And as piece by piece fitted him as a glove fits the hand, the spirit of William Douglas seemed to enter more and more into the lad.
Then Sholto covered this most valuable gift with his own clothing which he had brought from the house of Carlinwark, and presently emerged, a well-looking but still slim squire of decent family.
Then the Countess belted on him the sword of price which went therewith, a blade of matchless Toledan steel, but covered with a plain scabbard of black pigskin.
"Draw and thrust," commanded the lady, pointing at the rough stone of the wall at the end of the passage.
Sholto looked ruefully at the glittering blade which he held in his hand, flashing blue from point to double guard.
"Thrust and fear not," said the Countess of Douglas the second time.
Sholto lunged out at the stone with all his might.

Fire flew from the smitten blue whinstone where the point, with all the weight of his young body behind it, impinged on the wall.

A tingling shock of acutest agony ran up the striker's wrist to the shoulder blade.

The sword dropped ringing on the pavement, and Sholto's arm fell numb and useless to his side.
"Lift the sword and look," commanded the Lady Douglas.
Sholto did as he was bidden, with his left hand, and lo, the point which had bent like a hoop was sharp and straight as if just from the armourer's.

"Can you strike with your left hand ?" asked the lady.
"As with my right," answered the son of Malise the Brawny.
There was a bar at a window in the wall bending outward in shape like the letter U.
"Then strike a cutting stroke with your left hand." Sholto took the sword.