CHAPTER VI.

EDINBURGH—THE NIGHT OF THE REVOLUTION.

Meanwhile, regardless of the royal cause,
His sword for James no brother sov'raign draws.
The Pope himself, surrounded with alarms,
To France his bulls, to Corfu sends his arms;
And though he hears his darling son's complaint,
Can hardly spare one tutelary saint.
                                                                TICKELL, Edit. 1749.

From the hour in which Lilian had been torn from her, the ased Lady Grisel had never raised her head. Affection and horror, wrath and insulted pride, had all aggravated to the utmost the weakness and debility consequent to exceeding old age; and by her weeping domestics the venerable dame was borne to her great chair in the Chamber-of-Dais, where she remained long insensible to all that passed around her.

The storm and hurry of political events employed otherwise Sir Thomas Dalyel and those friends who might have served her in this dilemma; and now she found herself quite deserted.

Syme the baillie, and the whole male population of the barony had fruitlessly searched the Burghmuir for the remainder of the night and morning; but, for reasons which will shortly be apparent, any application to the Privy Council or magistrates of Edinburgh would have been utterly futile, as their attention was amply occupied by more important matters than the abduction of a girl.

Long fits of stupor, succeeded by querulous bursts of passion, left the poor old lady so weak, that, as Elsie related to Sir Thomas of Binns, "between the night and morning, she cried on Sir Archibald to save her doo Lilian; and then she just soughed awa like a blink o' the sunshine, and lay back under her canopy in the Chaumer-o'-Deese, a comely corpse to see as ever was streekit."

The old lady did not die, however, but recovered her senses by having a pistol fired at her ear by the rough old Muscovite trooper, "a cure for the vapours, whilk," he said, "he had often seen practised on Samoieda."

As before related, in consequence of the vigilance of Sir James Montgomerie, the Privy Council and people of Scotland had been kept for several weeks in a state of painful uncertainty as to the fate of James's affairs in England: but a letter from Lord Dundee reached the Scottish ministry, expressive of apprehensions for the issue of a conflict between the troops of the King and those of his invader.

To ascertain the true aspect of affairs, they despatched into England a man named Brand, a baillie of Edinburgh, who basely betrayed his trust by carrying his despatches straight to the Prince of Orange, to whom he was introduced by Dr. Burnet.

On Craigdarroch's arrival at the Scottish capital, and others with similar tidings of the desertion and dissolution of the army, the flight of James, and success of William, the long-threatening storm burst forth in all its fury. Scotland at that time swarmed with brave and hardy soldiers, skilful officers, ruined barons, and desperate vassals—the veterans of the Covenant, and the endless wars of Sweden, France, and Flanders; thus, ingloriously as the campaign had passed over in the south, a cloud was gathering on the Highland hills, that threatened to descend, as of yore, in wrath and blood on the fertile Lowlands.

Infuriated by the severities of what was called the "twenty-eight years' persecution," the Lowland population were ripe for armed revolt, and the capital, to which they flocked in overwhelming masses, became the grand centre of their operations, and the scene of newer atrocities. The greatest outrages were committed upon the persons and property of those unhappy Catholics, Episcopalians, and cavaliers, who fell into the hands of this wild mob.

Perth, the Lord Chancellor fled; the Privy Council, which had been severe to the nation, in proportion as it was servile to James, dispatched an immediate address to William, and none were more cordial in their offers of dutiful service than Provost Prince, and the worthy council of Edinburgh: those very men who had so lately declared to the unfortunate Stuart, that they "would stand by his sacred person on all occasions." Now they were equally prompt in offers to his dethroner, to whom they complained bitterly "of the hellish attempts of Romish incendiaries, and of the just grievances of all men relating to conscience, liberty, and property."

For three days the capital was in the power of a mad and lawless rabble, who, rendered furious by bigotry and intoxication, committed the most dreadful atrocities.

The houses of all who were obnoxious to them were plundered and given to the flames, and all effects of value were scattered in the streets. There were episodes of horror ensued such as Edinburgh had never witnessed before. The streets were filled with the smoke of burning houses; the air was sheeted with flame; the shrieks of the perishing inmates, the howls of their destroyers, and the crash of falling masonry, rang night and day. The college of the Jesuits was levelled to the dust; crosses, and reliques, statues, pictures, and vestments were borne aloft through the streets, and consigned to the flames amid yells of derision.

The ale and wine found in the cellars of the cavaliers, inflamed the inborn savagism of the multitude, who were urged by their ministers to commit a thousand nameless atrocities. For three days they continued in a state of perfect intoxication (says Lord Balcarris in his Memoirs), and in open daylight, in the crowded streets of the city, committed upon the persons of many Catholic ladies such outrages as cannot be written, and "without any attempt being made by the authorities to restrain such brutality." (pp. 22, 27.)

Of all the members of the old government none was more obnoxious to the people than Sir George Mackenzie, of Rosehaugh, the celebrated lawyer and essayist, who had rendered himself an object of intense hatred, by the severity with which he had stretched the criminal laws to answer the views of the Government; and who, in his office of Public Prosecutor, had obtained the unenviable soubriquet of "the persecutor of God's saints," "the blood-thirsty advocate," "bluidy Mackenzie;" and to this hour his vaulted mausoleum at Edinburgh is regarded with hatred and loathing by the old Cameronians and "true blue" Presbyterians.

His mansion in Rosehaugh Close was soon made the object of attack. The night of the third day had closed over the city, and still the scene of tumult and frenzy, the din and the flames of destruction, loaded the air with sounds of horror and outrage.

In great anxiety for his personal safety, the unhappy statesman heard with no ordinary perturbation the increasing roar of sounds, like the chafing of a distant sea; the mingling of a myriad human voices, and the rush of feet, which betokened the approach of a vast mob.

With drums beating before them, and armed with various weapons, the thousand bright points of which gleamed in the lurid blaze of the uplifted torches, a dense mass of ragged, squalid, and insane-looking men, poured like a human flood into the deep and narrow alley at the foot of which still stands the house of Rosehaugh. Begrimed with smoke and filth, maddened by intoxication and excess, their yells as they resounded between the solid walls of the narrow street, rang like those of fiends from some deep abyss, and the heart of Mackenzie died away within him. To appeal to their pity would be like craving mercy from the waves of an angry ocean? there was no escape, no remedy, no bribe, no hope; for among that terrible mob were the fathers, the sons, the brothers—yea, and the mothers of those who at his instance had perished in thousands, by the sword, by the torture, and the gibbet, or were lingering out a miserable existence as slaves and bondsmen in the distant Indies.

"My God! my God! for what am I reserved?" he exclaimed, as from a lofty upper window he surveyed the dense mass of madmen, who, wedged in the alley below, impeded each other's motions. Conspicuous above all, raised on the shoulders of two strong men, whose arms and faces were smeared with blood and blackness, there was upborne a man, whose sad-coloured garments and white bands announced him a preacher; his gaunt visage and long hair of raven hue waving around a face ghastly, though flashed with passion, his large hazel eyes glowing like those of a tiger, his upraised hands clenching one a bible, and the other a broadsword, declared him a wild enthusiast (another "Habakuk Mucklewrath").

It was Ichabod Bummel, who had escaped from the damp vaults of the wave-beaten Bass, and had now come to take vengeance on Mackenzie for his exile, his captivity, his crushed bones, and long persecution.

