"On thy carcase, foul kite, will I avenge this treason against the Lord's anointed!" replied Joram, spurring his horse.
"Thou fool!" shrieked Ichabod, with a hollow laugh; "was that accursed tyrant who fiddled while Rome blazed beneath him the anointed of the Lord?"
"Have at thee, trumpeter of treason!"
"Caitiff and firebrand of hell, at last I have thee!" and their swords flashed as they fell upon each other like two mad bulls. The superior strength and skill of the cavalier chaplain quite failed him before the ferocious enthusiasm of the Presbyterian, whose long broadsword, swayed by both hands, was twice driven through his body at the first onset.
"King and High Kirk for ever!" cried poor Joram, as he fell forward with the blood gushing from his mouth; but, still unsatisfied, Ichabod seized him as he sank down, writhing one hand in his hair, and throwing the body across his saddle-bow, he slashed off the head, and held it aloft, a grinning and dripping trophy.
"Behold," he exclaimed in an unearthly voice, "behold the head of Holofernes!"
All was over now. Walter gave a hurried glance around him. The palace was being sacked by the rabble, who carried off all they could lay their hands upon; but it was upon the beautiful chapel, that venerable monument of ancient art and David's pious zeal, that the whole tide of popular fury was poured. In five minutes it was completely devastated. The tall windows, with their rich tracery and stained glass, were destroyed; the magnificent tombs of marble and brass, the grand organ, the altar with its burning candles and great silver crucifix, the rich oak stalls of the Thistle, with the swords, helmets, and banners of the twelve knights,—were all torn down, and the beautifully variegated pavement was stripped from the floor.
All the wood and ornamental work, the pictures, reliques, furniture, vestments, &c., were piled in front of the palace, and committed to the flames amid the yells of the populace, whose cries seemed to rend the very welkin. Dashing spurs into his horse, Walter gave him the reins, and sweeping his sword around him, right, left, front and rear, he broke through the crowd, and, followed by a score of bullets, galloped up the Canongate and escaped,—the sole survivor of that night's slaughter at Holyrood.