"Welcome, gentlemen," exclaimed Wallace; "I never stood in such need of advice and comradeship."
He was a handsome man, above six feet in height; his gold-coloured cuirass and buff coat, laced with silver, announced him a captain; the slouch of his broad Spanish hat, with its drooping plumes, and the tie of his voluminous white silk scarf, gave him inimitable grace.
"Welcome, Finland, to share the poor cheer and hard fighting of Holyrood. By Mahoun! but times are changed with the King's soldiers. I have endured a three days' siege here, and matters are not likely to mend."
"No; a rabble, many thousands strong, by all the devils! the very riddlings of St. Ninian's and the Beggars' Row, are at this moment approaching, and if one of your guard are left alive by daylight it will be a miracle."
"Dost think so?" rejoined Wallace, as he led them to a table in the outer court of the palace, where a lantern placed on a table revealed a few drinking horns, a keg of eau de vie, and some objects of a more unpleasant nature, the dead bodies of several soldiers, shot by the rioters during the day. "You hold out a dark future to us, Finland, and, nevertheless, like the true soldier I have ever known thee, come to take a turn of service with us."
"As you see," replied Finland, laughing, as he filled a horn from the keg unbidden.
"Drink with me, gentlemen," said Wallace.
"With all my soul!" hiccupped Dr. Joram.
"This keg of brandy was lately in the cellars of the Jesuits, and some friendly rogue trundled it our way. God bless the good old cause! my service to ye, sirs. Hark, comrades—drums!" he added, as he drained and threw down the cup.
"'Tis the march of the trained bands," said Walter.