THE
SCOTTISH CAVALIER.

An Historical Romance.

BY JAMES GRANT, ESQ.,

AUTHOR OF
"THE ROMANCE OF WAR, OR THE GORDON HIGHLANDERS,"
"MEMOIRS OF KIRKALDY OF GRANGE," &C.

Dost thou admit his right,
Thus to transfer our ancient Scottish crown?
Ay, Scotland was a kingdom once,
And, by the might of God, a kingdom still shall be!
ROBERT THE BRUCE, ACT II.

IN THREE VOLUMES.
VOL. II.

LONDON:
HENRY COLBURN, PUBLISHER,
GREAT MARLBOROUGH STREET.
1850.

Contents

I. [Les Gardes Ecossais]
II. [The Glove]
III. [A Ball in the Olden Time]
IV. [Two Loves for One Heart]
V. [Beatrix Gilruth]
VI. [The Sedan]
VII. [Adventures of the Night Concluded]
VIII. [The Fencing Lesson]
IX. [The Luckenbooths]
X. [The White Horse Cellar]
XI. [The Betrothal]
XII. [The Defiance]
XIII. [The March for England]
XIV. [The Hawk and the Dove]
XV. [A Statesman of 1688]
XVI. [Trust and Mistrust]
XVII. [The Guisards]
XVIII. [The Revolt at Ipswich]
XIX. [Free Quarters]
XX. [The Redeemed Pledge]
XXI. [The Swart Rüyters]

WALTER FENTON;

OR,

THE SCOTTISH CAVALIER.

CHAPTER I.
LES GARDES ECOSSAIS.

Thus shall your country's annals boast your corps,
And, glorious thought! in times and ages hence,
Some valiant chief to stimulate the more,
And urge his troops, the battle in suspense,
Shall hold your bright example to their view.
RUDDIMAUN'S MAG.

Louis, surnamed the Saint, King of France, having taken the cross, sailed with a splendid retinue of knights, nobles, and soldiers bent on the delivery of Jerusalem from the profanation of the Moslem; and, landing in the East, laid siege to Damietta (in Lower Egypt), which he triumphantly won by storm. But, after enduring innumerable hardships and disasters by the sword, and by pestilence from the fœtid waters of the marshy Nile and the Lake of Menzaleh, he was overthrown in battle at Mansoura, and made captive by the Soldan.

This was about the year 1254, when Alexander III. was King of Scotland.

In these Eastern wars, St. Louis was twice saved from death by the valour of a small band of auxilliary Scots crusaders, commanded by the Earls of March and Dunbar, Walter Stewart Lord of Dundonald, and Sir David Lindsay of Glenesk. Those brave adventurers had the good fortune to rescue the French monarch, first from the scimitars of the followers of the King of the Arsacides, a Mahommedan despot, and afterwards from the emissaries of the Comtesse de la Marche. Our good King Alexander, sent ambassadors to congratulate St. Louis on his deliverance from these double perils; and on his return from this first crusade, the two monarchs agreed that, in remembrance of these deeds of fidelity and valour, there should remain in France, in all time coming, "a standing company or guard of Scotsmen recommended by their own sovereign," and who should in future form the garde-du-corps of the most Christian King.

Such was the origin of the bravest body-guard that Europe ever saw, though our ancient historians are fond of dating its formation from the days of Charlemagne and Gregory the Great of Scotland.

The Guard thus established by St. Louis marched with him to his second crusade, in the year 1270. It was then led by the Earls of Carrick and Athole, Sir John Stuart, Sir William Gordon, and other brave knights, most of whom perished with Louis of a deadly pestilence before the walls of Tunis, and under the towers of Abu Zaccheria.

This noble band of Scottish Archers remained constantly in France, and were the only military corps in that country, until King Charles VII. added a few French companies to increase his Guards, still giving the Scots their old pre-eminence and post of honour next the royal person. Their leader was styled Premier Capitaine of the Guards, and as such took precedence of all military officers in France. When the French sovereign was anointed, he stood beside him; and when the ceremony was over, obtained the royal robes, with all their embroidery and jewels, as his perquisite. When a city was to be stormed, the Scottish Archers led the way; when it surrendered, the keys were received by their captain from the hands of the king.

Twenty-five of them, "in testimony of their unspotted fidelity," wore over their magnificent armour white hoquetons of a peculiar fashion, richly laced and embossed with silver. Six of them in rotation were ever beside the royal person—by night as well as by day—at the reception of foreign ambassadors—in the secret debates of the cabinet—in the rejoicings of the tournament—the revels of the banquet—the solemnities of the church—and the glories of the battle-field. These Scottish hearts formed a zone around the monarchs of France; and at the close of the scene, the chosen twenty-five had the privilege of bearing the royal remains to the regal sepulchre of St. Denis.

It would require volumes, instead of a chapter, to recount all the honours paid to the Scottish Guard, and the glory acquired by them in the wars of five centuries.

Led by Alexander Earl of Buchan, Great Constable of France, they performed good service in that great battle at Banje-en-Anjou, where the English were completely routed; and at Verneuil, where Buchan died sword in hand, like a brave knight, and covered with renown,—at the same moment that Swinton, the gallant Laird of Dalswinton, slew the boasting Clarence with one thrust of his border-spear.

In 1570 the Guard consisted of a hundred curassiers, or hommes-des-armes, a hundred archers of the corps, and twenty-five "keepers of the King's body,"—all Scottish gentlemen of noble descent and coat-armour. They saved the life of the tyrant Louis XI. at Liege, and at Pavia fought around the gallant Francis in a circle until four only were left alive; and then, but not till then, the King fell into the hands of the foe. In gratitude for their long-tried faith and unmatched valour, they were vested with "all the honour and confidence the King of France could bestow on his nearest and dearest friends;" and thus, in a little band of Scottish Archers originated the fashion of standing armies, and the nucleus of the great permanent forces of France.

"By this means," says an old Jacobite author, "our gentry were at once taught the rules of civility and art of war; and we were possessed of an inexhaustible stock of brave officers fit to discipline and to command our armies at home, and ever sure to keep up that respect, which was deservedly paid to the Scots' name and nation abroad."

As Sir James Hepburn's regiment of Pikemen they returned to Scotland in 1633, being sent over by Louis XIII. to attend the coronation of Charles I. at Edinburgh. On the commencement of the great and disastrous civil war eight years after, they loyally adhered to the King, and were then by the Cavalier army first styled the Royal Scots. On the reverse of Charles's fortune and subversion of all order, they went back to France; and under Louis of Bourbon, Duc d'Enghien, shared in all the dangers and glories of that campaign on the frontiers of Flanders, so famous for ending in the utter destruction of the Spanish host, the death of the brave Condé de Fuentes, the fall of Thionville, Philipsburg, Mentz, Worms, and Oppenheim, till the waters of the Rhine reflected the flash of their armour; and there fell the veteran Hepburn with his helmet on his brow, and the flag of St. Andrew over him.

Returning in 1678, they re-entered the Scottish army as the Earl of Dunbarton's foot; and eight years after served against the ill-fated Monmouth, and suffered severely, being attacked at Sedgemoor by his cavalry in the night, their position being discerned through the darkness by the glow of their lighted matches.

At the Union in 1707, on the incorporation of the forces as the British establishment—and when Scottish blood and Scottish treasure were more than ever required to further the grasping aims and useless wars of that age—the Royals, in consequence of their high-standing in arms and venerable antiquity, were numbered as the First, or Royal Scots Regiment of Foot,—a title they have since maintained with honour, and on a hundred fields have upborne victoriously, the same silver cross which the brave Archers of Athole and the spearmen of Buchan unfurled so gloriously on the plains of Anjou, and at Verneuil, on the banks of the Aure.

Proud of themselves and of the honours their predecessors had sustained untarnished in so many foreign battles, Dunbarton's musqueteers felt an esprit du corps, to which at that time few other military bands were entitled; and it was with a bosom glowing with the highest sentiments of this description, that Walter Fenton for the first time clasped on the silver gorget and plumed headpiece of his junior rank, and found himself really a standard-bearer of a regiment deemed the first in Europe, and whose boasted antiquity had become a jocular proverb, obtaining for it the name of Pontius Pilate's Guard.

When next he paid his devoirs at the residence of the Napiers, Lilian fairly blushed with pleasure to see him looking so gallant and handsome; for, to a young girl's eye, a nodding plume, a golden scarf, and jewelled rapier, were considerable additions to an exterior otherwise extremely prepossessing.

The paleness resulting from his confinement had quite passed away; his olive cheek was suffused with the rich warm glow of health; while buoyant spirits, new hopes, and high aspirations, lent a lustre to his eye and a grace to his actions, which was not visible before, when he felt himself to be the mere object of patronage and dependence—the poor private gentleman with a brass-hilted whinger and corslet of black iron.

Again and again he visited the old turretted house on the Burghmuir, and drank deeper draughts of that intoxicating passion which, from its hopelessness, he dared hardly acknowledge to himself. Every day he became more and more in love, and felt that it would be impossible (with all his awe of Lady Grisel's fardingale and cane) to keep it long a secret from the being who inspired it.

CHAPTER II.
THE GLOVE.

Distrust me not, but unreserved disclose
The anxious thought that in thy bosom glows;
To impart our griefs is apt to mitigate,
And social sorrows blunt the darts of fate.
EVENING, a Poem.

A month had passed away, and the summer came; it was a month of unalloyed happiness to Walter Fenton, who, at the somewhat solitary mansion of Bruntisfield, was a frequent and always a welcome guest; and there he spent every moment he could spare from his military duties, which chiefly consisted of being on guard at the Palace Porch or Privy Council Chamber, a review on Leith Links before old Sir Thomas of Binns practising King James's new mode of exercise by flam of drum, or 'worrying' various unhappy old women to say 'God save the King,' pronounce the rising at Bothwell a rebellion, Archbishop Sharpe a martyr, and Peden an impostor.