"Come forth, Achan, thou troubler of Israel!" he shrieked; "come forth, thou destroyer of the good and just, thou persecutor of the saints of God! come forth, thou thing that art accursed, or we will burn thee in the ruins of thy dwelling, and salt them with salt. Courage, my brethren! Oh, is not this a brave hour and a glorious one? For lo, the time is come when the host of Pharaoh shall be discomfited and stricken as of old. Achan, thou persecutor of the covenanted kirk, behold me towering amid Baal's prophets, four hundred and fifty men, as the book saith!"

This rhapsody was responded to with yells of ardour, and the din of hammers rang like thunder against the strong oaken door of the mansion, while many bullets were discharged at the windows, which were securely grated. A door of massive oak closed the entrance of the turnpike stair, and though the whole house resounded under the energy of the blows, the barrier refused to yield, though gradually it was falling in splinters, a process too slow to suit the fierce impatience of the increasing mob.

"Let fire be brought," cried Ichabod, "let the mansion be consumed, that its flames may be as a light to the house of Judah. Know, O thou persecutor of God's covenanted saints, that a sword is this night upon the inhabitants of Babylon, and upon her princes, and her mighty men; for it is the load of graven images, and they are mad upon their idols."

Urged by this blasphemous application of Scripture, burning brands were heaped by the people against the door, and soon the increased yells of satisfaction announced to the miserable advocate that the barrier was rapidly giving way, and that in another moment the reeking hands of the destroyers would be upon him. He threw round a glance of agony, the barred windows denied all hope of escape, and now his stern soul sank at the prospect of a cruel and immediate death, when lo! one tremendous yell of another import brought him once more to the shattered windows. "It is a dream!" he exclaimed.

A troop of the Royal Life Guards, with their bright arms flashing in the light of the waving torches, were hewing and treading down the mob like a field of rye; and chief above all shone one cavalier—it was Dundee—the gallant, the terrible Claver'se, that man-fiend, whom all deemed six hundred miles away. There was no mistaking the splendour of his armour, the nobility of his air, the ferocity of his purpose.

"Close up—fall on, gentlemen; no quarter to the knaves!" he exclaimed, while, standing erect in his stirrups, he showered his blows on every side, his white plumes rising and falling in unison with his trenchant rapier.

"Hey for King James! Ho for the cavaliers! Down with the rebels—down with the whigamores!" cried Holsterlee and others, as they pressed forward, and the rabble grovelled in the dust beneath the tremendous rush of the heavy horses, and their riders in steel and buff. In a minute the narrow alley was cleared of the living, and piled knee-deep with dead and dying. The shrill voice of Ichabod, as he was borne off by his disciples, was heard dying away in the distance, like that of an evil spirit carried away by a stormy wind.

By something like a miracle, Lord Dundee had traversed the whole of hostile England, and though menaced on every hand by great bodies of troops, had reached his native capital in safety; bringing with him not only the sixty cavalier troopers (who of all his cavalry alone remained staunch to him), but with them Walter Fenton, Lord Dunbarton, Finland, and other officers retaken from De Ginckel. They now rode under his orders as gentlemen-troopers, mounted on heavy black chargers that had whilome belonged to the Swart Ruyters; and the whole, with standards displayed, had entered the city about an hour before the assault on Rosehaugh's house.

The Rev. Dr. Joram, late chaplain to the Royal Scots, also bestrode a horse which he had taken as his spoil in battle; and had donned a trooper's corslet, with which his clerical bob-periwig consorted as oddly as with the fierce and tipsy expression of his flushed and florid face, and with the stern cock of the Monmouth beaver that surmounted it. The gallant divine had recently imbibed so much wine that he could scarcely keep his saddle.

Of the fate of their captured comrades they as yet knew nothing; but Gavin of that Ilk, with twenty other officers and five hundred men, were then at London, close prisoners; the rest had returned to their colours; and after a time, the whole, seeing the futility of resistance, ultimately embarked peaceably under the orders of their new commander, the veteran Duke de Schomberg. None were punished, "as the new government had not yet been fully recognized in Scotland."

Rosehaugh had been saved from a terrible immolation; but the services of the night were not yet over. Claverhouse, with his cavaliers, retired to a quiet part of the city, under protection of the castle batteries, where a brave garrison of Catholic soldiers, led by the Duke of Gordon, remained yet staunch to James.

"My lord Earl," said Dundee to Dunbarton, "we must be somewhat economical of our persons and horses, when encountering these mad burghers and drunken saints, and not forget that we are the last hope of the King in this hotbed of Presbytery and rebellion."

"True," replied the Earl, "and I rejoice that we have but few to regret, and few to mourn for us if we perish in the struggle on which we are about to plunge."

The eyes of the Viscount filled with dusky fire.

"Dunbarton," said he, "I am alone in the world. Our grateful King has given me honours to which none can succeed, for I have cast the die by which they are lost for ever; and nowhere can my coronet be more gloriously surrendered than on the battle-field."

"I thank Heaven that the Countess, my dear little Lætitia, is in England," said the Earl, pointing to the lurid flames that from the blazing houses of the Abbey-hill flashed along the shadowy vista of the Canongate, glowing redly under the arch of the Nether Bow, and throwing forward in bold relief a thousand fantastic projections of the old Flemish mansions that reared up their giant fronts on either hand. "I thank Heaven that she is in a safer place than this poor city of wild fanatics."

"Would that I could say the same of Lilian!" thought Walter, with a deep sigh. "Can she be safe amid all this dreadful uproar?"

At that moment a dense rabble approached, with drums beating, torches blazing, and weapons glinting.

"To the Palace! to the Abbey!" cried a thousand hoarse voices. "Let us pull doon the temple of the Idolater, and gie his fause gods to the flames!" and they swept forward, greeting the troop of Guards with yells of hatred and menace.

They were led—by whom? Lord Mersington, with his wig awry, his clothes soiled with dust, and his face flushed with exertion! The Earl of Balcarris relates "that this fanatical judge, with a halbert in his hand, and drunk as ale and brandy could make him," led on the rabble to the assault of time-hallowed Holyrood; but before reaching the eastern extremity of the city, his followers were joined by the trained bands in their buff coats and bandoleers, the magistrates, and other authorities, who vested this lawless mob with an air of order and official importance.

"Will those villains really dare to molest the palace of our kings?" said Dundee, his eyes kindling, as he looked after the revolters, and reined-up his impatient horse.

"What will they not dare?" rejoined Dunbarton; "but I doubt not they will experience a warm reception. Wallace, who commands the guard, is a brave cavalier as ever drew sword, and the traitors will make nothing of it."

"Under favour, my Lords," said Fenton, "they are in great numbers, and I have misgivings as to the issue."

"Wallace—he is an old friend of mine," said Finland. "'Sdeath! we've seen some sharp work together on the frontiers of Flanders; and with your permission, my Lords, I will take a turn of service with him to-night."

"As you please," replied the Viscount; "Dunbarton commands here, though he rides in my troop. Go—ha, ha! two heads are better than one."

"I go then; and yonder fanatical senator may beware how he comes within reach of my hand."

"Thy riding-whip, say rather."

"I volunteer also," said Walter, who was under great anxiety to have an opportunity of visiting Lilian.

