Some instinct impelled me to follow it.

It rapidly crossed the moat and plunged into the forest, with me in pursuit.

I gained upon it; suddenly it turned, and I found myself again confronted with MYSELF--and apparently the King! But that very resemblance made me recognize the Scotch pretender, Rupert of Glasgow.

Yet he would have been called a "braw laddie," and his handsome face showed a laughing good humor, even while he opposed me, claymore in hand.
"Bide a wee, Maister Rupert Razorbill," he said lightly, lowering his sword, "before we slit ane anither's weasands.

I'm no claimin' any descent frae kings, and I'm no acceptin' any auld wife's clavers against my women forbears, as ye are! I'm just paid gude honest siller by Black Michael for the using of ma face and figure--sic time as his Majesty is tae worse frae trink! And I'm commeesioned frae Michael to ask ye what price YE would take to join me in performing these duties--turn and turn aboot.