Notwithstanding the early season of the year, the game in the woods had particularly taken his fancy; so had the herons, eels, teals, and trout of the Loch; and rabbit-warrens, and foxes that lurked among the great quarries; and with Finland he generally contrived to finish the day's loitering at the Hall fire, where Lady Grisel, with the birr of her silver-mounted wheel, performed a burden to the long and monotonous tales she inflicted, of the splendours of King Charles's court, the terrors of the wars of Montrose, and the spells and charms of sorcerers and witches—warnings, ghosts, and Heaven knows what more; but all of which proved much more interesting to her hearers in that age, than it could to my readers in this.

Walter loved better to hear the wiry tinkling of Lilian's cittern or virginals after the old lady had fallen fast asleep, and then Annie Laurie joined her clear merry voice to the deeper notes of Douglas; and they were ever a happy evening party when the pages of Cassandra, or The Banished Virgin, and other romantic folios of the day—luxury, music, and conversation, free and untrammelled as any lover could wish—made the hours fleet past on silken wings. Ever joyous and ever gay, it was a circle from which Walter departed with regret, and counted one by one the long and weary hours until he found himself there again.

Notwithstanding her violent prejudice against the obscurity of his birth, Lady Grisel warmly admired the young man for the frankness and courage he displayed, his general high bearing, and above all, for a certain strong resemblance which she averred he bore to her youngest son, Sir Archibald Napier, who was slain in the unfortunate battle of Inverkeithing, when Cromwell forced the passage of the Forth.

Lucky it was for Walter that this strong idea took possession of her mind. From that time forward she loved to see him constantly, to watch his actions and features, and to listen to the tones of his voice, until, to her moistened and aged eyes, the very image of her youngest and best-beloved son seemed to be conjured up before her; and so strong became her feelings when this fancy possessed her, that it would have been a relief to have fallen upon his neck and kissed him.

To her it was a living dream of other days—a dream that called back sorrow and joy, and a thousand tender memories from the mists that envelope the past; and Walter was often surprised to find her eyes full of tears when, after a long pause, she addressed him. Perhaps for nothing but this tender and mysterious source of interest, would she have permitted such an intimacy to spring up between the nameless soldier and Lilian, the last hope of her race, the heiress of the honours and possessions of the old barons of Bruntisfield and the Wrytes. But her mind was now becoming enfeebled by age, and prudence struggled in vain with her powerful fancies.

Lilian (but this is a secret known only to ourselves and her gossip Annie) admired young Fenton too, though with ideas widely differing from those of her grandaunt, because he was a very handsome lad, with a cavalier air, and locks curling over a white and haughty brow; keen dark eyes, that were ever full of fire, but became soft and chastened when he looked on her. She soon deemed that the curl of his lip showed a

"Spirit proud and prompt to ire;"

but she never observed his moustachioed mouth without thinking what a very handsome one it was. His soft mellow voice was deep in its tones, and she loved to listen to his words till her young heart seemed to vibrate when he spoke. He was generally subdued rather than melancholy in manner; but the depth of his own thoughts imparted to all he said an interest, that could not fail to attract a girl of Lilian's gentle disposition.

But his enthusiasm and his vehemence startled her at times, when he spoke of the soldiers of Dunbarton, and of the glory he hoped to win beneath those banners which Turenne and the Great Condé saw ever in the van of battle. Gratitude, too, had no small share in her sentiments towards him, when, reflecting on the risk he had so generously run to save her dearest and (except one) her only relative from a humiliating examination by the imperious Privy Council; and she shuddered to think how narrowly he had escaped the extremity of their wrath; for every instrument of torture was then judicially used at the pleasure and caprice of the judicial authorities.

A month, we have said, had passed away: in that brief time a great change had gradually stolen over the hearts of Walter and Lilian Napier. No declaration of love had been made on his part, and there had been no acceptance on hers; but they were on the footing of lovers: secret and sincere, each had only acknowledged the passion to themselves: to her he had never whispered a word of the love that now animated every thought and action; but she was not ignorant of his affection, which a thousand little tendernesses revealed—and love will beget love in others.

They both felt it, or at least thought so.

Though his dark eyes might become brighter or more languid, his voice more insinuating, and his manner more graceful and gentle, when he addressed her, never had he assumed courage sufficient to reveal the secret thought that with each succeeding interview was daily and hourly becoming more and more a part of his existence. Often he longed to be an earl, a lord, or even a laird like Finland, that then he might throw himself and his fortune at her feet, and declare the depth of his passion in those burning expressions, that a thousand times trembled on his lips, and were there chained by diffidence and poverty.

He was very timid, too: what true lover is not?

A circumstance soon occurred, which, however trivial in itself, was mighty in its effect on our two young friends; and, by opening up the secret fountain of hope and pleasure, altered equally the aspect of their friendship and the even tenor of their way.

Lilian was fair and beautiful indeed; and (though not one of those magnificent beings that exist only in the brains of romancers) when gifted with all the mystic charms and romantic beauty, with which the glowing fancy of the lover ever invests his mistress, she became in Walter's imagination something more angelic and enchanting than he had previously conceived to exist; for a lover sees everything through the medium of beauty and delight.

Notwithstanding the real charms of her mind and person, she possessed a greater and more lasting source of attraction, in a graceful sweetness of manner which cannot be described. With a voice that was ever "low and sweet," and with all her girlish frankness and openness of character, she could at times assume a womanly firmness and high decision of manner, which every Scottish maid and matron had need to possess in those days of stout hearts and hard blows, when brawls and conflicts were of hourly occurrence, as no man ever went abroad unarmed; and the upper classes, by never permitting an insult to pass unpunished, became as much accustomed to the use of the sword and dagger as their plodding descendants to handling the peaceful quill and useful umbrella.

On a bright evening in May, when the sun was sinking behind the wooded ridge of the dark Corstorphine hills, and when the shadows of the turrets of Bruntisfield and its thick umbrageous oaks were thrown far across the azure loch, where the long-legged herons were wading in search of the trout and perch, where the coot fluttered and the snow-white swan spread its soft plumage to the balmy western wind, Walter accompanied Lilian Napier and her fair friend, Annie Laurie, in a ramble by the margin of the beautiful sheet of water, the green and sloping banks of which were enamelled by summer flowers.

The purple heath-bell, bowers of the blooming hawthorn, the bright yellow broom, and a profusion of wild rose-trees, loaded the air with perfume; for everything was arrayed in the greenness, the sunlight, the purity, the glory of summer, and the thick dark oaks of Drumsheugh towered up as darkly and as richly, as when the sainted King David and his bold thanes hunted the snow-white bull and bristly boar beneath their sombre shadows.

The charms of the beautiful Annie Laurie live yet in Scottish song, though the name and memory of the gallant lover whose muse embalmed them is all but forgotten.

Tall and fair, with a face of the most perfect loveliness, she had eyes of the darkest blue, shaded by long black lashes, cheeks tinged with red like a peach by the morning sun, and bright auburn hair rolling in heavy curls over a slender and delicate neck, imparting a graceful negligence to the dignity of her fine figure. Her whole features possessed a matchless expression of sweetness and vivacity; her nose was the slightest approach to aquiline; her lips were short and full; her profile eminently noble. A broad beaver hat, tied with coquettish ease, and adorned by one long ostrich feather drooping over her right shoulder, formed her head-gear; while a dress of light-blue silk, with the sleeves puffed and slashed with white satin, and white gloves of Blois fastened by gold bracelets, formed part of her attire. She carried a pretty heavy riding-switch, which completed the jaunty, piquant, and saucy character of her air and beauty.

The young ladies were walking together, and Lilian hung on the arm of her taller friend; while her cavalier was alternately by the side of each.

Though loving Lilian, he conversed quite as much—perhaps more—with her gay companion, whose prattle and laughter were incessant; for Annie invariably made it a rule to talk nonsense when nothing better occurred to her. Walter treated both with the utmost tenderness, but Lilian with the greatest respect: he now felt truly what Finland had often averred, "that the girl one loves is greater than an empress."

"And so," Mr. Fenton, said Annie, continuing her incessant raillery, "is it true that a party of Dunbarton's braves were out at the House-of-Linn yesterday, dragooning the poor cottars to pray for King James, to ban the Covenant, and all that?"

"It is but too true, I fear. Indeed, I was on that duty, and at the Richardson's Barony of Cramond too."

"Oh, such valour!—to terrify women and children, and drive the poor millers and fishers away; to stop the mills, break the dams, spoil the nets, and sink the boats. Fie upon you! Don't come near me, sir. Alas for the warriors of the great Condé, how sadly they are degenerating! Oh! Mr. Fenton, we positively blush for you: do we not, gossip Lilian?"

"Fair Annie, you are very severe upon me. If I was on such a duty, could I help it? A soldier must hear and obey."

"Even to ducking his mother, I suppose. Go to—I have no patience with such work! And was it by Finland's orders that all the old cummers of Cramond were sent swimming down the river tied to chairs and cutty-stools?"

"But they were very old, and ugly too; besides, the stream was very shallow. And as they were all caught in the act of singing a psalm in the wood of Dalmenie, what else could we do but duck them well for their contumacy? It was rare fun, I assure you, and Finland nearly burst his corslet with laughing; but I assure you, ladies, we only ducked the old women of the village."

"Ay—ay; the young would not get off scatheless, I fear," replied Annie, giving him a switch with her riding-rod; "I know soldiers of old. But, marry come up! our Teviotdale lads would have given you a hot reception had you come among them with such hostile intentions."

"Then the worse would be their fare," said Walter, in a tone of pique. "When ordered by our superiors to test the people——"

"Heigh-day! Now, good Mr. Fenton, suppose you were commanded to test us in that rough fashion, because we would not pronounce Sharp a martyr and the Covenant a bond of rebellion, and said just whatever you wished of us,—what then? For, in sooth, we would say none of those things: would we, gossip Lilian?"