"And I too," added the Reverend Jonadab Joram. "I long to encounter with bible and bilbo, yonder preacher of sedition, that urges on this unhanged rout of traitors. For know ye, gentlemen, (hiccup) that one preacher is better in Scotland than twenty drummers to find recruits for the devil's service; so, in his own phraseology, I will gird up my loins, and go forth to battle against them. Come on, gallants! Ho, for King James, and down with the whigamores! Rub-a-dub, rub-a-dub——"

"Beware, sirs, for the good cause has not many such spirits to spare," said Claver'se, as they dashed spurs into their horses, and making a detour down one narrow wynd and up another, reached without interruption the deep groined archway of the Palace Porch, an ancient gothic edifice, heavily turreted and battlemented.

CHAPTER VII.

SACK OF HOLYROOD.

'Twas a dream of the ages of darkness and blood,
When the ministers' home was the mountain and wood;
The musquets were flashing, the blue swords were gleaming,
The helmets were cleft, and the red blood was streaming;
The heavens grew dark, and the thunder was rolling,
When on Welwood's dark muirland the mighty were falling.
                                                                                                    ANONYMOUS.

"Welcome, gentlemen," exclaimed Wallace; "I never stood in such need of advice and comradeship."

He was a handsome man, above six feet in height; his gold-coloured cuirass and buff coat, laced with silver, announced him a captain; the slouch of his broad Spanish hat, with its drooping plumes, and the tie of his voluminous white silk scarf, gave him inimitable grace.

"Welcome, Finland, to share the poor cheer and hard fighting of Holyrood. By Mahoun! but times are changed with the King's soldiers. I have endured a three days' siege here, and matters are not likely to mend."

"No; a rabble, many thousands strong, by all the devils! the very riddlings of St. Ninian's and the Beggars' Row, are at this moment approaching, and if one of your guard are left alive by daylight it will be a miracle."

"Dost think so?" rejoined Wallace, as he led them to a table in the outer court of the palace, where a lantern placed on a table revealed a few drinking horns, a keg of eau de vie, and some objects of a more unpleasant nature, the dead bodies of several soldiers, shot by the rioters during the day. "You hold out a dark future to us, Finland, and, nevertheless, like the true soldier I have ever known thee, come to take a turn of service with us."

"As you see," replied Finland, laughing, as he filled a horn from the keg unbidden.

"Drink with me, gentlemen," said Wallace.

"With all my soul!" hiccupped Dr. Joram.

"This keg of brandy was lately in the cellars of the Jesuits, and some friendly rogue trundled it our way. God bless the good old cause! my service to ye, sirs. Hark, comrades—drums!" he added, as he drained and threw down the cup.

"'Tis the march of the trained bands," said Walter.

"Indeed!" rejoined Wallace, sternly. "Let all the whigamore scum of Scotland come, they are welcome. I am one of the good old race of Elderslie, and I thank heaven that in an hour like this, it hath been the hap of one of my name to have entrusted to his care the defence of the palace of our princes, and yonder holy fane, the sepulchre of their bones—one of the fairest piles that ancient piety ever founded, or modern fanaticism destroyed." His swart countenance lighted up, and signing the cross (for this noble cavalier was a true catholic), he drew his sword.

"Hark, a chamade!" said Walter Fenton; "now let us hear what these rascals have the impudence to say;" and the three cavaliers repaired to the porch, leaving the divine to continue his devoirs to the brandy keg. They beheld a very extraordinary scene.

Wallace's company was an Independent one. It was something less than a hundred strong, and had the great porch of the palace and the two lesser gates of the boundary wall to defend. In the former there were sixty musqueteers drawn up, as it was the point of the greatest danger; the remainder were posted at the small gates, which were well secured by internal barricades. The great façade of the magnificent palace, with its deep quadrangle and six round towers, loomed through the starless gloom of the winter night; lights flickered in the gallery of the Kings of Scotland, and through the lofty casements of its long corridors and echoing chambers, for there many proscribed catholic and cavalier families, terrified women, and helpless children, hud fled for refuge. And from the great western windows of the chapel royal shone "the dim religious light" of the distant altar, where many a devout worshipper, in the ancient faith of our fathers, sent up, with catholic fervour, the most solemn prayers to God for conquest and for succour.

How different was the scene without those sacred walls, with their shadowy aisles, their glimmering shrines and marble tombs—their dark, deep, solemn arches, and mysterious echoes.

Through the strong gate of vertical iron bars that closed the dark round archway of the porch, the cavaliers beheld the long vista of the Canon-gate, extending to the westward. Its long perspective of ancient and picturesque edifices, turrets, outshots, and gables, was vividly lit up by the crimson glare of the blazing houses on the Abbey-hill, to the northward of the palace.

A dense mob that had gathered in the Cow-gate, provided with weapons and torches, mingled with Trained Bandsmen, and having drums beating, and the Earl of Perth's effigy, borne aloft before them, after traversing the West Bow and High-street, maltreating all they met, were now descending the Canon-gate; and the light of their brandished flambeaux streamed through the groined portal of the palace, glittering on the helmets and arms of the soldiers drawn up within it in close array, and beyond on the tall outline of the tower of James V.

As the drums of the Trained Bands continued to beat the point of war, the rabble poured forth from all the diverging wynds and alleys, until, like a river swollen by a hundred tributary streams, the dense mass that debouched upon the open space around the ancient Girth-cross of the once holy sanctuary, covered the whole arena. The united roar of ten thousand angry voices swelled along the lofty street, and the red torchlight revealed many an uncouth visage, distorted by drunkenness, fanaticism, and ferocity. Several musquets and pistols were incessantly discharged, while stones, sticks, fragments of furniture, dead cats, and every available and imaginable missile were hurled in showers over the battlements of the porch, and strewed the pavement of the court within.

In front were Grahame and Macgill, two captains in the trained band, armed with their buff coats, steel caps, and half pikes; several baillies, in their scarlet gowns and gold chains; Lord Mersington, reeling about and brandishing a partisan, his senatorial wig and robes in a woeful plight; the Rev. Ichabod Bummel, bare-headed and spurring like a madman a short, plump, and active Galloway cob of which he had possessed himself, and over the flanks of which, his long spindle shanks and scabbard trailed upon the ground. On each side were the Marchmont and Islay heralds, the Unicorn and Ormond pursuivants, in their tabards blazing with embroidery, and their tall plumed bonnets; behind was a confused forest of uplifted hands, and weapons, swords, pikes, staves, and halberts which flashed incessantly in the wavering glare of the brandished torches, and chief above all were the effigy of the Chancellor, and a great orange and blue standard; the first the colour of the Revolutionists, the second of the Covenanters.

The houses of the Earl of Perth, the Lairds of Niddry, Blairdrummond, and others, were blazing close by, and the sky was sheeted with fire. The contents of their cellars were rolled into the streets and staved, and the rich and luscious wines of France, the nut-brown ale, and crystal usquebaugh streamed along the swollen gutters, where hundreds of rioters were wallowing like pigs in the kennel, and were trod to death beneath the feet of the mighty host that swept over them. After a flourish of trumpets, the senior herald cried with a loud voice,—

"In the name of the Lords of His Majesty's Privy Council, I, the Islay Herald-at-Arms, summon, warn, and charge you, Captain William Wallace, under pain and penalty of loss of life and escheat of goods——"

"Yea, and the loss of salvation," screamed Ichabod, with a voice of a Stentor, as he brandished his bible and bloody sword. "Woe unto ye who march against God with banners displayed! Woe unto ye who would build up the walls of Jericho, which the Lord hath casten down! Take heed, ye vipers and soldiers of Jeroboam, lest the curse that fell on Kiel, the Bethelite, fall upon ye also! Woe unto ye, worshippers of the Babylonian harlot, the mother of sin, for the hour is come when it is written that ye shall perish!"

