‘It’s the earl!’ the girl was heard to say, turning round obviously to hold parley with some one in the room; and then another voice whispered in softer tones, ‘Is it you, my lord?’
‘Why, of course it is!’ answered Bothwell, somewhat surprised, nevertheless, that he should be so easily recognised.
‘I have expected you this hour and more,’ was the reply, as the two figures moved at once from the window.
‘The devil you have!’ observed the warden, now completely puzzled; ‘then why don’t you come down and open the door?’
Presently bars were heard to be withdrawn, and the party of rioters, if we may so term them, marshalled themselves in close order, prepared, if necessary, to go in with a rush. The door, however, was only partially unclosed, and the figure of a strapping serving-wench guarded the narrow interstice. She seemed less satisfied than her mistress, and inclined to hold further parley.
‘Hoo will I ken it’s you?’ said she, shading the candle with her large coarse hand.
But the caution was too late. Lord John’s shoulder was by this time applied to the door. Lord Robert blew out the candle, and the Admiral of France, with characteristic gallantry and national politeness, stifled the outcry of the astonished damsel in the dark.
The assailants had now gained the body of the place, still keeping their masks on, and with noiseless footsteps they ascended the stair; Maxwell and ‘Dick-o’-the-Cleugh,’ who had neither of them much stomach for the adventure, remaining at the door to keep watch.
The others turned into a comfortable parlour in which fire and lights were burning, as if to make them thoroughly at home. A delicate little supper, with a flask or two of wine, stood on the table, and a very smartly dressed lady, not without beauty of a bold, imposing style, rose to welcome them.