"On my honour—nae such persons—I protest to you——"
"Enough, Lady Grizel," replied Douglas, with a little hauteur; "positively we must spare you the trouble, if not the shame, of making those unavailing but humiliating assertions, which the laws of humanity and hospitality require. The sooner this affair is over the better—we crave your pardon, madam, but the king's service is paramount. Serjeant Wemyss, guard the door—follow me, Walter—forward, soldiers, and I will unearth this clerical fox!"
Rushing past Lady Grizel, while the startled household fled before them, the musqueteers pressed forward into the chamber-of-dais; but the Reverend Mr. Bummel had vanished, and no trace remained of him, save his ample blue bonnet, with its red cherry or tuft, and Walter Fenton was certainly not the last to perceive that the young lady had disappeared also.
"Search the whole house, from roof-tree to foundations," exclaimed Douglas; "cut down all who make the least resistance; but on your lives beware of plunder or destruction—away!"
A violent and unscrupulous search was made forthwith; every curtain, every bed and pannel were pierced by swords and daggers; every press, bunker, and girnel—the turrets and all the innumerable nooks and corners of the old house were searched. Every lockfast place was blown open by musket-balls, and thirty stentorian voices summoned the miserable preacher "to come forth;" but he was nowhere to be found. Pale and trembling between terror and indignation, propped on her long cane, the old lady stood under her baronial canopy on the dais of the dining-hall, listening to the uproar that rang through all the stone-vaults, wainscotted chambers, and long corridors of her mansion, and regarding Richard Douglas and his friend the young volunteer, with glances of pride and hostility.
Walter Fenton coloured deeply, and appeared both agitated and confused; but Douglas coolly and collectedly leaned against the buffet, toying with the knot of his rapier, and drinking a cup of wine to Lady Bruntisfield's health, helping himself from the buffet uninvited.
"Lady Grizel," said he, "by surrendering up these foolish and guilty men, whom, contrary to law, you have harboured and resetted within your barony, you may considerably avert the wrath of the already incensed Council."
"Never, Sir! never will I be guilty of such a breach of hospitality and honour. Bethink ye, Sirs, the Captain Napier is my sister's son, and it would ill become a Scottish dame to prove false to her ain blude. The minister, though but a gomeral body, is his friend—one of those whom the people deem exiled and persecuted for Christ's sake—ye may hew me to pieces with your partisans, but never would I yield a fugitive to the tortures and executioners of that bluidy and infamous Council." And to give additional force to her words, Lady Grizel as usual struck the floor thrice with her cane.
"Lady Bruntisfield," said Walter Fenton, gently, "beware lest our soldiers, or that dog the macer overhear you."
"Glorious canary this!" muttered the Lieutenant, apostrophizing the silver mug—"hum—I believe your ladyship is a Presbyterian."