"I hope your Lordship is not hurt!" exclaimed his antagonist, supporting him by the arm.
"Zounds, no! a little only," replied Clermistonlee, whom the shock had perfectly sobered. Full of rage, he tossed his embossed sword-hilt over the house-tops, exclaiming, "Accursed blade, may the hands that forged thee grill on the fires of eternity!"
It whistled through the air, and fell down the chimney of the dowager Lady Drumsturdy, where it stuck midway, and so terrified that ancient dame that, notwithstanding her hatred to "massemongers," she laid her poker and shovel crosswise; but the mysterious noise in her capacious "lum" formed a serious case for the investigation of ghost-seers and gossips next day.
"Harkee, Laird of Finland," said Clermistonlee haughtily, "we must enact this affair over again in daylight; meantime let us part, or the Town-Guard will be upon us with their partisans, and I have no wish that you should suffer for ripping up an inch or two of skin in fair fight—you will hear from me anon."
"Whenever your Lordship pleases, I am your most obedient," replied Douglas, bowing coldly as he hurried to join the terrified ladies, with whom he had barely time to get into the hackney-coach and drive off, when the door of the prison opened, and a few of the Town Guard, who had heard the clashing of the rapiers, rushed forth with lanterns and poleaxes; like modern police, exhibiting great alacrity when the danger was over, they seized Clermistonlee.
"Dare ye lay hands on a gentleman," he exclaimed, fiercely shaking them off. "Unhand me, villains, I am Randal Lord Clermistonlee! I was assaulted——"
"By whom, my Lord, by whom?" replied the guardians of the peace, cringing before this imperious noble.
"What is it to such rascals as thee?—oh, a knavish cloak snatcher, or cut-purse, or something of that kind. Retire—I have always hands to defend myself."
The guard with hurried and half audible apologies withdrew, and the brawling lord was left to his own confused reflections. He tied a handkerchief about his hand, and was about to withdraw, when a thought struck him: he approached the grating of the low dungeon, and placing close to it his face, which though unseen was pale with fury, while his dark eyes gleamed like two red sparks,
"Art there, thou spawn of the Covenant?" he asked in a husky voice: "Ah, dog of a Fenton, I will hang thee high as Haman for this night's misadventure!"