Neither mirth, music, nor maidens--ha!" said the heedless Prince.
"Pardon me, noble Duke; but, though the Lady Marjory Douglas be departed, like an errant dame in romance, to implore succour of her doughty sire, there is, I may say, a lovelier, I am sure a younger, maiden, either presently at Falkland or who will soon be on the road thither.

Your Highness has not forgotten the Fair Maid of Perth ?" "Forget the prettiest wench in Scotland! No--any more than thou hast forgotten the hand that thou hadst in the Curfew Street onslaught on St.
Valentine's Eve." "The hand that I had! Your Highness would say, the hand that I lost.

As certain as I shall never regain it, Catharine Glover is, or will soon be, at Falkland.

I will not flatter your Highness by saying she expects to meet you; in truth, she proposes to place herself under the protection of the Lady Marjory." "The little traitress," said the Prince--"she too to turn against me?
She deserves punishment, Ramorny." "I trust your Grace will make her penance a gentle one," replied the knight.
"Faith, I would have been her father confessor long ago, but I have ever found her coy." "Opportunity was lacking, my lord," replied Ramorny; "and time presses even now." "Nay, I am but too apt for a frolic; but my father--" "He is personally safe," said Ramorny, "and as much at freedom as ever he can be; while your Highness--" "Must brook fetters, conjugal or literal--I know it.

Yonder comes Douglas, with his daughter in his hand, as haughty and as harsh featured as himself, bating touches of age." "And at Falkland sits in solitude the fairest wench in Scotland," said Ramorny.