"——And escheat of goods and gear," continued the herald, "forfeiture of name and fame."

"Surrender, ye d—d loons!" cried Mersington, "or hee hee, we'll gie ye cauld kail through the reek, conform to the Acts of Estate."

"Sound trumpets for silence!" exclaimed the herald indignantly; but now the voice of Mr. Bummel was again heard.

"Oh for one moment of the hand that smote the foes of Zion!" he exclaimed, raising to heaven his sunken eyes that in the torchlight seemed to fill with a yellow glare. "Oh for God's malediction on the brats of Babel! Lo! I see a sign in the lift—they are delivered unto us, that we may dash them against the stones. On, on, and spare not! smite and slay! death to the false prophets! death to the soldiers of the idolatrous James!"

"I, the Islay Herald-at-Arms——"

"Haud your d—d yammering!" cried Captain Graham, of the trained bands, interrupting in turn; "close up, my trained men! come on, my buirdly Baxters, and couthie craftsmen—advance pikes—musqueteers, blow matches—give fire!"

"Give fire!" re-echoed the deep voice of Wallace within the groined portal. A loud discharge of musquetry took place, and the bullets of the mob rattled like a hailstorm against the walls, or whistled through the archway of the porch.

Three soldiers fell dead, but nearly forty of the rabble were shot, for every bullet fired by the "Brats of Babel" killed at second hand. Still they pressed forward with undiminished courage, and assailed the three gates of the palace at once, and pressing close to the bars of the portal, fired their musquets and pistols through with deadly precision on the little band within. Here Wallace commanded in person, with a bravery worthy of his immortal name, and encouraged by his animated exhortations, his gallant few, though falling fast on every hand, stood firm, with a resolution to die, but never surrender.

Walter Fenton and Finland commanded each about twenty musqueteers at the lesser gates, which the insurrectionists assailed pell-mell with hammers and pickaxes, and as nothing but a cruel death could be expected if this mob of infuriated madmen obtained entrance, the poor soldiers fought as much for their lives as for honour and protection of the palace and chapel royal. From a platform of planks and furniture, overlooking the south back of the Canon-gate, Walter's party poured a fire upon the mob with deadly effect; the palace wall was high, the gate strong and well secured, so they hurled ponderous stones and swung hammers against its solid front in vain.

So it fared with Finland, who defended the northern doorway of the royal gardens near a little turretted edifice called Queen Mary's Bath. This experienced soldier had speedily made four loop-holes through the strong wall, and the rioters, as they approached the gate, were shot down in such rapid succession that an appalling pile of dead and dying lay before it, forming a barrier so hideous, that their companions began to recoil in dismay, and poured a storm of bullets and abuse from a distance.

The blaze from the Abbey hill illuminated the whole garden, and the dark buttresses, the square tower, the deep-ribbed doorway, and tall lancet windows of the beautiful church of the Sancta Crucis were all bathed in a blood-red hue by the flaring sheets of flame that ascended from the burning houses.

"St. Bride speed you, my gallant Douglas!" cried Wallace, who, anxious for the maintenance of his post, made a hurried round of the walls. "Art keeping the knaves in check?"

"Let the deed show," replied Finland. "By my faith! their dead are lying chin deep without the barrier. 'Twas a brave stroke in tactics this enfilade of the approach; and the flames of yonder great mansion enable my bold hearts to aim with notable precision."

"'Tis the noble lodging of the Great Chancellor," rejoined Wallace, turning his flushed face towards the ruddy glow; "and I grieve deeply that many noble dames of the first quality are likely perishing amid yonder flames; however, death is preferable to dishonour at the hands of fanatical clowns. This day they dragged my sister through the streets ..... and in open day—my God!" He ground his teeth and smote his breast.

"Malediction!" exclaimed Finland; "can we not succour them?"

"Impossible," replied the other, resuming his military nonchalance. "I cannot spare a man. Bonnie blackeyed Maud, of Madertie, and Merry Annie, of Maxwelton, are both yonder; this morning they fled to the house of Perth. God sain them both—now I must see how fares young Fenton." He hurried away, leaving Finland transfixed by what he had revealed.

"Follow me, some of ye," he exclaimed; "let six maintain the post. Come on, gallants—we will save these noble dames or die."

His party had now been reduced to twelve, but forgetful of everything save the probable danger of Annie, he rushed through the garden followed by six soldiers armed with pikes, and leaving the precincts of the palace by a secret doorway near the old royal vault, hurried through the narrow suburb of Croft-an-Righ, and felt his heart leap as the hot glow of the burning houses was blown upon his cheek, and the sparks fell like red hail around him. The roar of voices and of musquetry still continued around the palace with unabated vigour; but here the mob lay generally wallowing in the liquor that flowed along the street, or were busy in revelling around piles of wine flasks, runlets of wine, and barrels of ale, or hurrying away with whatever plunder they had saved from the fast-spreading conflagration.

The house of the chancellor, a lofty edifice, with turrets at the angles, steep roofs, and great stacks of chimneys, stood a little way back from the street, with a row of tall Dutch poplars before it; but these were now blackened and scorched by the forky flames that rolled in volumes from the windows, and clambered over the sinking roofs. The smoke ascended into the clear air in one vast shadowy pillar, and showers of sparks were thrown as from the crater of a volcano. Not one of the inmates was visible, for every window was full of flame, and Finland felt distraction in his mind as he gazed upon the blazing house; but suddenly several females appeared upon the stone gutters and upper bartizan, waving their handkerchiefs and crying in piteous accents for mercy and for succour; but they were unheeded by the mob, or, if heard, only treated with derision.

"A ladder, a ladder!" exclaimed Finland, whose arms and attire were so much disfigured by smoke and dust, that he seemed in no way different from the other armed citizens that thronged the streets. "Death and confusion! a hundred bonnet pieces for a ladder; my brave friends, my good comrades, your pikes—truss them into a ladder. Ere now I've led an escalade of such a turnpike. Bravo, my bold hearts!" and with the silent precision of practised campaigners, the soldiers with their scarfs trussed or tied their six pikes into the form of a scaling ladder. In a moment it was placed against the wall. "Guard the passage," cried Finland, as he disappeared through one of the upper windows.

The heat and smoke were so great that he could scarcely breathe; for the old mansion being all wainscotted, burned like a ship, and ancient paintings, costly hangings, carpets, furniture, books, and all the magnificent household of the great chancellor was crumbling to ashes beneath the relentless flame.

The hot conflagration often drove Finland back, and made his very brains whirl; but he found other passages, across the yielding floors, and ascending from story to story, at last felt gratefully the cooler air upon his flushed and scorched face as he stepped upon the flame-lighted bartizan, and Annie, with a wild hysterical laugh, threw herself into his arms and immediately swooned.

"Your hand, Lady Madertie—away, away!" cried he; "we have not a moment to lose;" and bearing his burden like a child, he attempted to descend the staircase; but lo! the forked flames shot up the spiral descent and drove him back upon the platform, which was thirty feet in height.

All retreat was cut off.

