"And rightly were they served, false rebels!" said Lady Bruntisfield, striking her cane on the floor.
"But let the persecutors tak' heed," continued Elsie, heedless of the dame's Cavalier prejudices, "for their foot shall slide in due time (as the blessed word sayeth), the day of their calamity is at hand, and the sore things that are coming upon them make haste."
"O hush, dear Elsie," said Lilian, "you know not who may hear you."
"True, Madame Lilian," continued the old woman, "and your words are a burning reproach against those who make it treason to whisper the word, unless to the sound o' drums and shawlms, and organs. These are fearfu' times."
"Toots, nurse, I have seen waur," said Lady Bruntisfield impatiently.
"Aye, my Leddy, in the year fifty, when the army o' that accursed Cromwell came up by Lochend brawly in array o' battle, wi' the sun o' a summer morning glinting on their pike-heads and steel caps; marching they were, but neither to tuck of drum nor twang of horn, but to a fushionless English hymn, whilk they aye skirled on the eve o' battle. But our braw lads beat the auld Scots' march, and my heart warmed at the brattle o' their drums and the fanfare o' the trumpets. O, their thousands were a gallant sight to see, a' lodged in deep trenches by Leith Loan, and the green Calton braes covered wi' men-at-arms, and bristling wi' spears and brazen cannon! On the topmost rock waved the banner o' the godly Argyle, and a' the craigs were swarming wi' his wild Hielandmen in their chain jackets and waving tartans. An awfu' time it was for me and mony mair! My puir gudeman (whom God sain) rode in the Lowden Horse, under Sir Archibald's banner (Heaven rest him too). That morning I grat like a bairn when hooking the buff coat on his buirdly breiest, and clasping the steel helmet on his manly broo, (O, hinnie Lilian, ne'er may ye hae to do that for the man ye loe!) ere he gaed forth to battle for this puir cot, his little bairns, and me. But heigh! it was a brave sight, and a bonnie, to see our Lowden lads sweeping the English birds o' Belial before them like chaff on the autumn wind, though my heart was faint, and fluttered like a laverock in the hawk's grasp, and I trembled and prayed for my puir man Jock. My een were ever on Sir Archibald's red plume——"
"Red and blue, gules and argent, were his colours, Elsie," said Lady Grisel, whose tears fell fast. "O, nursie, my ain hand twined them in his helmet."
"True, my leddy," continued the old woman, whose strong feelings imparted a force to her language, "my een were ever on that waving plume, for well I kent where the Laird was, John Elshender was sure to be if in life. Aye, Lilian, hinnie, Sir Archibald's voice was as a trumpet in the hour of strife. 'Bruntisfield! Bruntisfield! bridle to bridle, lads!' We heard him shout on every sough o' wind, 'God and the King!' and ever an' anon his uplifted sword flashed among the English helmets like the levin brand on a winter night, and mony a gay feather, and mony a gay fellow fell before it."
"Peace, Elsie, enough!" said Lady Grisel, weeping freely at the mention of her husband, who had greatly distinguished himself in that cavalry encounter, where Cromwell's attack on Edinburgh was so signally repulsed. "If you love me, good nurse, I prythee cease these reminiscences!"
"Weel, my lady, but muckle mair could I tell doo Lilian o' these fearfu' times," continued the garrulous old woman, who loved (as the Scots all do) to speak of the dead and other days; "muckle indeed, for an auld carlin sees unco things in a lang lifetime. But, dearsake, your ladyship, dinna greet sae, for better times will come, and bethink ye they that thole overcome, for when things are at the warst, the're sure aye to mend; sae spake the godly Mr. Bummel to those who outlived that fearfu' night in the Whigs' vault at Dunottar."