Seated at another table in the background, but helped liberally from the before-mentioned powt pie and the gallant pewter jug, old Lintstock, the ex-cannonier, with his steel cap and Jedwood axe laid beside him, his white hair glistening in the light of three long candles, and his eye looking very fierce and red, was eating his supper with a stern and disconsolate but nevertheless very determined aspect; for he had thoroughly resolved on doing something desperate, though he had not exactly made up his mind as to what that desperate thing should be. Ever since his master's arrest the forlorn old soldier had been protected by Sir John Forrester, who remarked, as they proceeded to supper—
"A whole day has passed, and yet, Leslie, we have resolved on nothing; and now our resolutions must needs be sharp and sure, for high and overstrained in their newfangled notions of civil authority, the abbot Mylne and Redhall will come swoop down like a pair of ravenous hawks on poor Vipont, for his escapade on that devilish day of Lady Jane's trial."
"I am aware of that."
"Then why did you not come sooner?"
"Sooner? Why, Sir John, I have never had time to cross myself to-day."
"Busy—thou?"
"Oh, I had a score of matters to attend to. First, I had to buy me a pot of rouge at the Tron for Madame de Montreuil, who complains that her complexion hath gone since the late queen's death; then I had to escort the Countess of Glencairn and little Mademoiselle de Brissac, who must needs go on a pilgrimage to the chapel of St. James; then I had to get a pint of wine at Leith to refresh me; then I had to write a song for Marion Logan, and to ride to John of the Silvermills, anent some matters for bonny Alison Hume."
"I knew not that she was ailing."
"Nay, 'twas only to get some almond paste for her dainty hands, and oil of roses for her hair."
"Plague on thee and them! Canst think of such cursed trifles when our best friends are in such deadly peril?"