Annie was insensible, and Finland, as he leant against the parapet and pressed her to his breast and felt the masses of her soft hair blown against his face, became giddy with despair. At a little distance Matilda of Madertie, a beautiful blonde, was kneeling before her crucifix, and praying with all the happy fervour of a true Catholic; her long dark hair was streaming over her shoulders. Near her were several female servants, crouching against the parapet, and who, exhausted by the energy of their shrieks, and the near approach of death, lay in a kind of stupor, without motion, and seeming scarcely to breathe. Finland thought only of Annie; but a glance sufficed to show that their fate was sealed.

The whole of the lofty house beneath the turret where they stood was an abyss of flames, and the glare, as they flashed upward and around him, compelled him to close his eyes; and thus a prey to grief and horror, he moved to and fro upon the toppling wall until the slate roofs sank crashing into the flaming pit with a roar, and now one vast sheet of broad red fire ascended into the air, making the calcined walls that confined it rend and tremble; a shout came up from the street below; the whole city, the hills and the sky seemed to be on fire. The flames came closer to Finland; he felt their scorching heat; the next seemed to sweep his cheek, and Annie's waving locks and his own, that mingled with them, were burned away together.

"Laird of Finland," cried a soldier from below, "the tree—-the tree!"

"'Tis death at all events," replied the Cavalier, and quick as light, with his long scarf, he bound the slender waist of Annie to his own, and stretching from the wall, got into the lofty and strong poplar tree, and began to descend slowly and laboriously. A shout burst from the soldiers in the garden below.

"God receive us!" cried Maud of Madertie, holding up her crucifix to heaven. At that moment the wall gave way beneath her, and she disappeared for ever.....

Finland's desertion of his post proved ultimately fatal to the defence of Holyrood, which by the efforts of Wallace, Walter Fenton, and the church-militant, Dr. Joram, was protracted until eleven at night. Then the soldiers of Finland, having been all shot down, a party of the Trained Bands, led by Captain Grahame, broke down the gate with sledge-hammers, and then the armed mob, roused to an indescribable pitch of frenzy and ferocity by the liquors they had imbibed, the resistance and slaughter, and the exhortations of the religious maniacs who led them, crowded like a hell disgorged into the outer court and inner quadrangle of the palace.

Taken thus in flank, the soldiers of Wallace were almost immediately destroyed. That brave cavalier was hewn down, his body was hacked to pieces, his entrails torn out and cast into the air. Many of his soldiers who surrendered were shot in cold blood, and all the wounded perished. Walter Fenton, gathering a few of the survivors upon his platform, still continued to fire upon the sea of madmen that swarmed around them.

Conspicuous among his followers, upon his prancing Galloway cob, towered the tall and ghastly figure of Mr. Ichabod Bummel; and, urging the work of death, he sent his powerful voice before him wherever he went.

"No quarter to the birds of Belial!—smite them both hip and thigh. On, ye chosen of Israel, who now, in the good fight of faith, shall extirpate the heathen, sent forth even as the Jews were of old."

"Pick me down yonder villain!" cried Fenton to his soldiers; and bullet after bullet whistled past the head of the preacher, but he seemed to bear a charmed life, and escaped them all.

"On, on to the good work, and prosper!" he cried. "Smite and slay! smite and slay! lest the curses that befel Saul for sparing the Amalekites fall upon ye."

Thus urged, the people hewed the soldiers limb from limb, and the bodies of the dead shared the same fate. Seeing all lost, Walter and Dr. Joram had torn the cavalier plumes from their hats, and leaped upon their horses, hoping to cut their way through the press, or escape unknown. But, alas! Joram was recognised by the terrible Ichabod, who, urging his Galloway towards him, brandished his sword, and exclaimed with stentorian lungs—

"'Tis a priest of Baal, and this night will I send him howling to his false gods! Come on, Jonadab Joram, thou wolf in sheep's clothing."

"Approach, thou d—ned, round-headed, prick-eared, covenanting, and rebellious rapscallion!" cried the Doctor in great wrath, urging his horse towards his clerical antagonist; but the crowd was great between them, and they were enabled to glare at and menace and bespatter each other with scriptural abuse and very hard names for some time before they came within sword's point; for they were both intoxicated, the one with brandy, and the other with an enthusiasm that bordered on insanity. "Come on, thou villanous whigamore," cried Joram, flourishing his long rapier; "thy glory and thee shall depart to the devil together!"

"Out upon thee, and the bloody papistical Duke whom thou servest, and hast blasphemously prayed for; but the curse that fell upon Jeroboam hath already fallen upon him—he shall die without a son, and be the last of his persecuting race, despite the brat in the warming pan."

"On thy carcase, foul kite, will I avenge this treason against the Lord's anointed!" replied Joram, spurring his horse.

"Thou fool!" shrieked Ichabod, with a hollow laugh; "was that accursed tyrant who fiddled while Rome blazed beneath him the anointed of the Lord?"

"Have at thee, trumpeter of treason!"

"Caitiff and firebrand of hell, at last I have thee!" and their swords flashed as they fell upon each other like two mad bulls. The superior strength and skill of the cavalier chaplain quite failed him before the ferocious enthusiasm of the Presbyterian, whose long broadsword, swayed by both hands, was twice driven through his body at the first onset.

"King and High Kirk for ever!" cried poor Joram, as he fell forward with the blood gushing from his mouth; but, still unsatisfied, Ichabod seized him as he sank down, writhing one hand in his hair, and throwing the body across his saddle-bow, he slashed off the head, and held it aloft, a grinning and dripping trophy.

"Behold," he exclaimed in an unearthly voice, "behold the head of Holofernes!"

All was over now. Walter gave a hurried glance around him. The palace was being sacked by the rabble, who carried off all they could lay their hands upon; but it was upon the beautiful chapel, that venerable monument of ancient art and David's pious zeal, that the whole tide of popular fury was poured. In five minutes it was completely devastated. The tall windows, with their rich tracery and stained glass, were destroyed; the magnificent tombs of marble and brass, the grand organ, the altar with its burning candles and great silver crucifix, the rich oak stalls of the Thistle, with the swords, helmets, and banners of the twelve knights,—were all torn down, and the beautifully variegated pavement was stripped from the floor.

All the wood and ornamental work, the pictures, reliques, furniture, vestments, &c., were piled in front of the palace, and committed to the flames amid the yells of the populace, whose cries seemed to rend the very welkin. Dashing spurs into his horse, Walter gave him the reins, and sweeping his sword around him, right, left, front and rear, he broke through the crowd, and, followed by a score of bullets, galloped up the Canongate and escaped,—the sole survivor of that night's slaughter at Holyrood.

CHAPTER VIII.

THE VEILED PICTURE.

To the Lords of Convention 'twas Claver's that spoke,
Ere the King's crown shall fall there are crowns to be broke;
So let each Cavalier who loves honour and me,
Come follow the bonnet of bonnie Dundee.
                                                                                        SCOTT.

Skirting the city, Walter soon left the roar of the angry multitude far behind him; he was galloping among fallow fields, hedge-rows, and solitary lanes, and the silence of the country was a relief to his excited spirit after the fierce tumult of the last six hours. The snow had melted; Dairy-burn, and other little rills that traversed the dark fields, gleamed like silver threads in the starlight.

