And, drawing off his leather glove, he offered his hand to the old dame, who, struck by the gallantry of his manner, said—
"You have quite the air of a cavalier, such as I mind o' in my young days, when the first Charles was crowned in Holyrood."
"I pretend not to be a cavalier," said Walter, with a sad smile: "the camp is the school of gallantry."
"Fear for my Lilian makes me miserably selfish. I would rather die, good youth, than that a hair of your head should be injured; but that this delicate bairn should be dragged before that fierce Council, like some rude cottar's wife—'tis enough to make the dead bones in the West-kirk aisle to clatter in their coffins! Ere we go, say what will be your inevitable punishment for this dereliction of duty?"
"A few days' close ward in the Abbey-guard, with pease bannocks and sour beer to regale on, and mounting guard at the Palace porch in back-breast and headpieces, partisan, sword and dagger; in full marching harness, for four-and-twenty consecutive hours—that is all, madam," said he gaily; though the inward forebodings of his heart and his sad experience told him otherwise. "In serving you, fair Lilian," he added gently, and half attempting, but not daring to touch her hand, "I shall be more than a thousand times recompensed for any penance I may perform. Believe me, it will weigh as a featherweight against what the Council may inflict on Lady Bruntisfield. Now, then, away in God's name! Ye will surely find a secure shelter somewhere among your numerous friends and tenantry; but seek not the city, for Dunbraiken's guards are on the alert at every gate; and, above all, oh! beware of—of Lord Clermistonlee, who (if Finland suspects truly) has a deep project to accomplish."
"Heaven bless thee, good young man!" faltered the venerable Lady Grizel, laying her small but wrinkled hands upon his shoulders, and gazing on him with eyes that beamed with heartfelt gratitude. "Alack! alack! my mind gangs back to the time when three hearts as brave and as gentle as yours, grew up from heartsome youth to stately manhood under this auld roof-tree; but, oh, waly! waly! the cauld blast o' war laid my three fair flowers in the dust."
A noise in the kitchen, and the loud voice of the halberdier calling fresh sentinels, now caused them to hurry away. To conceal about their persons such jewels and money as they could collect from the cabinets in the chamber of dais, to muffle up in their hoods and mantles, to give one glance of adieu to the portrait of the dark cavalier above the fire-place, and another of gratitude to Walter Fenton, were all the work of a minute,—and they were led forth to the avenue. Grey morning was breaking in the east, and the black ridge of Arthur's Seat stood in strong relief against the brightening sky; the wind had died away, and the waning moon shone cold and dim in the west, while, far to the northward, the dark opaque clouds were piled in shadowy masses above the bold and striking outline of the capital. There the great spire of the Gothic cathedral, the ramparts of its rockbuilt fortress, the crenelated towers of the Flodden-wall, and the streets within "piled deep and massy, close and high," were all glimmering in the first pale rays of the dawn, though the valleys below, and the woods around, were still sunk in the gloom and obscurity of night. A sentinel challenged from the dark shadow of the barbican wall, and his voice made the fugitives tremble with fear.
"Dunbarton," answered Walter, and on receiving the password, the soldier stept back. "And now, ladies, whence go ye?"
"As God shall direct—to some of our faithful tenant bodies, for safety and concealment," sobbed Lady Bruntisfield.
"Poor Mr. Fenton!" murmured Lilian; "I tremble more for you than for ourselves."