"Nay, lady, I am only Walter Fenton of the Scottish Musqueteers, and nothing more: but in what can I serve you?"
"How shall I speak it?—That you will sleep on your post, and permit this poor child—dost comprehend me?—oh! I will nobly reward you; and the deed will be registered elsewhere."
"Oh, no!—no! beg no such boon for me," said the blushing and trembling girl; while the brow of the young man became clouded.
"You would counsel me to my ruin, Lady Bruntisfield: is it generous, is it noble, when I am but a poor soldier? Seek not to corrupt me by gold," he said hurriedly, on the old lady drawing a purse from her girdle; "for all I possess is my honour, the poor man's best inheritance. And yet, for the sake of Lilian Napier, I would dare much."
The deep blush which suffused the soft cheek and white brow of Lilian as the pikeman spoke, was not unobserved by the elder lady; and she said, with undisguised hauteur,—
"How is this, sir sentinel?—ye know my kinswoman, and by that glance it would seem that ye have met before. Lilian, do thou speak."
Lilian trembled, but was silent and confused.
"I have often had the honour of seeing Mistress Lilian at my Lord Dunbarton's," said the young man, hastening to her relief.
"How! are you little Fenton?"
"The Countess's page, madam."