Walter passed the loch, and reached the old Place of Drumdryan; the house was ruined and desolate, roofless and windowless, and the roadway was strewn with fragments of furniture. His anxiety increased, and, goring his horse onward, he dashed up the dark dewy avenue of Bruntisfield, and reined up at the Barbican-gate. The perfect silence, unbroken even by the barking of a dog, and the strong odour of burned wood, had in some sort prepared him for the sight he witnessed. There, too, had been the hand of the destroyer, and a great part of the once noble mansion was a bare, blackened, and open ruin. Its corbie-stoned gables and round turrets stood bleakly in bold relief against the starry sky; and from the depths of its vaulted chambers, the remains of the smouldering conflagration sent forth at times a column of smoke into the calm winter atmosphere. The court and garden were strewn with broken furniture, torn hangings, books, and household utensils.

The sudden snorting of his horse drew Walter's attention to two corpses that lay near the outer door. They were those of John Leekie the gardener, and Drouthy the aged butler, who, like true vassals, had both "with harness on their backs" perished at their lady's threshold. Both had on corslets and steel caps, and one yet grasped a broken partisan.

Full of dire thoughts of vengeance, Walter galloped back to the city, every corner of which was now overflown with the tide of confusion and uproar that had been so long concentrated around Holyrood. He naturally sought the Castle-hill, where Dundee and Dunbarton, with their sixty followers, who of all the Lowlands seemed now alone to remain true to their fugitive king, were drawn up under the cannon of the Half-moon.

"So the villains have sacked Holyrood," said Dundee, smiling grimly.

"To their contentment," replied Walter. "Poor Finland, our jolly chaplain, Wallace, and a hundred brave soldiers, have gone to render a last account of their faithful service; and I alone survive, my lords."

"To avenge them, add, sir. 'Tis the hope of repaying with most usurious interest this heavy account of blood that alone makes me bear up," replied Dundee with enthusiasm; "and God give me inspiration, for I feel I am the last hope of the old house of Stuart."

At that time certain persons who styled themselves a Convention of the Estates were assembled in conclave, and thither went the brave Dundee, though conscious that, personally or politically, he was the bitterest foe of every man present.

"My lords and gentlemen," said he, observing the chill that fell on the assemblage when he appeared—-"I have come here as a peer of the realm, to serve his Majesty James VII. and the Parliament of Scotland; and I demand that, if the latter has no occasion for my service, it will at least protect my friends and self from the insults of the base-born rabble."

With one voice this hastily collected and illegally constituted assembly exclaimed—"We cannot and will not!"

"Then farewell, sirs," replied the Viscount, with a smile of pride and scorn. "When again I appear before you, it will not be to entreat, but to command—it will not be to plead, but to punish; and now, let my trumpets sound To horse! In the country of the clans, the hills are as steep, the woods are as pathless, the glens as deep, and the rivers as rapid, as in the days of the Romans; and again from the wild north shall the whole tide of Celtic war roll on the traitor Lowlands, as in the days of the great Montrose. When again you hear the voice of Dundee, my Lords of Convention,—tremble!"

He clasped on his headpiece and retired. As the jangle of his sword and spurs descending the stone turnpike died away, a deep silence pervaded the dusky hall; for the threats of this chivalric soldier, when united to their foreknowledge of his dauntless courage, his unflinching loyalty, his loftiness of mind, and intense ferocity, threw a chill upon the more cold-blooded and calculating revolutionists. But soon the gallant blare of the trumpet, the stirring brattle of the brass kettle-drums, the clang of iron hoofs, and jingle of steel scabbards and chain bridles, awaking all the echoes of the great cathedral, and the hollow arcades of the dark Parliament Square, announced the march of the Life Guards—those sixty brave gentlemen who, of all his once numerous and fondly cherished army, now alone remained staunch to the hapless James.

Dark looks were exchanged, and as the music grew faint, all seemed to breathe more freely. Then the querulous voice of Lord Mersington was heard, and in the half-lighted hall, his dwarfish figure, clad in his senatorial robes, was dimly seen on the rostrum, and, as he addressed the convention, from the effect of his recent potations and over exertion, he swayed on his heels like a statue on a pivot. His speech was somewhat to the following purpose.

"That for sae mickle as the vile and bloody papistical James, Duke of Albany and York, having assumed the regal sceptre without the oath required for due maintenance of religion, and having altered the ancient constitution of the kingdom by ane exertion of tyrannous and arbitrary power, had forfeited all richt to the crown of Scotland, now and for ever; that it be forthwith settled on the Statholder William, and Mary his spouse; that there be made a list of grievances to be redressed, and a new act framit, anent witchcraft, papacy, prelacy, and ither abominations."

The last echoes of the trumpets of Dundee had died away under the arch of the Netherbow Port, and the motions of Mersington were carried with universal approbation. "Thus," says the author of Caledonia "the revolution in England was conducted constitutionally by the parliament; but in Scotland, unconstitutionally by the convention. The English found a vacancy of the throne, the Scots made one; the one grave and regarding law, the other vehement and disregarding it."

With a heaviness of heart, a deep and morbid sadness against which he struggled in vain, Walter rode down the steep Leith Wynd. He was now a private trooper under Dundee, and leaving Lilian far behind him; for he was going, he foresaw, to perish under the fallen banner of a desperate cause and ruined king; but soon the clash of the cymbals, the fanfare of the trumpets, the tramp of the stately horses, the high bearing of their gallant riders, and that innate loftiness of soul, which made Dunbarton and Dundee rise superior to their fortune, and seem to set fate at defiance, communicated a new ardour to his heart, and it soon beat responsive to the martial music, as the troop of cavaliers traversed the city's northern ridge, and riding by the Long Gate saw the morning sun rising afar off above the snow clad Lammermuir, gilding Preston Bay, the far hills of Fife, and the shining waters of the dark blue Forth.

Dundee rode near Fenton, who, finding more than once, the dark and pensive eyes of this singularly handsome soldier fixed upon him with something of that foredoomed expression, indicative of his future fate and fame, he ventured to ask, "Whither go you, my lord?"

"Wherever the shade of Montrose shall direct me," was the thoughtful and poetical reply. "Believe me, Mr. Fenton," he continued, after a pause, "under whatever circumstances, or however oppressed by fate, I will acquit myself before God, the world, and my own conscience. Yes!" he exclaimed, with flashing eyes, and striking his gloved hand upon his corsletted breast, "I will hazard life and limb, estate and title, name and fame, yes, I would peril even my salvation, were it possible, in the cause of my honour and allegiance; and if I cannot save the throne of King James, at least I will not survive its fall—so the will of God be done!"

There was something sublime in his aspect as he spoke; his dark and lustrous eyes were full of fire; his face, the manly beauty of which few have equalled and none surpassed, was suffused with a warm glow, and the proud curl of his mustachioed lip, showed the high spirit of achievement that burned within him. The soul of the great Montrose seemed indeed to inspire him, and in such a moment all the darker and weaker points were forgotten. His ardour was communicated to Walter, whose heart beat fast as he exclaimed,

"Noble Dundee, to victory or the grave, to the field or the scaffold, I will follow thee, and in that hour when I fail in my duty or allegiance, may woe betide me and dishonour blot my name!"

