"Tush, my boy. Art beginning to ruffle it already. His Lordship is the best hand either with rapier or dagger, single or double falchion, in all broad Scotland, while you are but a new-fledged soldier, whose burganet is bright as a new carolus. When you have followed the drum as long as I, you will learn to view everything with more coolness; though I ever loved a young gallant that was ready witted and quick-handed in defence of his mistress and honour. Clermistonlee is a thorough-paced rascal, and, though invited here for State purposes, God wot he is the only unwelcome guest under the roof-tree of Dunbarton. When I bethink me how he treated his wife, and kinswoman Alison Gifford, my blood bubbles up to boiling heat. Poor Alison! I used to love thee in my boyish days; but—hah! 'tis past like a tale that is told."
Twelve o' clock had rung from all the city bells, and the time was waxing outrageously late according to the punctilious ideas of the age. Lilian, in great anxiety to be gone, accepted the Countess's chair, while Walter, muffled in his rocquelaure, and having his sword girt close, followed as her escort, and bade adieu to their noble friends whose suite of apartments now seemed deserted, sad, and desolate, after the departure of all the gay and beautiful forms that had thronged them but an hour before; and the only traces of whom were here and there a faded or forgotten bouquet; a stray glove, a scarf, a ribbon, or a fontange. The lights waxed dim and few, for, like the joyous spirit of the fête, their lustre had passed away. Walter had too much of the continental gallantry that then distinguished the Scottish gentles, to act the mere part of escort. He threw the chairman's slings over his own shoulders, and fairly carried his lady-love home.
Dismissing the sedan at the barbican gate, he led Lilian up the steps to the door of the house, lingering at each; for there was something on his lips which he longed, but dared not to utter. Ere he pulled the ring of the risp, he softly pressed her hand and said, in a very gentle voice,—
"Lilian—dear Lilian—restore the glove of which you deprived me."
"Glove—glove?" reiterated Lilian in a great flutter.
"Forgive me, dear Madam—oh, you cannot have forgotten, when last we walked by the loch yonder."
"Foh! what a droll request, Mr. Fenton."
"All night you have called me Walter. Alas, I shall be very wretched if you refuse this little boon."
"I am sorry for that; but you must learn that Aunt Grisel's marmoset carried it off from my toilet-table and quite tore it to pieces."
"Ah, the provoking ape! But, dear Lilian, do not be so cruel as to cloud this dream of joy by dismissing me without a token of—of your favour to-night. I will not see you often now—we leave Scotland very soon, 'tis said."