"Walter, an edict of council hath (as his Lordship said) made this law, which will be more fully confirmed by the three estates. Mr. Secretary, read aloud the oath of fealty, and the young gentleman will sign it."
"By my beard, he had better, or prepare for his auld quarters again," added Dalyel, sharply, striking his heavy toledo on the floor.
Thus urged, Walter heard the oath of allegiance, which the approaching crisis in the affairs of those factions that then rent both Scotland and England, rendered necessary for the security of the Government—promising "faithfully to demean himself to the estates of Scotland presently met;" and affixed his name thereto, little foreseeing how dear that oath was yet to cost him, and how unfortunate in its influence it was, at a future time to prove to his fortunes. As if he foresaw it, a dark smile lit the sinister eyes of Clermistonlee; it was a peculiar scowl of deep and hidden meaning; and though Walter soon forgot it at the time, he remembered it in after years when the cold hand of misfortune was crushing him to the dust.
"I trust, young birkie," said the fierce Dalyel with a keen glance, "that you will never again waver in the execution of your duty or military devoir; but be stanch as a red Cossack, and ever ready to do his Majesty gude and leal service (whatever be his creed) against all false rebels and damned psalm-singers, whilk are the same."
"I will gage my honour for him," said Dunbarton.
"How readily my Lord defends his loon," whispered Clermistonlee to Dalyel, but not so low as to be unheard; and the Earl's cheek flushed—his brows knit; but he made no reply, save waving his hand to Walter, who withdrew.
The warm noonday sun streamed brightly down the High-street; the musical bells of Saint Giles jangled merrily in the pure breeze that swept through the stone-arched spire; and Walter Fenton never felt so happy and light of heart as when he issued from the sombre Parliament-close into the bustle of that grand thoroughfare; and giving full reins to his fancy, allowed it to career into regions fraught with the most brilliant visions of the future: fame, fortune, happiness, all were there in glowing colours, but were—never to be realized.
Poor Walter! That hour laid the foundation of the airy palace of love, glory, and renown, which every ardent young man builds unto himself, and which indeed is the only fabric that costs nothing but the bitter achings of a seared and disappointed heart. To Walter it was the dawn of joy; his foot, he thought, was now firmly planted on the first step of the dangerous ladder of honour; and with his thoughts divided between war, ambition, and Lilian Napier, and with his heart glowing with exultation, he pulled forth the little scrap of parchment to re-examine it again and again, as he skipped down the crowded street, and a severe concussion against a tower of the Netherbow first roused him from his dreams. He was in excellent humour with himself, pleased with everybody, and enraptured with the Lords of Council, whose orders he was ready to obey in everything, whether they were to storm a tower or fire a clachan, march to England, or duck an "auld wife" in the North Loch.
"My stars are propitious to me to-day," said he aloud, as he half-danced down the street towards the White Horse Cellar. "O, may Heaven give me but opportunities to win a name; and if the most unflinching perseverance—the most spotless loyalty—and a headlong valour, such as not even Claver'se can surpass, will bring me honour and renown, I feel that I shall win them. O Bravo for the roll of the drum! the rush of the charging horse! and the ranks of pikemen shoulder to shoulder! I am one of the Guards of St. Louis—King James's Scottish Musqueteers—the old Diehards of Dunbarton."
END OF VOL. I.