Dundee pressed his hand and replied,

"In the wilds of the pathless north, ten thousand claymores will flash from their scabbards at the call of Dundee. The loyal and gallant clans have not forgotten the glories of Alford, Inverlochy, and Auldearn, when the standard of James Grahame, of Montrose, was never unfurled but to victory. Again, like him, will I lead them against this Dutch usurper, whom in an evil hour I saved from death upon the battle-field of Seneff. Yes, after he had fallen beneath the hoofs of Vaudemont's Reitres, I saved his life at the risk of my own, and horsed him on my own good charger, when, could his future ingratitude to me, and the usurpation of this hour have been foreseen, my petronel had blown his brains to the wind."

"Ha! what wants his grace of Gordon?" said Dunbarton as the flash of a cannon broke from the dark castle wall, and a puff of white smoke curled away on the clear morning air, while the echoes of the report reverberated like thunder among the black basaltic cliffs of the great fortress past which they were riding. A little arched postern to the westward opened, and a soldier appeared waving a white flag from the brow of the steep rock, which the turretted bastion overhung. The troop halted, and their kettle-drums gave three ruffles in honour of the duke.

"Tarry for me, gentlemen comrades," said Claverhouse, "while I confer with 'the cock of the north,'" and galloping to the base of the castle rock, he dismounted, and notwithstanding his steel harness, buff coat, and jack boots, clambered with great agility to the postern, where he held a conference with the Duke of Gordon.

What passed was never known; but each is said to have needlessly exhorted the other to loyalty and truth.

The multitude, who from a distance had watched the departure of the hated Dundee, fled back to the city, and reported to the Lords of the Convention, that "there was a coalition and general insurrection of the adherents of the bluidy Claver'se," and thereupon a dreadful panic ensued. The city drums beat the point of war; the Duke of Hamilton and other revolutionists, who had for weeks past been secretly bringing great bands of their vassals into Edinburgh, where they were concealed in cellars and garrets, now rushed to arms, and the members of Convention, confined in their hall, were terrified and put to their wit's end by the uproar. Lord Mersington, it is related, exchanging his senatorial robe and wig, "for ane auld wife's mutch and plaid," fled to his lodging, and appeared no more that day; but their fears were causeless, for Dundee, and the devoted cavaliers who accompanied him in his chivalric but hopeless enterprise, were then passing the woods and morasses of Corstorphine, on their route to the land of the Gael.

At a hand gallop they soon flanked the grey rocks and pine covered summits of those beautiful hills, and the sequestered village lay before them, with the morning smoke curling from its moss-roofed cottages, its broad lake swollen by the melting snows, but calm as a mirror, save where the swan and dusky waterouzel squattered its shining surface; the ancient kirk peeped above a grove of venerable sycamores, and to the south stood the castle of the old hereditary Foresters of Corstorphine.

"What castles are these on the right and left?" asked Dundee. "I warrant Mr. Holster can tell; he knows everything and everybody."

"Yonder hold with the loch flowing almost to its gates, is the house of the Lord Forester," replied the cavalier trooper, "a leal man and true."

"And that tall peel on the muirland to the north?"

"The tower of Clermiston, my lord."

"What! the house of Randal Clermont—um—a converted covenanter, and worshipper of the rising sun, eh?"

"'Tis said his name is at the address sent by the turncoat council to the Statholder," said Dunbarton.

"Assure me of that," exclaimed Dundee, sharply reining up his horse, "and by all the devils, I will hang him from his own bartizan, lord and baron though he be! Halt, gentlemen, we will pay these lords a visit; they, or their stewards, must pay us riding money, for the king's service. My lord, Earl, and thirty of you gentlemen, will detour across to Clermiston, while I will ride down to make my devoir to the Forester of these hills—forward, trot."

The troop separated, and Walter somewhat unwillingly accompanied Lord Dunbarton, whose party galloped in single files along the muddy and rough bridle-road that led over the lea to the gate of the solitary tower. They encircled the barbican wall, which was built partly on fragments of low rock, without being able to find entrance, the great gate being securely fastened, and the stillness of the place seemed to imply that it was uninhabited. A shriek, echoing through the vaulted recesses of the tower, rang out upon the clear morning air; a window was dashed open, and a female hand, white and bleeding, appeared, while a voice calling for aid made the blood of Walter Fenton rush back upon his heart.

"On, on, good sirs!" he exclaimed, leaping from his horse; "some work of hell is being enacted here!" and he rushed against the tower gate, making fruitless efforts to burst it open; but they were as those of a child against the solid planks of the barrier.

"By Mahoud's horns, Clermistonlee is at his old tricks again!" cried Jack Holster, leaping from his saddle, and unslinging his carbine. "He hath a lass in his meshes; alight gallants all, or the fair fortress will be won by storm, while we dally in the trenches."

"Would to God I had a petard!" exclaimed Walter; "this gate is like a wall."

"Unsling your carbines, gentlemen," said the Earl of Dunbarton. "A volley at the lock—give fire!"

Thirty carbines poured their concentrated volley upon the gate; it was torn to fragments, and an aperture formed which admitted the troopers; to creep through, and rush on with his drawn rapier, were to Walter a moment's work. By pulling the leathern latch of a long oak pin which secured the door of the tower, they procured ingress, and rushed up the turnpike stair to the hall, at the very moment that Lilian was just sinking backwards, with her hands clasped in despair, while Lord Clermistonlee, enraged by her outcries, and the new and pressing danger, was endeavouring with ferocious violence to drag her into some place of concealment.

"False villain!" exclaimed Walter, springing upon him with his rapier. "I have a thousand insults to avenge; but this, and this, and this, repay them all!" and he made three furious lunges at his rival, who escaped two by the intervention of Dunbarton, who vigorously interposed; but he received one severe wound in the left shoulder. Infuriated by the sight of his own blood, and being a man of great strength and agility, he grappled fiercely with Walter, breathlessly exclaiming, in accents of rage—

"Woe betide thee, thou unhanged rascal! A sword! a sword! lend me a sword, some one! Juden! Traitors, I am a Lord of Parliament, and dare ye slaughter me under the rooftree of my own fortified house? This is hership and hamesucken with a vengeance! Death and confusion, villains; recollect I am unarmed!"

"Lend him a sword, some of you," said Walter.

"Oh no, no; spare him," moaned Lilian, who was supported by the Earl of Dunbarton.

"Base-born runnion, and son of a dunghill!" exclaimed Clermistonlee, with that intense ferocity and scorn which he could so easily assume at all times; "an hour will come when this insult shall be fearfully repaid——" here the clenched hand of Walter struck him down. Staggering backward, making a futile attempt to recover himself, his clutching hands tore away the veil that concealed the portrait already mentioned. The face it revealed instantly arrested the forward stride and menacing sword of Walter Fenton, who stood irresolute, trembled, and the sinking sword half fell from his relaxed hand, as he muttered—

"What is this coming over my spirit now? That face seems like a vision from the grave to me!"

"'Tis the Lady Alison, my Lord's late wife," said the shrill but sullen voice of Beatrix.

"Pshaw!" rejoined Walter; "then my weakness is over. Give him a sword, gentlemen. In fair stand-up fight, I will meet him here, with case of pistols, sword, and dagger, or anything he pleases."

"O part them, for the sake of mercy!" implored Lilian.

Juden came in at that moment, clad in his steel bonnet and buff jack, and swaying an enormous partisan, was rushing upon Walter Fenton like a wild boar, when Holsterlee laid him flat with his clubbed carbine. The swooning of Lord Clermistonlee closed the brawl for the time; loss of blood, over-drinking, and over-excitement, had quite prostrated all his energies. Walter immediately sheathed his sword, and, kneeling down, was the first to tender assistance; for "compassion ever marks the brave."