"But then we should each be sent voyaging down the loch on a cutty-stool," said Lilian, joining her friend in a loud burst of merriment.

"On my honour, ladies," said Walter very seriously, "these Orders of Council refer only to the rascal multitude. Who ever heard of a lady of rank being treated like a cottar-wife?"

"High and low share alike the vengeance of the Council, and Argyle lost his head for some such bubble. I cannot forget how, in the January of '82, six years ago (faith, I am getting quite an old spinster!), Claver'se and his troop took a fancy to quarter themselves at our house of Maxwelton, because my youngest sister had been christened by that poor man Ichabod Bummel, who carries misfortune wherever he shows his long nose. The cavalier troopers ate and drank up all they could lay hands on, in cellar, buttery, and barnyard; and I was terrified to death by the clank of their jack-boots and long rapiers, as they laughed and swore, and pursued the servants up one stair and down another. But Claver'se drew his chair in by the hall-fire, and taking me upon his knee, looked on me so kindly with his great black eyes, that I forgot the horror my mother's tales of him had inspired me with; and he kissed me twice, saying I would be the bonniest lass in all Nithsdale,—and has it not come true? But Colonel Grahame is so ferocious——"

"Oh! hush, Annie," whispered Lilian, for the name of Claverhouse was seldom mentioned but with studied respect and secret hatred, from the fear of his supernatural powers.

"Tush, dear Lilian! I am resolved to assert our prerogative to say whatever we have a mind to. But to return to the raid of yesterday. Had you heard Finland describing how valiantly his soldiers marched into the little hamlet, with drums beating, pikes advanced, and matches lighted, driving wives and weans and cocks and hens before them, you would (like me) have felt severely that the brave cavaliers of Dunbarton, les Gardes Ecossais of Arran and Aubigne, the stout hearts that stormed the towers of Oppenheim, had come to so low a pass now. If ever Finland goes on another such barns-breaking errand, I vow he shall never come into my presence again!"

"Under favour, fair Annie," said Walter laughingly, "your heart would soon relent; for I know you to be a true cavalier-dame, notwithstanding all this severe raillery."

"I have heard her say quite as much to the Earl of Perth—what dost think of that, Walter?" said Lilian.

"It is more than the boldest of our Barons dared have done in these degenerate days; but he would find how impossible it is to be displeased with you, fair Annie. How is it, Madam Lilian, that you do not in some way assist me against the raillery of your gossip? Her waggery is very smarting, I assure you."

Ere Lilian could speak, the clear voice of Annie interrupted her by exclaiming—

"Aha, Mr. Fenton, you have dropped something from the breast of that superbly pinked vest of yours—is it a tag, a tassel, or what?"

"I know not," he muttered hurriedly, putting his hand in the breast of his coat.

"It fell among the grass," said Lilian.

"Oh, I have it! I have it!" added Annie, springing forward and picking something up. "'Tis here—on my honour a glove!"

"A lady's—it fell from his breast," said Lilian in a breathless voice.

"Of beautiful point lace—one of yours, gossip Lilian? O brave!—ha! ha!"

"Mine—mine, said you?" Lilian's voice faltered; she grew pale and red alternately, while adding, with an air of confusion, "You are jesting as usual, you daft lassie. Oh, surely 'tis a mistake!"

"Judge for yourself, love. I saw you mark it: here are your initials worked in beads of blue and silver."

"It is but too true—I lost it some weeks ago," faltered Lilian, whose timid blue eyes stole one furtive glance at the handsome culprit under their long brown lashes, and were instantly cast down in the utmost confusion. She was excited almost to tears.

"Forsooth, there is something immensely curious in all this, Mr. Fenton," continued the waggish Annie, twirling the little glove aloft on the point of her riding-switch. "We must have you arraigned before the High Court of Love, and compelled to confess, under terror of his bow-string, to a jury of fair ladies, when and wherefore you obtained this glove."

"Now, Mr. Fenton, do;" urged Lilian, entering somewhat into the gay spirit of her friend, though her happy little heart vibrated with confusion and joy as tumultuously as a moment ago it had beat with jealousy and fear. "Tell us when you got it, and all about it."

"The night Ichabod Bummel was arrested," replied Walter, who still coloured deeply at this unexpected discovery, for he was yet but young in the art of love.

"Aha, and Lilian gave it! My pretty little prude, and is it thus with thee?"

"Cease, I pray you, Annie Laurie!" said Lilian, in a tone very much akin to asperity. "I hope Mr. Fenton will resolve this matter himself."

"Forgive me, Lilian—forgive me, Madam. I found it on the floor after your escape, and I kept it as a token of remembrance. You will pardon my presumption in doing so, when I say, at that time, I thought never, never to meet you again, and assuredly could not have foreseen the happiness of an hour like this." He spoke in a brief and confused manner, for he was concerned at the annoyance Annie's raillery evidently caused Lilian. "Permit me to restore it," he added, with increased confusion, "or perhaps you—you will permit me—"

"What?"

"To have the honour of retaining it."

"O no—no; how could you think of that?" said Lilian hurriedly and timidly, as she took the glove from the upheld riding-rod, and concealing it in some part of her dress, continued, "now let us hear no more of this silly affair. Ah, Mr. Walter, how sadly you have exposed yourself! To carry one's old glove about you, as Aunt Grisel does a charm against cramp, or thunder, or luck. 'Tis quite droll! Ah, good Heavens!" she added, in a whisper, "do not tell her of this affair, Annie!"

"Dost think I am so simple? Finland has taught me how one ought to keep one's own secrets from fathers and mothers, and aunts too."

"But to-morrow your sedan will be seen trotting over the whole town, up this close and down that, as you hurry from house to house, telling the wonderful adventure of the glove, and trussed up quite into a story in your own peculiar fashion, as long as the Grand Scipio, or any romance of Scuderi."

"For Lilian's sake, let me hope not, Mistress Laurie," said Walter, imploringly, to the gay beauty.

"Trust me for once, dear Lilian," said Annie, patting her cheek with her riding-switch, "I know when to prattle and when to be silent. Dost really think, my sweet little gossip, that I would jest with thy name, as I do with those of my Lady Jean Gordon, Mary of Charteris, the Countess of Dunbarton, or any of our wild belles who care not a rush how many fall in love with them, but bestow glances and kerchiefs, and rings and love-knots of ribbon, on all and sundry? I trow not. Apropos of that! I know three gentlemen of Claver'se Guards who wear Mary's favours in their hats, and if these ribbons are dyed in brave blood some grey morning, she alone will be to blame, for her coquetry is very dangerous. Young Holsterlee will be at the Countess of Dunbarton's ball à la Française next week; observe him narrowly, and you will see a true-love knot of white ribbons at his breast; and if the young Lords Maddertie and Fawsyde are there, you will see each with the same gift from the same fond and liberal hand. Ah, she is a wild romp! It was the Duchess Mary's late suppers, and Monsieur Minuette's Bretagne that quite spoiled her, for once upon a time she was as grave, discreet, and silent as—as myself."

"O you wag—such a recluse she must have been!"

"Quite a little nun!" added Annie, and both the charming girls laughed with all the gaiety of their sex and the thoughtlessness of their rank.

Lilian was both vexed and pleased at the discovery that Fenton had for so many weeks borne her glove in his bosom; but from that time forward she became more reserved in his presence, and walked little with him in the garden, and still less in the lawn or by the banks of the loch.

She did not avoid his presence, but gave him fewer opportunities of being alone with her. Did she think of him less?

Ah, surely not.

A lover is the pole-star of a young girl's thoughts by day and night, and never was Walter's image absent a moment from the mind of Lilian; for like himself she numbered and recounted the hours until they met again. Their meetings were marked by diffidence and embarrassment, and their parting with secret regret.

Walter, too, was somewhat changed, from the knowledge that Lilian had discovered his passion. His voice, which seemed the same to other ears, became softer and more insinuating when he addressed her. He was, if possible, more respectful, and more timid, and more tender. His imagination—what a plague it was! and how very fertile in raising ideal annoyances! One hour his heart was joyous with delight at the memory of some little incident—a word or a smile; and the the next he nursed himself into a state of utter wretchedness, with the idea that Lilian had looked rather coldly upon him, or had spoken far too kindly of her cousin the captain of the Scots' Brigade.

Though the latter was a bugbear in his way, Walter did not seriously fear a rival; for he wore a sword, and after the fashion of the time feared no man. He dreaded most the loss of Lilian's esteem, for he dared not think that yet she linked love and his name together in her mind. Could he have read her heart and known her secret thoughts, he would have found a passion as deep as his own concealed under the bland purity and innocence of her smile, which revealed only well-bred pleasure at his approach.

Many days of anxious hoping and fearing, &c. passed, after the affair of the glove, but he saw Lilian thrice only. She kept close by the side of her grand-aunt Grisel, and the old lady seldom left her wheel and well-cushioned chair in the chamber-of-dais.

"Why did she not permit me to retain the glove?" he would at times say to himself. "Then I would have no cause for all my present doubts and fears. Had we been alone, perhaps she would have done so——"

Walter was right in that conjecture.

CHAPTER III.
A BALL IN THE OLDEN TIME.

Shades of my fathers, in your pasteboard skirts,
Your broidered waistcoats and your plaited shirts,
Your formal bag-wigs—wide extended cuffs,
Your five-inch chitterlings and nine-inch ruffs;
I see you move the solemn minuet o'er,
The modest foot scarce rising from the floor.
SALMAGUNDI.

