And one Semple, a plain burgher of Dumfries, did best him at it--or at least would have shamed him, but that he desired not to lose the custom of the Abbey." "When you come to France," replied the girl, smiling on him, "it will indeed be stirring to see you ride a bout with young Messire Lalain, the champion of Burgundy, or with that Miriadet of Dijon, whose arm is like that of a giant and can fell an ox at a blow." "Truly," said the young Earl, modestly, "you do me overmuch honour.

My cousin James there, he is the champion among us, and alone could easily have over-borne me to-day, without the aid of your uncle's blind eye.

Even William of Avondale is a better lance than I, and young Hugh will be when his time comes." "Your squire fought a good fight," she went on, "though his countenance does not commend itself to me, being full of all self-sufficience." "Sholto--yes; he is his father's son and fought well.

He is a MacKim, and cannot do otherwise.

He will make a good knight, and, by Saint Bride, I will dub him one, ere this sun set, for his valiant laying on of the axe this day." The great muster was now over.