Clermistonlee was borne away to his own apartment by the growling Juden, whose thick pate was little the worse of Holsterlee's stroke; and Lilian was now Walter's next and immediate care.

The disorder and scantiness of her attire, the pallor and horror of her aspect, and her presence in such a place, had previously informed him of all, and no sooner were they in a more retired apartment, than, throwing herself into his arms, she wept bitterly. Meanwhile, the unscrupulous cavaliers were ranging over the entire household, breaking open every press, cabinet, and girnel, with the butts and balls of their carbines, in search of wine, vivres, or anything else that suited their fancies. Juden kept always a full larder, and its contents furnished a sumptuous breakfast. Several whole cheeses, a cask of ale, and a thirty-gallon runlet or two of canary, were trundled into the hall; and a hearty repast, with the usual military accompaniments of mirth and laughter, was enjoyed by the hungry troopers, whose appetites a night spent in their saddles, and a ride in the keen air of a winter morning, had sufficiently whetted.

In a few minutes, Lilian, with faltering accents, had informed Walter of her abduction, of the hours of suffering she had endured, and her anxiety to return to Lady Grisel; but, alas! poor Lilian knew not that perhaps her only relative had perished in the conflagration of her old ancestral home.

Aware that Dundee meant to halt for an hour or so, to await despatches from the Earl of Balcarris and the ex-Lord-Advocate, Walter resolved without delay to accompany Lilian to Edinburgh, and there convey her to some place of safety, ere he cast himself upon the world for ever; for from that hour he was like a reed tossed upon the waves of misfortune. By the assistance of Jack Holster, he had Clermistonlee's favourite mare prepared for Lilian; and, after refreshing her with a milk-posset made by the cynical Beatrix, they departed for the city at a quick trot: the plain buff coat, steel cap, and accoutrements of Walter, enabling him to pass for a Royalist or Revolutionist, as occasion required.

As soon as they began to converse, the pace of their horses was checked, and they proceeded slowly: forgetful of Claverhouse and of his pledged word, Walter remembered only the presence of Lilian; and their minds were so much absorbed in their mutual explanations and plans for the future, that they marked not the tardiness of their progression towards Edinburgh.

CHAPTER IX.

LOVE AND PRINCIPLE.

My promised husband and my dearest friend;
Since heaven appoints this favoured race to reign,
And blood has drenched the Scottish fields in vain,
May I be wretched and thy flight partake?
Or wilt not thou for thy loved Chloe's sake,
Tired out at length submit to fate's decree.
                                                                                            TICKELL.

"And this is the fate to which you have dedicated yourself?" said Lilian, weeping; "to become a follower of that fierce Dundee in the desperate course on which he is about to fling himself. Oh, Walter Fenton, this is the very folly of enthusiasm. Too surely can we see that the hand of Fate is against the House of Stuart."

"Lilian," replied her lover, with mournful surprise, "the daughter of an old Cavalier house should have other thoughts than these. Remember, dear Lilian, there is not in Europe a royal race for which so many of the good and the gallant, the brave and the loyal, have from the foughten field and the reeking scaffold given up their souls to God. Let no man judge harshly of those whose splendour is dimmed for a time; for the hour shall come when in the full zenith of their pride and power, the old line of our Scottish kings——"

"'Tis all a dream, Walter. The entire nations are against them. I feel a presentiment that they and their followers are doomed to wither and perish like brands in the burning."

"My faith! art turning preacher, lassie?"

"Oh, what a prospect for thee, Walter!"

"The world is all before me; and I can always preserve my honour, my heart, and my sword. But thou, Lilian——"

"Am beside thee, dear Walter," said she, with touching artlessness; "and is not happiness better than honour?"

"True, true," replied the young man, while he kissed her hand, and his eyes filled with tenderness. "Ah, Lilian, it is the thought that I am leaving you, perhaps for ever, that alone unnerves me for the deadly venture in which we are about to engage. Hopeless though the cause of James may be, we have sworn not to survive it; and, come weal or woe, we will unfurl his standard on the northern hills, and if it waves not over us in victory, it shall never do so in defeat or dishonour; for to the last man we will perish on the sod beneath it. Your memory alone will make me sad—but am I singular? How many of these my brave companions have gentle ones to leave, mothers who bless, and sisters who love them, while I am alone. Save thee, there is nothing that binds me to this world. What of it is mine? The six feet that shall make my grave!"

"O! most ungrateful Walter," said Lilian, in a low voice of confusion and tenderness; "is not all that I have yours, manor and lands? are not these possessions ample? Greedy Gled," she added, smiling; "what better tocher would you have?"

"Lilian," sighed Walter, in a thick voice, as he pressed her hand to his heart, "it may not be, dearest—yet awhile, at least."

The blushing girl gave him a timid and startled glance of inquiry.

"I am solemnly pledged to Dundee."

"Cruel Claverhouse! has he more charms for you than I have?"

"You know that my heart is full of you, Lilian; but there is also room for ambition in it. I cannot live ignobly and obscure; as such I would be unworthy to possess you. I would feel myself a nameless intruder under the rooftree of your crested ancestors, whose armorial blazons on every panel and window-pane, would shame my meaner birth, and put me to the blush."

"Ungrateful! after all I have urged and said. 'Tis a dream, Walter, a mere dream, but one that will make the world dark—oh! very dark to me."

"'Tis very true; I am choosing the path of proscription, danger, and death; but the fortune of war may better the prospects of my faction."

"After years of separation, perhaps."

"With happiness in prospect, they would soon pass, dear Lilian."

"Oh, this wicked Claverhouse! he hath quite cast a glamour over you. How can you talk so calmly of years of separation? What may not be lost in that time?"

"My life on the field, or scaffold, perhaps."

"Your life is mine, Walter; it was pledged to me. Have you forgot the 20th of September, and the hour by the fountain?"

"Dearest girl, how could I ever forget it? 'Tis true, Lilian, that we are in the very flower of our days; the bloom of our youth and existence is at its full; love, tenderness, beauty, and susceptibility, all glow within our hearts."

"And will not the roll of years make them dull, diminish their force, and cool their fervour? Oh, heavens! I am quite making love to you," said Lilian, blushing crimson; "but danger and the risk of losing you have endued me with great boldness."

"But time will never diminish the love I bear thee, Lilian; and the memory of this hour's bitter struggle—this conflict between a love that is irresistible and the strong ties of honour, that bind me to the banner of Dundee, will haunt me to my grave!" Tears started into his eyes.

A silence ensued. Poor Lilian had nothing more to urge; and despite of all her gentleness, felt both intensely grieved and mortified, if not quite piqued, at Walter, whose heart was wrung by an agony too acute for words. As they rode past the thick woodlands that shelter the venerable church of St. Cuthbert, they heard a shrill but cracked voice chanting slowly—

"I like ane owl in désart am, &c."

"By Jove! 'tis the villain who slew poor Joram," exclaimed Walter, drawing a pistol from his holsters; but the voices of two other persons finishing the verse, arrested him. "Astonishment! 'tis the voice of Finland!" said Walter, as he spurred his horse close to a fauld dyke, on the other side of which he saw, what? Annie Laurie, and his old friend and brother Cavalier, Finland, on their knees, beside Mr. Ichabod Bummel, chanting a psalm in most dolorous accents.