If there was a more triumphant sparkle in Mary Seton’s eye, a tinge of deeper colour on her cheek, as she reflected on the nature of that influence, who shall blame her? Was she not a woman; and is it not a woman’s instinct, like a cat’s, to tease and tantalise her prey to the utmost? Though the mouse be as big as an elephant, it is such fun to tempt him with the prospect of indulgence, or even liberty, and then sweep him irresistibly back again with one stroke of the cruel velvet paw.
Mary Seton smiled within herself, and felt twice as big as the great borderer trembling there before her. With a whole budget of news gained for her Sovereign, she reverted to the topic most interesting to her comrade.
‘You think, then, that he is alive, though in close ward?’ she asked. ‘They are cruel folk, I have heard say, the “lightsome Leslies.” I would poor Walter were safe out of their hands!’
Dick had found his voice at last:
‘And safe he shall be!’ was his reply, ‘before another week has passed over his head. It may tak’ time, an’ it may tak’ skill, an’ it may tak’ twa or three men’s lives, but we’ll ha’ Maister Maxwell oot ’gin we ding doon Lesly itsel’, an’ mak’ a low[14] that’ll light up the twa Lommonds and the tae half o’ the kingdom of Fife! That’s what I’m here for now.’
[14] Flame.
She looked at him archly:
‘Was that all that brought you to Edinburgh?’ said she.
Again something seemed to choke the man-at-arms and prevent his reply. At last he spoke in a hoarse whisper—