Clermistonlee, while endeavouring with equal skill and grace to curb his restive horse, fixed his dark gloating eyes on Lilian Napier, and gave her a profound bow; but, well aware of what his intentions had long been towards her, instead of acknowledging it, she coldly turned away, and took the arm of Annie Laurie. She was too gentle to glance disdainfully, but an indignant blush crimsoned her cheek, and she withdrew to another part of the parapet. Clermistonlee bit his proud lip with vexation; but the fierce gleam of his dark eye passed unobserved by all save Juden, who, like his shadow, was never far off.
"My Lord Clermistonlee, we will hae but a toom toun now, when our brave bucks and braw fellows have a' marched southward," said Dalyel.
"Many a fair damsel sees her stout leman for the last time," replied his Lordship, with a soft smile at Lilian; "but keep bold hearts, fair ladies—there are as handsome fellows left behind as any that march under the baton of James Douglas."
"As gude fish in the sea as e'er cam' out o' t, hee, hee!"
"True," retorted Annie Laurie; "but such gay fellows as your Lordships are too economical of their persons to suit the taste of a bold border lass."
"Indeed, Mistress Laurie! But according to love à la mode, one leman is quite the same as another."
"Whilk," said Sir Thomas Dalyel, with a deep laugh, interrupting a sharp retort of Annie's, "whilk were the very words a certain Muscovite damsel sain to me, after her husband's head had been chopped off by the ungracious Tartars. I construed it into a hint that I was to occupy his place, and I was but owre happy, for 'tis a cold country, the land of the Russ and——but, dags and pistols! here cometh the rear-guard already! and as there are some lads marching owre yonder brae, with whom I would fain confer for the last time, I must crave your Ladyship's pardon, with leave to follow the line of route."
Erect in his stirrups, with toes pointed upwards and baton depressed, the old cavalier made a profound obeisance, and notwithstanding his great age dashed at full gallop through the crowd, amidst an ill-repressed shout of hatred and execration from amongst it.
"An auld ill-faured persecuting devil!" said Elsie Elshender, shaking her withered hand after him; "a tormentor o' God's worthiest servants, a Cain among the sons o' men—a fearfu' tyrant, and suited to fearfu' times. Gude keep us! look at the doken blade he spat on; there is a hole brunt clean through it."
"His horse's hoofs mak' runnin' water boil," added Syme the Baillie's wife in a low voice.