On the south side of the city where the old Liberton road branching off enters it by two diverging routes, one by the narrow and ancient Potter Row, and the other by the street of the Bristo Port, a formidable gate in the re-entering angle of the city-wall, which bristled with cannon and overlooked the way that descended to the Grass-market, there stood in 1688 (and yet stands) an antique mansion of very picturesque aspect. It is furnished with numerous outshots and projections, broad, dark, and bulky stacks of chimnies reared up in unusual places, and having over the upper windows circular pediments enriched with initials and devices, but now blackened by age and encrusted with the smoky vapour of centuries.

It is still known as the "General's House," from its having been anciently the residence appropriated to the Commander-in-chief of the Scottish forces. A narrow passage leads to it from that ancient suburban Burgh of Barony, the Potter's Row, where doubtless many a psalm-singing puritan of Monk's Regiment, many a scarred trooper of Leven's Iron Brigade, and many a stern veteran of the Covenant have kept watch and ward, in the pathway which is still, as of old, styled, par excellence, THE General's Entry.

Its garden has now become a lumber-yard, and is otherwise encroached upon; its stables have long since vanished, and mean dwellings surround and overtop it; the windows are stuffed with old hats and bundles of straw or rags; brown paper flaps dismally in the broken glasses, and its once gay chambers, where the "cunning George Monk," the grave and stern Leven, Dalyel of the iron-heart, and the gallant Dunbarton feasted royally, and held wassail with their comrades, have, like all the surrounding mansions of the great and noble of the other days, been long since abandoned to citizens of the poorest and humblest class.

In 1688 its aspect was very different.

Standing then on the very verge of the city, it was deemed in the country, though now the gas lamps extend two miles beyond it, and dense and populous streets occupy the sites of two straggling and unpretending suburbs of thatched cottages and "sclaited lands." To the southward of the road, a narrow rugged horseway, passed through fields and thickets towards the great Loch of the Burgh, and ascending its opposite bank, passed the straggling suburb named the Causeway-side, where there were many noble old villas, the residences of Sir Patrick Johnstone, of the Laird of Westerhall, and others, and sweeping past the ruined convent of St. Catherine of Sienna, wound over the hill (near a gibbet that was seldom unoccupied by sweltering corpses and screaming ravens), towards the Barony of Liberton, a lonely hamlet with a little stone spire, and the tall square tower of the Winrams, in older days the patrimony of a lesser Baron named Macbeth.

To the westward of the General's House were fertile fields that extended close up to the defences of the city, then a long line of lofty and embattled walls built of reddish-coloured sandstone, strengthened at intervals by towers alternately of a round or square form, which defended its various ports or barrier-gates. Within this stony zone rose the dark and massive city, which for ages had been increasing in denseness; for, in consequence of the nature of the times, and the dubious relations of the country with its southern neighbour, the citizens seldom dared to build beyond the narrow compass of the walls.

From these causes, and in imitation of those bad allies the French, Edinburgh, like ancient Paris, became deeper and closer, taller and yet more tall; house arose upon house, street was piled upon street, bartizan, gable, and tower shot up to an amazing height, and were wedged within the walls, till the thoroughfares like those of Venice were only three feet broad, and in some places exhibited fourteen tiers of windows.

An Act of the Scottish Legislature was found absolutely necessary to curb the rage for stupendous houses, and in 1698 it was enacted, that none should be erected within the liberties of the city exceeding five stories in height. Prior to the middle of the seventeenth century Edinburgh could not boast of one court or square save that of White Horse Hostel, if indeed it could be termed either.

The access to these vast and imperishable piles was by turnpike stairs, steep, narrow, dark, and mysterious. The population of the city was then about 50,000; but as it increased, so did the denseness of the houses; even the buttresses of the great cathedral were all occupied by little dwellings, till the venerable church resembled a hen with a brood under her wings. Year by year for seven centuries the alleys had become higher and narrower, till Edinburgh looked like a vast city crowded in close column on the steep faces of a hill, until the building of a bridge to the north, when it burst from the embattled girdle that for ages had pent it up, and more like another Babylon than a "modern Athens" spread picturesquely over every steep rock and deep defile in its vicinity. But to return:

On a dusky evening Walter Fenton and Douglas of Finland, muffled in their ample scarlet rocquelaures, which completely hid their rich dresses, came stumbling along the dark and narrow Potter's Row, towards the gate of the General's House, where a mounted guard of the Grey Dragoons sat motionless as twenty statues, the conical fur cap of each trooper forming the apex of a pyramid, which his wide cloak made, when spread over the crupper of his horse. Still and firm as if cast in bronze, were every horse and man. Each trooper rested his short musquetoon on his thigh, with the long dagger screwed on its muzzle. This guard of honour was under arms to receive the General's military guests, and the fanfare of the trumpets and a ruffle on the kettle-drum announced that Sir Thomas Dalyel of Binns had just arrived.

In the entry stood a foot soldier muffled in his sentinel's coat.

"One of ours, I think," said Douglas; "Art one of the old Die-hards, good fellow?"

"Hab Elshender, at your service, Laird."

"Hah! hath the Lady Bruntisfield arrived?" asked Walter.

"Ay, Sir," replied Hab, with a knowing Scots' grin; for he understood the drift of the question: "Ay, Sir—and Madam Lilian too—looking for a' the world like the queen of the fairies."

Within the gate the court was filled with light and bustle. Carriages of ancient fashion and clumsy construction profusely decorated with painting and gilding, with coats armorial on the polished pannels and waving hammer-cloths, rolled up successively to the doorway; sedans gaudy with brass nails, red silk blinds, and scarlet poles, military chargers, and servants on foot and horseback in gorgeous liveries, all glittering in the light of the flaring links which usually preceded every person of note when threading the gloomy and narrow thoroughfares of Edinburgh after nightfall.

Impatient at every moment which detained him from the side of Lilian, now, when he could appear before her to the utmost advantage, Walter, heedless of preceding his friend, sprang up the handsome staircase of carved oak, the walls of which were covered with painted panels and trophies of arms, conspicuous among which was the standard of the unfortunate Argyle taken in the conflict of Muirdykes three years before. Here they threw their broad hats and red mantles to the servants, and were immediately ushered into a long suite of apartments, which were redolent of perfume and brilliant with light and gaiety.

Douglas, whose extremely handsome features were of a dark and olive hue, like all those of his surname generally, wore the heavy cavalier wig falling over his collar of point d'Espagne and gold-studded breastplate. Walter had his own natural hair hanging in dark curls on a cuirass of silver, polished so bright that the fair dancers who flitted past every moment saw their flushed faces reflected in its glassy surface.

Their coats and breeches were of scarlet, pinked with blue silk and laced with gold; their sashes were of yellow silk, but had massive tassels of gold; and their formidable bowl-hilted rapiers were slung in shoulder-belts of velvet embroidered with silver. Their long military gloves almost met the cuffs of their coats, which were looped up to display the shirt-sleeves—a new fashion of James VII.; and everything about them was perfumed to excess. Such was the attire of the military of that day, as regulated by the "Royal Orders" of the King.

Threading their way through a crowd of dancers, whose magnificent dresses of bright-hued satins and velvets laced with silver or gold, and blazing with jewels, sparkled and shone as they glided from hand to hand to the music of an orchestra perched in a recessed gallery of echoing oak, they passed into an inner apartment to pay their devoirs to the Countess, who for a time had relinquished the dance to overlook the tea-board—a solemn, arduous, and highly-important duty, which was executed by her lady-in-waiting, a starched demoiselle of very doubtful age.

Though rather diminutive in person, the Countess of Dunbarton was a very beautiful woman, and possessed all that dazzling fairness of complexion which is so characteristic of her country-women. She was English, and a sister of the then Duchess of Northumberland. Her eyes were of a bright and merry blue; her hair of the richest auburn; her small face was quite enchanting in expression, and very piquant in its beauty; while her fine figure was decidedly inclined to embonpoint.

She was one of the fashionable mirrors of the day, and the standard by whom the stately belles of Craig's Close and the Blackfriars Wynd regulated the depth of their stomachers and the length of their trains—the star of Mary d'Este's balls at Holyrood, where, in the splendour of her jewels, she had nearly rivalled the famous Duchess of Lauderdale; and though an Englishwoman, notwithstanding the jealousy and dislike which from time immemorial had existed between the two kingdoms, she was, from the suavity of her manner, the brilliancy of her wit, and the amiability of her disposition, both admired and beloved in Edinburgh.

With a pretty and affected air, she held her silver pouncet-box in an ungloved and beautifully-formed hand, which was whiter than the bracelet of pearls that encircled it. Close by, upon a satin cushion, reposed a pursy, pug-nosed, and silky little lap-dog, of his late Majesty's favourite and long-eared breed. It had been a present from himself, and bore the royal cypher on its silver collar. Near her on a little tripod table of ebony stood the tea-board, with its rich equipage and a multitude of little china cups glittering with blue and gold.

The tea, dark, fragrant, and priceless beyond any now in use, was served by the prim gentlewoman before mentioned (the daughter of some decayed family), who acted as her useful friend and companion; and slowly it was poured out like physic from a little silver pot of curious workmanship, a gift from Mary Stuart (then Princess of Orange), and the same from which she was wont to regale the ladies of Holyrood.

Tea was unknown in London at the time of the Restoration; and when introduced a few years afterwards by the Lords Arlington and Ossory, was valued at sixty shillings the pound; but the beautiful Mary d'Este of Modena was the first who made it known in the Scottish capital in 1681. This new and costly beverage was still one of the wonders and innovations of the age, and was only within the reach of the great and wealthy until about 1750; but the royal tea-parties, masks and entertainments of the Duchess Mary and her affable daughters, were long the theme of many a tall great-grandmother, and remembered with veneration and regret among other vanished glories, when, by the cold blight that fell upon her, poor Scotland felt too surely that "a stranger" filled the throne of the Stuarts.

