemporaries to be a prophet.

He was born at Ercildown, a village on the Leeder (or Lauder), where the ruins of his paternal castle, called Learmont Tower, still remain.-( 1809.) "I hope, honored madam," said Helen, still wishing to soften the displeasure of her step-mother, "I hope you will never be ill-rewarded for that indulgence, either by my grandfather, my sister, or myself.
Isabella, in the quiet of Thirlestane, has no chance of giving you the offense that I do; and I am forced to offend you, because I cannot disobey my conscience." A tear stood in the eye of Lady Helen.
"Cannot you, dear Lady Mar," continued she, forcing a smile, "pardon the daughter of your early friend, my mother, who loved you as a sister?
Cannot you forgive her Helen for revering justice even more than your favor ?" More influenced by the sweet humility of her daughter-in-law than by the ingenuous eloquence with which she maintained her sentiments, or with the appeal to the memory of the first Lady Mar, the countess relaxed the frigid air she had assumed, and kissing her, with many renewed injunctions to bless the hand that might put a final stop to so ruinous an enthusiasm in her family, she quitted the room.
As soon as Helen was alone, she forgot the narrow-minded arguments of the countess; and calling to recollection the generous permission with which her father had endowed her the night before, she wrapped herself in her mantle, and, attended by her page, proceeded to the armory.

The armorer was already there, having just given out arms for three hundred men, who, by the earl's orders were to assemble by noon on Bothwell Moor.
Helen told the man she came for the best suit of armor in his custody-"one of the most excellent proof." He drew from an oaken chest a coat of black mail, studded with gold.
Helen admired its strength and beauty.

"It is the richest in all Scotland," answered he; "and was worn by our great Canmore in all his victories." "Then it is worthy its destination.