"The true sough o' the auld conventicle," said the bluff old sergeant, merrily. "Hark your honours, the game's afoot."
According to the rank of the house and the fashion of the present time, the room which Fenton surveyed would be deemed small for a principal or state apartment; but it was richly decorated with a stuccoed ceiling, divided into deep compartments, as the walls were by wainscotting, but in the pannels of the latter were numerous anomalous paintings of scenery, scripture pieces, armorial bearings, and the quaint devices of the Scoto-Italian school. An old ebony buffet laden with glittering crystal and shining plate massively embossed. The furniture was ancient, richly carved, and dark with time; stark, high-backed chairs with red leather cushions, and tables supported by lions legs and wyverns heads. The floor was richly carpeted around the arched fire-place, where a bright fire of coals and roots burned cheerily, while the grotesque iron fire-dogs around which the fuel was piled, were glowing almost red-hot, and the blue ware of Delft that lined the recess, reflected the kindly warmth on all sides. The ponderous fire-irons were chained to the stone jambs—a necessary precaution in such an age; and on a stone shield appeared the blazon of the Napiers: argent, a saltire, engrailed, between four roses, gules, and an eagle in full flight, with the lance and motto, "Aye ready." A tall portrait of Sir Archibald Napier in the dark armour of Charles the First's age, appeared above it.
A young lady sat near the fire-place, and on her the attention of the handsome eavesdropper became immediately rivetted. Her face was of a very delicate cast of beauty; her bright blue eyes were expressive of the utmost vivacity, as her short upper lip and dimpled chin were of archness and wit. The fairness, the purity of her complexion was dazzling, and her glittering hair of the brightest auburn, fell in massive locks on her white neck and stiff collar of starched lace. A string of Scottish pearls alone confined them, and they rolled over her shoulders in soft profusion, adding to the grace of her round and beautiful figure, which the hideous length of her long stomacher, and the volume of her ample skirt could not destroy. She was Lilian Napier.
Opposite sat her grand-aunt, Lady Grizel, a tall, stately, and at first sight, grim old dame, as stiff as a tremendous boddice, a skirt of the heaviest brocade, the hauteur of the age, and an inborn sense of much real and more imaginary dignity, could make her. Frizzled with the nicest care, her lint-white locks were all drawn upwards, thus adding to the dignity of her noble features, though withered by care and blanched by time; and the healthy bloom of the young girl near her made the contrast between them greater: it was the summer and the winter of life contrasted. Lady Grizel's forehead was high, her nose decidedly aquiline, her eyes grey and keen, her brows a perfect arch. Though less in stature, and softer in feature, her kinswoman strongly resembled her; and though one was barely eighteen, and the other bordering on eighty, their dresses were quite the same; their gorgeously flowered brocades, their vandyked cuffs, high collars, and red-heeled shoes, were all similar.
As was natural in so young a man, Walter Fenton remarked only the younger lady, whose quick, small hands toyed with a flageolet, and a few leaves of music, while her more industrious grand-aunt was busily urging a handsome spinning-wheel, the silver and ivory mountings of which flashed in the light of the fire, as it sped round and round. Close at her feet lay an aged staghound, that raised its head and erected its bristles at times, as if aware that foes were nigh.
There was such an air of happiness and domestic comfort in that noble old chamber-of-dais, that the young volunteer felt extremely loth to be one of those who should disturb it; but fairly opposite the glowing fire, in the most easy chair in the room, (a great cushioned one, valanced round with silken bobs,) sat he of whom they were in search, and whom the macer had pronounced so worthy of martyrdom.
He was a spare but athletic man, above the middle height; his blue bonnet hung on a knob of his chair, and his straight dark hair hung in dishevelled masses around his lean, lank visage, and sallow neck. His face was gaunt, with red and prominent cheek-bones; his eyes intensely keen, penetrating, and generally unsettled in expression. He wore clerical bands falling over that part of his heavily skirted and wide-cuffed coat, where lapelles would have been had such been the fashion of the day; his breeches and spatterdashes were of rusty grey cloth; his large eyes seemed fixed on vacancy, and his hands were clasped on his left knee. When he spoke his whole face seemed to be convulsed by a spasm.
"Maiden," said he, reproachfully, "and ye will not accompany me in the godly words of Andro Hart's Scottish metre?"
"Think of the danger of being overheard, Mr. Bummel," urged the young lady. "I will sing you my new song, the Norlan' Harp."
"Name it not, maiden, for thy profane songs sound as abomination in my ears!"