Lady Grisel of Bruntisfield, and other venerable dowagers and ancient maiden gentlewomen (a species in which some old Scottish families are still very prolific), all as stiff as pride, brocade, starch, and buckram could make them, were sitting very primly and uprightly in their high-backed chairs, clustered round the Countess's little tripod table, like pearls about a diamond, when the cavaliers advanced to pay their respects.

"Welcome! Finland," said the Countess, addressing Douglas according to the etiquette of the country. "My old friend Walter, your most obedient servant. How fortunate!—we have just been disputing about romances, and drawing comparisons between that lumbering folio The Banished Virgin and the Cassandra. You will act our umpire. My dear boy, let me look at you; how well you look, and so handsome, in all this bravery; doth he not, Mistress Lilian?"

Lilian, who, in all the splendour of diamonds and full dress, was leaning on Aunt Grisel's chair, blushed too perceptibly at this very pointed question, but was spared attempting a reply, for the gay Countess continued:

"Remember, Walter, that the great Middleton, who became an earl, and lieutenant-general of the Scots' Horse, began his career like yourself, by trailing a partisan in the old Royals—then Hepburn's pikemen in the French service; and who knoweth, my dear child, where yours may end? Heigho! These perilous times are the making and unmaking of many a brave man. So, Mr. Douglas, we were disputing about——(Madam Ruth, assist the gentlemen to dishes of tea)——about—what was it?—O, a passage in the Cassandra."

"I shall be happy to be of any service to your Ladyship," began Finland, with his blandest smile, while raising to his well-moustachioed lip a little thimbleful of the new-fashioned beverage, which he cordially detested, but took for form's sake.

"We are in great doubts whether Lysimachus was justified in running his falchion through poor Oleander, for merely desiring the charioteer of the beautiful princesses to drive faster. You will remember the passage. We all think it very cruel, and that no lover is entitled to be so outrageous."

Douglas knew the pages of his muster-roll better than those of the romance in question, but he answered promptly:

"I think Master Oleander was an impudent rascal, and well deserving a few inches of cold iron, or a sound truncheoning at the hands of the provost-marshal. I remember doing something of that kind myself about the time that old Mareschal de Crecqui was blocked up and taken in Treves."

"Ay, Douglas, that was when we were with the column of the Moselle," said the Earl, who now approached and leaned on the back of the Countess's chair. "It was shortly after the brave Turenne had been killed by that unlucky cannonball that deprived France of her best chevalier. We were in full retreat across the river. Some ladies of the army were with us in a handsome calêche, as gay a one as ever rolled along the Parisian Boulevards. There was a devil of a press at the barrier gate of Montroyale, and an officer of the Regiment de Picardie was urging the horses of the vehicle to full speed by goading them with his half-pike, regardless of the cries of the ladies, when Finland, by one blow of his baton, unhorsed him, and some say he never marched more."

"O! Mr. Douglas!" said the Countess, holding up her hands.

"There was an old feud between us and the chevaliers de Picardie," continued the Earl; "but the worst of this malheur was, that the poor officer was the husband of one of the demoiselles in question; and as she was extremely handsome, and Finland, by becoming her very devoted serviteur, endeavoured, during the remainder of the campaign, to make every amends for the loss he had occasioned her; the gallants of the army said——"

"Marry, come up! My Lord, dost take my boudoir for a tavern or a sutler's tent? Fie! Laird of Finland, you are worse than the Lysimachus of the romance. But what think you, Walter, of that hero becoming enamoured of the fair prisoner committed to his care, the Princess Parisatis? It would seem that in ancient times, as well as modern, that beauty must be a dangerous trust for a young soldier."

The Earl laughed till he shook the perfume from his wig; Walter smiled, and stole one glance at Lilian. She, too, was smiling, and playing with her fan; but her long lashes were cast down, and her cheek was burning with blushes.

"So dangerous, indeed, is beauty," said the Earl, "that had I any fair prisoners, I would entrust them only to old fellows with leather visages and tough hearts, ancient routiers, like Will Wemyss, or, if they were remarkably handsome, why, I might keep them in my own immediate charge."

"Indeed, my Lord—quotha?" said the Countess, pouting.

"Believe me, dear Lætitia," said the handsome noble, patting her white shoulder, "they could not be in safer keeping than the wardship of your husband. He can never see beauty in others."

She smiled at the Earl's compliment, and turning to the blushing Lilian, said:

"In sooth, madam, Walter Fenton was always somewhat addicted to gallantry, though Mistress Ruth and he were ever at drawn daggers while he was about me. While a boy, he was quite a little cavaliero; and when obeying my orders, always preferred a kiss to any other reward. But by my honour, little Walter was so pretty a boy, that I gave him enough to have made my Lord the Earl quite jealous. Even Anne of Monmouth and Buccleugh, never had a page so handsome and so gay; and I doubt not, boy, thou prove a true Scottish cavalier in those sad wars which all men say are fast approaching."

Walter's only reply was pressing to his lips the white hand of the beautiful English woman; for his heart was too full to speak.

"And now, Walter," she continued, "as a mark of my favour you shall dance with me, while Lord Dunbarton leads out the young lady of Bruntisfield. I have not been on the floor since the first cotillon with Claverhouse. Madam Ruth, you will please preside at the tea-board. Mr. Douglas—Finland, as you Scots name him, where is he?"

"Gone to look for the Lily of Maxwelton, I warrant," said the Earl.

"Then he may even spare himself the trouble, poor man! she has been coquetting for this hour past with the Laird of Craigdarroch, a gentleman of the Life Guards. On, on, or we shall be late for the cotillon. Ah, Walter, you are still looking after that fair girl Napier. She is very pretty; but are you really in love with her? You blush! Bless you, my poor boy, she is immensely rich they say—and—but you shall dance with her next."

As they advanced among the dancers, a tall lady in scarlet brocade, with a stomacher blazing with diamonds, swept past. She was led by a gentleman gorgeously attired in a coat of pink velvet, lined and slashed with yellow satin, and looped and buttoned with gold. Like all the rest, his voluminous wig was of the most glossy black. His dark stern eyes glared for a moment upon Walter, as he bowed profoundly to the Countess and passed on.

"'Tis Mary of Charteris, and that fearful man Lord Clermistonlee," said she. "We cannot omit him here though we detest him. How handsome, how noble he looks; and yet, how repulsive!"

A crash of music burst from the arched gallery, and after a few preliminary flourishes, a cotillon commenced. This graceful dance was then the universal favourite, but has long been superseded or merged in the modern quadrille, where some of its figures are still retained. Though stately in measure and elaborate in step, the cotillon had none of that grave solemnity which characterises the latter. When our forefathers danced, they did so in good earnest, and the whole ballroom became instinct with life, action, and agile grace, as the dancers swept to the right and to the left, the tall ladies with their high plumage floating, trains sweeping, and red-heeled slippers pattering, while their pendants and lappets, flounces and frills, and pompoons and puffs were flashing, glinting, and waving among the curled wigs and laced coats, diamond hilted swords and brocade-vests of the gentlemen. In what might (now) be deemed odd contrast with the richness of their attire, and the starched dignity of their demeanour, familiar and homely expressions were heard from time to time, such as,—

"My Leddy Becky, your hand—Drumdryan, you're a' gaun agee, man!—Pardon, my Lord Spynie, your rapier's tirled wi' mine—Haud ye a', my Leddy Pituchar has drappit her pouncet-box!—Hoots, Laird Holster, are you daft?—Pilrig, set to her Leddyship," and so forth.

Meanwhile Douglas wandered through the glittering throng in quest of his beautiful Anne, nodding briefly on all hands; for Dick, the Laird of Finland, was one of those gay fellows whom every body knew; but his fair one was nowhere visible. He began to wax fearfully wroth, and resolving to dance with no one else, continued his search until he found himself at the end of the suite of apartments, in a handsome little room wainscotted with gilt panels, and having a large sun gilded over the mantel-piece, from the centre of which, as from a reflector, a blaze of yellow light was thrown by an alabaster lamp.

Lord Mersington, accurately attired in black velvet, plainly laced with silver, Dalyel, with his long white beard and mail-rusted buff coat, looking as ferocious as ever, with his enormous toledo, and Swedish jingle-spurs, which in lieu of rowels had each four metal balls in a bell, and consequently made a great noise when he walked; the unfortunate President Lockhart, the "bluidy Advocate," Mackenzie, the two ancient maiden dames of Pheesgil, Lady Grisel Napier, and Madam Drumsturdy, a tall and raw-boned dowager in black taffeta with pearls, plumes and heartbreakers (or false ringlets) were all intently playing at the old-fashioned game of Primero.

"Hee, hee, my Lady Drumsturdy," said Mersington, simpering like an ape at his partner in his attempts to be pleasing, "the general is a kittle opponent. A spade led."

"Your Lordship will not turn my flank gif I can help it—'tis a knave;" replied the old cavalier, sorting his suite. "I ken Primero weel. Mony a time and oft, d—n me! I have played a round game at it, and Ombre, Knave-out-o'-doors, Post-and-pair on the head o' a kettle-drum, and mony a score o' roubles I have swept off the same gude table: but troth, Mersington, ye are waur to warsle wi' then a Don Cossack—(play, Sir George)—o' whom God wot, I have had some experience in my time."

"Ay, ay—hee, hee—a diamond was played," said Mersington, as the card party exchanged glances of impatience, confidently foreseeing the infliction of some of Sir Thomas's Russian reminiscences.

"Speaking o' Don Cossacks," said he, starting off without further preamble, and clanking his enormous spurs; "it was just this time thirty years ago that we sacked Smolensko and Kiow, after storming them from the Polanders. Dags and pistols! but my squadron of Cossacks shewed themselves born deevils that day. Sabre and spear was the cry. Some braw pickings we got, your ladyships, in that same province of Lithuania, which to an industrious cavalier, who knoweth the fashion of war, is as fine a place for free inquartering as the Garden of Eden would have been, d—n me!"

