"You did me great injustice; but, lackaday, with Wemyss and my party I have been for these three days worrying all the old wives and bonnetted carles on the Bruntisfield barony, to take certain obnoxious tests under terror of thumbscrews and gunmatch. By my honour, I would rather that my lord, the Earl of Perth, would march with his mace on shoulder, anent such dirty work, for I aver that it is altogether unbecoming the dignity and profession of a soldier. And mark me, Walter, all this tyranny will end in a storm such as the land hath not seen, since our father's days, when the banner of the covenant was unfurled on the hill of Dunse."
"And are there no tidings of Dunbarton, our commander?"
"The deuce, no! there hath been no mail from London these fourteen days; the rascal who brought the bag had only one letter, and getting drunk, lost it in the neutral grounds, somewhere on the borders. The earl was to have taken horse at Whitehall for the north, on the first of this month; 'tis now the penult day only, and he cannot be here for a week yet, so patience, Walter." Walter sighed.
"There are others here who have not forgotten thee, my dear Mr. Fenton," said a soft voice, as a pretty female face, lighted by two bright eyes, stooped down to that hideous grating. "But, forsooth, our good friend the Laird of Finland, seems resolved to talk for us all, which is not to be borne. I think he has acquired all the loquacity of the French chevaliers, without an atom of their gallantry."
"A thousand moustaches!" stammered the officer; "my fair Annie, I had almost—"
"Forgotten me! you dare not say so; but O my poor boy Fenton, how sorry I am I see thee there."
"I thank you, Mistress Laurie, but the honour of this visit would gild the darkest prison in Scotland—even the whig-vault of Dunoter," said Walter, kissing the hand of the speaker, whom he knew to be the betrothed of his friend, a gay and lively girl of twenty, whose beauty was then the theme of a hundred songs, of which, unhappily, but one has survived to us—the effusion of Finland's love and poesy. Long had they loved each other; but the father of Annie, the old Whig Baronet of Maxwelton, had engendered a furious hostility to Douglas, in consequence of his soldiers having lived at free quarters on his estates in Dumfriesshire, where they made very free, indeed, burned down a few farms, shot and houghed the cattle, and extorted a month's marching money thrice over, with cocked matches and drawn rapiers.
"This visit is as unexpected as it is welcome," continued Walter; "and, for the honour it does me, I would not exchange—"
"Thy prison for a palace," interrupted Annie. "Now, Mr. Walter, I know to an atom the value of this compliment, which means exactly nothing. But we must not jest; I have to introduce a dear friend—one who has come to thank you personally for those favours of which you are now paying the price. Come, Lilian, love," continued the lively young lady, "approach and speak. My life on't! how the lassie trembles! Come, Finland, we understand this, and will keep guard while little Lilian speaks with her captive paladin."
"You are a mad wag, Annie," said the cavalier, as he gave her his ungloved hand; "but lower your voice, dear one, or, soft and sweet as it is, it may bring down the gudeman and all his rascals about us in a trice."