"Oh! Sir Thomas," said Lady Grisel deprecatingly. "But is it true that in Muscovy no man will either beck, bow, or veil bonnet to a woman in the streets?"

"I hope no true-born Russ would undervalue himsel' so far," replied Sir Thomas, stroking his silver beard. "He would as soon put his head in the fire as bend it to any woman, his ain mother even; and as for adoring beauty—udsdaggers! a Muscovite would sooner think of adoring his horse's tail. I assure you, ladies, that the great Duke of Muscovy himsel' would not permit his mother, wife, or daughter to eat at the same buird wi' him, even if it were to save their lives. 'Tis the law o' the land, and a very gude ane too."

Here the old ladies held up their hands and eyes, but the General continued.

"They are fine cheilds those same Russians though, and I will at one sliver cut the throat of any loon that gainsayeth it. Had your ladyships seen Salcroff's Black Cuirassiers sweeping ten thousand wild Tartars before them, and driving them with levelled lances into the foaming waters of the Vistula, it would have been a sight to mind o'. Udsdaggers! that was different work from riding owre a band o' puir psalm-singing deevils o' Covenanters, just as ane would trot owre a corn-rig. Ay, those were the days, and that was the service, for a pretty man! My Lord President, play if it please you."

"You are an awfu' man, Binns," said Mersington; "a perfect auld deil's buckie, and weel kent to be a most unrelenting tulzier, that caresna whether a man crieth quarter in our decent Scots' tongue, or in that o' an Englishman, Tartar, or other unco body, death being the doom o' all alike."

"And what for no, my lord?" rejoined this ferocious commander, knitting his formidable brows. "Are these times in whilk to shew mercy to low-born rapscallions? A bonny spot o' work this is in the north: these deevils the Clandonald o' Keppoch and the Fusileer Guard hae been at it ding-dong wi' pike and broadsword every day for this week past. But I have heard that Captain Crichton is off on the spur wi' some horse and dragoons, to tak' a turn against the Hielandmen; and if he sends a pockfu' o' heads now and then to the Council, he will not be riding aboon the King's commission."

"Oh, Sir Thomas!" ejaculated Lady Grisel again, "the brave are ever merciful."

"So, please your ladyship, I have often ridden by the side of a certain cavalier, Sir Archibald Napier of Bruntisfield, whom Montrose esteemed as brave a man as put foot in stirrup; and, like mysel', he shewed but small favour to the canting, crop-luggit, covenanting rapscallions o' his time. Puir Paton o' Meadowhead and Wallace o' Auchans, whom thrice at Pentland I had this very blade upraised to smite, were the only honest men that followed their banner. God sain them baith! for they were pretty men, and knew the wars like mysel'.—Lady Drumsturdy, a spade if you please."

"Sir Thomas," said the soft voice of Lady Grisel, "no marvel it is that the poor nonjurors shrink before you, even as from—from——"

"Our gude friend wi' the forkit tail," added Mersington, closing the sentence, while Dalyel's bushy beard shook with his laughter as he replied—

"Ou ay; and like Claver'se, Glenæ, Lag, and a few mair o' our leal royal commanders, I am proof to lead and steel—ha! ha! Weel may these sniveling loons, who sold their King for a groat, and sacrificed their country for its d—n'd Kirk, quail before the eye of a leal man and true. I am an auld gentleman trooper, and trailed a pike under the Muscovite eagle owre lang to hae mony remains o' tenderness, whilk is a failing I believe few folk will accuse me o'. Uds-daggers, Finland, I see you listening, my braw man. Your beard may grow white like mine (though, after the fashion o' these degenerate days, your chin is as smooth as a Christmas apple), but never will ye ride owre the spur-leathers in Tartar gore as I have done. Braw gallants as ye are, in your plate corslets and pinkit doublets, laced and perfumed, tasselled and tagged, and jagged and bedeevilled like state trumpeters, ye would be but puir hands at resisting a charge o' mailed horse or heavy dragoons."

"Under favour, General Dalyel," replied the handsome lieutenant laughing, "I hope not; and Monmouth's cavaliers found lately, that a stand of Scottish pikes are still as firm as when levelled on the fields of Sark or Otterburn. By my faith, their spurred horses recoiled from our solid squares like water from a rock."

"Awa'," replied Sir Thomas sternly; "it beseemeth not a laddie like you to venture an opinion on that fray at Sedgemoor. Had ye seen the field of Smolensko on the day that great battle was fought and won, then might ye speak o' sic matters. There, mair than a hundred thousand matchlocks and petronels rung like thunder in the frosty sky; bombs were bursting, cannon-shot and barbed arrow fleein' thick as hail; while helmet and corslet rang like siller bells to the clink o' cimitar and mace. Oh! for a deep wassail bowl to drink to the brave that fought there, for my auld heart warms to their memory. Like the wind o' their snowy deserts, the squadrons of horse swept with uplifted lances to the heidlong charge. Alexis on the right—Sinboirs on the left, and myself the leal Laird o' Binns, in the centre wi' the eagle—whoop! then came a crash, and all gave way before us, like a Dutchman's dyke when the dam breaks. Loud aboon a' the din o' war thundered the great battle-drum of the Muscovite host, carried on four horses, and having aucht loons loundering on't wi' wooden mells. Sedgemoor!—It was bairns' play to such a field as Smolensko; and gif mortal man gainsayeth it, there is the hand that will right the matter! I mind the fray as if 'twere yesterday; and I assure you, Lady Grisel, that I had a braw supper that night on the field, cooked from a horse's flank by some of the Tartar women I kept about me."

Tired of this conversation, Douglas left the old beaux to do the agreeable to the brocaded dowagers of the Canongate, and lounged through the glittering rooms, continuing his search for Annie Laurie. Leaning on the arm of the handsome Claverhouse, who over a coat of white velvet, richly laced and slashed, wore a sash and gorget of burnished gold, with the collar of the Thistle, the Countess of Dunbarton slowly promenaded past.

"Ah, laird of Finland," said she archly, "I know for whom you are still looking so anxiously."

"In sooth, madam, I scarcely know myself."

"All the better is such philosophy, for she has been coquetting all night with the young laird of Craigdarroch."

They parted. At that moment a flourish of music swept along the painted ceilings, and the dancers began to arrange themselves for a new cotillon. Douglas, now seriously angry, cast a rapid and impatient glance round the bright throng, and caught a glimpse of his fair one in all the glory of white satin, white lace and white pearls, her eyes sparkling with pleasure, and the braids of her auburn hair with diamonds and spangles. She was chatting gaily with Lady Mary Charteris, one of those beautiful romps who flourished in ancient Edina, notwithstanding the starched demureness of the time. Fearful of being anticipated, he advanced at once, and requested her hand for the next dance.

"And now, Finland," said she, placing her soft hand in his, "What have you to say for yourself?"

"How, fair Annie?"

"That until this moment you have never approached me; and I have been forced to endure the vanity of Craigdarroch, who, like all Claver'se gentlemen-troopers, thinks he is quite a Palladin, because he guards the High Commissioner, rides with the Parliament, and (like yourself) terrifies the old cummers of the Kailmarket, or some poor cock-lairdie, to abjure the Covenant, or hang on the next tree. Is it not so?"

Douglas laughed as his merry mistress spoke; for Craigdarroch was the only man in Edinburgh of whom he felt a little jealous, or whose influence he valued a rush. Tall and handsome, an accomplished gentleman, an expert horseman and fencer, and a brave and good-hearted fellow to boot, young Fergusson was altogether a rival quite calculated to create some uneasiness; and his whole regiment were a source of dread to the beaux and dandies of the capital.

There was a certain dashing and indescribable bearing attached to all the cavalier troopers of the Scottish Life Guard, which, with the unusual splendour of their garb and armour, their rank in society, courage in the field, and that high esprit-du-corps which necessarily pervaded a band so very exclusive and prætorian, made every one a formidable rival. Thus, notwithstanding his own rank, figure, and bearing, Douglas felt considerable anxiety whenever Craigdarroch approached his mistress; nor could he at times repress a sigh of anger and regret at her gaiety and volatility, which charmed him one moment and provoked him the next.

The cotillon commenced. Happy Walter and his beautiful Lilian were their vis-à-vis. They were chatting very gaily on the trivial matters of the day—De Scuderi's last, but ponderous romance—the new comedy performed by his Majesty's servants at the little theatre in the Tennis-court—new-fashioned suits of Genoa velvet laced with Bruxelles—gloves of Blois—perfumes and balls of pomme d'ambre—a witch that was to be burned next day on the Castlehill, by the economical provost and baillies, in the same bonfire lit in honour of the victory at Bothwell, on its eighth anniversary.

The whole city was agog "anent the worrying" (as the term was) of this famous sorceress, who had been unanimously condemned by a pious and intelligent jury (principally composed of Kirk-elders) for sailing across to Fife in a sieve instead of the Kinghorn cutter; for causing a neighbour's calf to have two heads; for raising a storm to sink the good ship Charles the Second of Leith, by performing certain diabolical cantrips over a kail-blade full of water; and various other enormities, which made every hair in the wigs of the fifteen Lords of Session and Justiciary stand on end with horror and amazement.

CHAPTER IV.
TWO LOVES FOR ONE HEART.

Oriana sighed as if her heart were breaking, and said to herself, dear friend, in a woful hour the boon was granted.
AMADIS OF GAUL.

Notwithstanding the graces of her person and richness of her attire, there were many bright and beautiful beings present who attracted more attention than the timid and retiring Lilian Napier; but in her whole air and manner it is not easy to imagine a girl more exquisitely lady-like. Her long eyelashes were drooped upon her soft and changing cheek, veiling her soft glances, and imparting to her eyes an expression of timidity and modesty, which lent additional charms to the fine features of her adorable little face. The ball delighted, the music exhilarated her; and she soon raised her head, like a flower when the dew is past. Her blue eyes were full of animation; her cheek was flushed; the most enchanting grace was in all her motions. She was glorious; and Walter felt that he adored her.

Her friend, gay Annie, outshone her in showy and dazzling beauty; but to those who knew and loved the winning manner of Lilian, and beheld how her cheek mantled with the emotions of her heart, while her eyes beamed with the purest good-nature and vivacity, she was indeed one without a peer (as the King said of her mailed ancestor), and one fair star that charms us thus, is worth a thousand of those brighter planets that shine alike on all.

But nothing could be more brilliant than the loveliness of Annie. Tall, full, and graceful, in all the bloom of twenty, and radiant with health, white satin, and diamonds, she excited the admiration of her companions, while little Lilian touched their hearts. There were many fair girls present, who, like mistress Laurie, had in their manners a considerable dash of Parisian coquetry, which is always excessively attractive to beaux, though a timid and retiring girl, like Lilian, is sure, in the end, to prove the most loveable and devoted.

At that time, the tone of society in Edinburgh was very different from what it had been during the rampant reign of Presbyterianism, and equally so from that which characterized it twenty years afterwards, when the gloom, depression, and humiliation of the country, and the empty desolation of the capital "communicated to the manners and fashions of society a stiff reserve, precise moral carriage, and a species of decorum amounting to moroseness." At the period of our narrative, it was very different. The recent residence of foreign ambassadors and influence of a court, the existence of a parliament—(for centralization, that grand curse of Scotland, was then unknown)—the long intercourse with France, in the armies of which all younger sons and cavaliers of good family took a turn of service, had communicated a lightness to the manners of the aristocracy, very different indeed from the "moroseness" which succeeded the Revolution, and still more so that great national paralysis, the Union, which was so long a source of regret to our grandfathers.

Walter longed to change the commonplace tenor of the conversation, mentioned in the last chapter, and endeavoured gradually to broach the sentiments that lay nearest his heart; but he either wanted tact, or the figures of the dance put him out, or a crowded room was not quite the place for it. The young lady too was somewhat reserved; she remembered the affair of the glove, and thought it quite necessary to be so.

"So you will not go with me to-morrow to see this old witch burned?" said he.

Lilian shuddered.

"Ah, how could you think of it?"

"Lady Mary of Charteris is going—all the Earl of Dumfries' windows are occupied, but I think I could procure you a seat somewhere, overlooking the Castle-hill."

"I would not go for the wealth of the Indies. Oh, is it not said that she confessed some horrible things?"

"As you would have done, fair Lilian, if questioned in the same manner."

"And what did she reveal?"

"That she was kissed and christened anew by the devil, whom she met at the Gallowlee one mirk midnight, when he imprinted his mark between her shoulders; and though the minister of St. Giles and my Lord Mersington ran a long needle thrice through the infernal signet, she neither winced nor betrayed the least uneasiness."

"Betouch us too! The wicked woman deserves to die—but her death—how horrible! And she really sold her soul? Oh, what appearance had the devil—and what said he?"

"If all be true that appears in the Mercurius Caledonius, which I saw to-day in Blair's Coffee-house, Satan is a very well-bred and gentlemanlike man," replied Walter, laughing. "He wore a lowland bonnet, and had his nether foot in a buff boot to conceal its deformity. He was somewhat rough, and had a beard of iron wire. He kissed the witch whose spells had conjured him up, and said in husky French, 'Permittez moi, Madame,' adding thereafter in our kindly Scottish, 'What's your will, cummer?'

"And so Monsieur Le Diable kissed her? He has long been proverbial for very bad taste. His witches are always so old, so ugly, so hideous!"

"After giving her all the power she required, Master Mahoud vanished in a whirlwind."

With all the credulity incident to the time, and though deeply imbued with a sense of the ridiculous, Lilian shuddered; but be it remembered, that the grave and learned senators of the College of Justice had that very morning trembled at the same appalling recital.

"And the power," she faltered.

"Ample it was indeed. She could brew hell-kail, and wherever it was sprinkled the soil was scorched, the herbs were blasted, and whoever trod thereon died. Water would not drown, nor hemp hang her. She could bewitch cattle that were without St. Mungo's knot on their tail."

"Mungo—poh! he was a papist."

"And blight children, and bring sickness on her enemies by roasting waxen images, and in short do more mischief than was contained in wise King James's Dæmonology, or the box of Pandora."

"Pandora—was she a papist too?—Away with this witch! she must indeed be an ill woman. But now, Mr. Fenton, do you really believe in all the charms of these old enchantresses?"

"No, but I do devoutly in those of the young," he added gaily, as he led her down the dance, resigned her to Douglas, and turned to Annie Laurie, who whispered,

"Saw ye who overheard your tête-à-tête?"

"No," he replied, laughing; "but perhaps it was the great subject thereof."

"One not much better, certes. He is behind you now."

Walter turned and beheld the large dark eyes of Lord Clermistonlee, fixedly regarding him with an expression too hostile to be misunderstood. He replied by a glance as haughty and as stern; but a cold and inexplicable smile curled the proud lip of the handsome roué, as he turned slowly away, and addressed himself to Lady Charteris, the beautiful blonde, who rustled in a ponderous suit of brocade, and stood five feet seven inches independent of "cork-heeled shoon," being in every sense of the word what the Scotch were wont to consider a "fine" woman, one of those stately and patagonian beauties, of whom once in a time Edinburgh could always boast a large stock, but who appear to have vanished with the hoops and fardingales, the bobwigs and laced coats, the gentlemanly spirit and the sterling worth of the "last century."

In the middle of the cotillon, Fergusson of Craigdarroch, who had been looking unutterable things for some time, now approached, and twisting his moustachios, said with cold hauteur,

"Your humble servant, Mr. Douglas."

"Craigdarroch, yours," rejoined Finland, quite as coldly, and they surveyed each other from head to foot.

"I requested the honour of Mistress Laurie's hand for this cotillon."

"Indeed!" replied Finland, in the same cavalier tone, and raising his eyebrows with a well-bred stare of surprise. "You have forfeited it by being too late, however."

"You will not resign in my favour?"

"Zounds!" said Finland, frowning. Fergusson's cheek glowed with passion.

"You have your rapier with you?"

"Here, at your service," replied Douglas, in the same low tone, and bit his glove.

"Good. When the cotillon closes I will be in the garden, where the moonlight is bright enough to enable us to come to a proper understanding." Douglas nodded significantly, and his rival withdrew. Annie, who had been gaily chatting for a minute with some passer, had not heard what passed—Lilian Napier did, or at least, she saw enough to alarm her. Douglas went through the cotillon with his usual gaiety and grace; and after a short promenade, handed his unconscious partner to a seat; but instead of posting himself behind it as usual, to Annie's great surprise and indignation, he beckoned Walter Fenton, and they left the room together.

At that moment Lilian, with a pale lip and agitated eye, glided to the side of her friend, and whispered:

"Where has the Laird of Finland gone?"

"I know not, and I care not," replied Annie, pettishly, flirting her large fan; "but the varlet left me abruptly enough, and 'tis not his wont. This comes of loving soldiers—fie!"

"O! Annie," said Lilian, in a breathless voice, "they have followed Craigdarroch to the garden. There has been a feud about your dancing with one when engaged to the other; and something terrible will assuredly come of it."

"Preserve me, Heaven! O! in my heedlessness I did so, and they will be fighting about it—blood ever comes of a Scotsman's quarrel. My God! Lilian—where is the Earl—the Countess—to whom shall I speak? Stay—let us not spoil the merriment around us. The garden, said you? I know the way, and if the cavaliers are there, I will soon make them sheath their rapiers, I warrant you."

Lilian took her arm; and though it was not easy for two such bright stars to leave their orbit unseen, they contrived, to elude observation, to glide down stairs, and reach the old-fashioned garden, on the rich flower-beds, leaden nymphs and corydons, box-edged walks and thick green holly hedges of which, several flakes of strong light fell in long ruddy lines from the grated windows of the mansion.

The full round moon was sailing in summer radiance through clouds of fleecy whiteness, and threw her slanting beams in showers of silver on the shrubbery and terraces of the garden. All was still and silent; the agitated girls could not perceive any one; but, trembling, they listened fearfully for the clash of swords or the jingle of spurs.

"Oh! if they should have gone to the fields, where we cannot follow them!" murmured Annie, in great agitation. "God guide me!" she added, pressing her hands upon her temples, and displaying, as she did so, two beautiful and braceleted arms, that shone like alabaster in the moonlight. "O! if blood is shed for me, I will never smile more. Ah! surely they will not fight about such a trifle as my preference in a cotillon."

"Dear Annie, think you your love is a trifle to spirits as these? They will fight, and desperately too. Douglas bit his glove, and that, Aunt Grisel says, is an old border sign of deadly feud; Craigdarroch will never forgive it; and I saw his black eyes flash fire, as he bit his gauntlet in reply, and turned sharply away on his heel."

At that moment they heard the voice of Douglas. He was close by, but one of those dark holly hedges, so common in ancient gardens, interposed its thick impervious screen between them.

"'Tis well!" he exclaimed; "but ere we come to slash the doublets we were born in, Walter, unclasp this iron shell of mine: Craigdarroch is minus a corslet, and we must fight on equal terms. A merry moonlight, gentlemen, for a camisadoe. A clear field, and no favour. Shall we fight with our buff gloves on?"

"That is as you please," replied another guardsman, the young Laird of Holsterlee, who was Craigdarroch's second. "But speak softly, or Dunbarton's guard of Dragoons may overhear us. Ah! gentlemen, this cometh of the sin of promiscuous dancing—men mingling with women, whilk is ane abomination in the sight of the Lord!" he added in a sing-song voice. "Ha! ha! so say the dogs of the Covenant. Are ye ready, sirs!"

"All ready," replied Craigdarroch, unsheathing his long troop-sword.

"Be brief, gallants," said Holsterlee, "and sink points on the first blood drawn. I hope the the Earl's guests will not disturb us; but ere ye tilt at each other's throats, Finland, as a dear friend to both, I ask thee to apologise to Craigdarroch."

"Apologise to the devil!" rejoined Douglas, as he threw away his corslet and plumed hat, drew his rapier, and stood on the defensive, while his antagonist confronted him in the same manner. Handsome, richly garbed, graceful, and athletic, they would have formed a noble study for an artist, as they remained steadily watching each other, their eyes sparkling, and their long keen blades gleaming like blue fire in the moonlight. Such was the aspect they presented when the terrified girls hurried by a circuitous path towards them.

"Oh! Finland—Finland!" muttered Annie.

A well-bred man of the present day, on seeing a lady, whose hand he had engaged, dancing with another, would not take any unpleasant notice of it, however mortifying the preference might be; but not so the bold cavalier of the seventeenth century. To fight or be dishonoured were the only alternatives. Craigdarroch was infuriated, and Finland rapidly found his blood boiling up in turn; but ere a blow could be struck, his beautiful Annie, like a fairy or angel of peace, glided between them, and the menacing points of the rapiers were lowered at her approach.

"Sheath your swords this instant, sirs!" said she, with a half-playful, half-earnest imperiousness, which the gentlemen showed no disposition to resist. "Up with them! and remember it was an ancient rule of chivalry that knights combatants became friends at a woman's approach. Come hither, Mr. Holster, and tell me what these gay rufflers have quarrelled about."

"Yourself, fair madam," replied Holsterlee, a tall athletic young man, whose fair complexion consorted ill with a sable wig, and in whose sporting air there was a certain jaunty swagger, bordering on the vulgar, but acquired chiefly by frequenting Blair's Coffee-house at the Pillars, the Race-course at Leith, and every tavern and stew wherever he happened to be quartered—Clermistonlee's furious dinner-parties, and the company of all the horsemongers, bucks, bullies, and courtezans in the city;—"yourself, fair madam; and on my honour, I know no prize in all broad Scotland so well worth tempting buff under bilboa for."

"Prize, sir!" retorted Annie. "Do you talk of me as if I were your famous roan horse, or the city purse you expect it to win at Easter? Go to, sir! Certes, gentlemen, you honour me greatly by accounting me merely a sword-player's prize—the guerdon of a duello between two cut-throats! I am infinitely obliged to you," she added curtseying low. "But if you are determined to fight, O do so, good sirs," she continued, with a merry laugh; "but I am not for you, Finland, at all events."

"Indeed! madam," rejoined Finland, as he bit his nether lip, and grasped his sword. "Craigdarroch, then, I presume is the favoured——"

"Nor he either, quotha!"

"Ha, ha!—ho, ho!" shouted Holsterlee. "May the great diabulus roast me in my own ribs if this isn't good! Who then, fair Annie?"

"What is it to such as thee, sirrah?" she replied, stamping her pretty foot scornfully; but the beautiful rogue laughed as she added slowly, "I have not yet made up my mind whether to accept Sir Thomas Dalyel of the Binns, or that very accomplished cavalier——"

"Who? who?" they all asked.

"Lord Mersington."

"Zounds!" laughed Holsterlee; "but that old cock hath a roost-hen already—a brave girl—a bouncer that can coquette and ruffle it, without snaffle or martingale; a thorough-pacer, by the Lord—ho, ho!"

"As this is her choice," said Douglas, who perfectly understood the humour of his waggish mistress, "I think, Craigdarroch, we had better shake hands on't, as neither will be a winner in this affair."

"Yes, yes—shake hands like whipped schoolboys, and quarrel no more. So, up with your rapiers!—or, as the comedy says, the dew will rust them. But as a penance on you, Mr. Douglas, for fighting without my express permission, I shall dance with the Laird of Craigdarroch, and no one else, while you lead out old Dame Drumsturdy, or some such witch, whose most devoted you must be for the remainder of the night."

"How droll! O! I shall die with laughing," cried Lilian, clasping her hands with delight at this happy conclusion.

"Nay—fair Annie," said Douglas, "under favour—I must implore——"

"Not a word, sir, of extenuation or excuse. You shall walk a minuet with old Lady Drumsturdy, who is as charming as patches, puffs, and rouge can make her."

Holsterlee laughed till the braces of his corslet started.

"Tush! Annie—O by all the devils, I shall be the laughing-stock of the whole city."

"I care not."

"Gadzooks! I'll have a duel with old Dalyel next."

"I care not. And, ah! Mr. Fenton, I must find a way to punish you too. But come, Lilian, love—Craigdarroch, your hand."

Douglas joined in the laugh against himself, as Annie was led off by his rival, while Walter gave his hand to Lilian, and they hastened back to the ball-room in the happiest mood. Douglas, while loitering a little behind to clasp the braces of his cuirass, was attracted by the voice of Lord Clermistonlee, a man whom, of all others in Edinburgh, he disliked, in consequence of an old grudge between them, when they exchanged blows in a brawl at Blair's Coffee-house. Though he scorned being a spy upon his Lordship, the fact of his overhearing the name of Lilian Napier pronounced in a very audible whisper—his knowledge of the speaker's passion, and of what he was capable—formed a sufficient whet to his curiosity, and were, he deemed, quite a warrant for assuming the unpleasant part of eavesdropper.

Clermistonlee was standing near a gate, which afforded communication between the crowded courtyard and the quiet gardens, and through its iron bars the bright moonlight streamed upon the rich embroidery of his gay attire, on the brilliants of his hat-band, buckles, and silver-hilted rapier. Near him stood a stout and thickset old man in green livery, having a massive crest and coronet worked on each sleeve. A broad belt encircled his waist, and sustained a heavy basket-hilted sword. He was a little intoxicated, and balancing himself on one leg, snapped his fingers while chaunting the merry old catch,—

"Though I go bare, take ye no care
I nothing am acolde;
I stuff my skinne so full within,
With jollie gude ale and old.

Back and side go bare, go bare,
Both foot and hand go colde;
But bellie, God give thee gude ale enough,
Whether it be newe or olde.

I love no roste, but a nut-brown toste——"

"God's curse, rascal!" said his master angrily, "in this mood you will never arrange the matter satisfactorily."

"Trust me, my Lord, trust me," stammered Juden, rubbing his bald pate with a sudden air of perplexity, which showed that the matter referred to had quite escaped him; "but ane needs a lang spoon to sup kail wi' the deil, and you are kittler than the great serpent himsel."

"Gadzooks! old limb of Beelzebub, thou art drunk already; but hear me, Juden, if you fail in this service to-night, old though ye be, by the Heaven that hears us, I will handle my whip in such wise that a coffin will be your next resting place."

The eyes of the fierce Lord gleamed as he spoke, though his face was pale with that white fury which is ever the index of a bad and bitter heart, and is much more to be dreaded than the red flush of passion that suffuses a generous brow.

"How many followers hath the dame of Bruntisfield in her train to-night?"

"Four, my Lord—her chairmen."

"Armed, of course?"

"Like myself, ilk ane wi' a gude basket-hilted whinger. They are a' in Lucky Tippeny's Changehouse outbye, birling the ale cogue like sae many lords or troopers."

"All the better. Here is money—join them, and spare not to push the jorum till they become like blind puppies; but, peril of thy life, Juden, keep sober, though ale, usquebaugh, and even wine flow like water, if the knaves will it. When Lady Grisel summons them, if they are able to stand, by the head of the King I will truncheon thee in famous fashion. Dost comprehend, jolt-head?"

"The upshot, my Lord, the upshot?"

"When Lady Bruntisfield's people are summoned—but who is with you to-night?"

"The hail household—just Jock, my sister's son. Wha else would there be?"

"The devil! that fellow is a born gomeral, like his uncle, and will spoil all."

"Jock's gey gleg at the uptak', and mair kens-peckle than ye think. My certie, my Lord, there are mair fules in the world than Jock, puir man—fules that canna keep their fingers out of the fire."

"Silence, or I will certainly beat thee. When the Napiers' chairs are summoned, you will immediately bear off that containing the young lady Lilian, without the delay of a moment."

"No to Bruntisfield, I warrant!" rejoined Juden, with a bright leer of intelligence.

"'Sdeath no—to the Place of Drumsheugh."

"Ha! ha! ha! My certie, gif this plot succeeds, there will be a braw clamjamfray in the toun the morn! But I hope the business will be owre in time to let me be at the tar-barrelling. 'Twill be a braw sight. O that it were Lucky Elshender's! then I might ride up Meg, puir beastie, to see hersel revenged for that weary fit o' the wheez-lock——"

"Silence, addlepate. I go to Beatrix Gilruth. Wo to thee, if one tittle of my injunctions be forgotten."

Juden bowed with a tipsy air of respect, and withdrew, while Lord Clermistonlee rolled his furred rocquelaure about him, and, stepping through the postern gate, issued into the Potter's Row, and hurried away at a quick pace.

"Good even, my Lord," said Douglas, looking scornfully after him. "If I mar not your precious plot to-night, may I never march more!"

He sprang up the stair, and, forgetful of the penance his playful mistress had assigned him, sought an opportunity of communicating to Lady Grisel or to Walter Fenton this new plot of Clermistonlee, but none occurred. The former was too deeply engaged with General Dalyel in the intricacies of ombre or primero, and the mode of impaling among the Tartars, and the latter in the more delightful occupation of squiring Lilian from room to room, or exchanging the hand-in-hand mazes of the merry couranto for a moonlight promenade on the flowery terraces of the garden.