Thirty carbines poured their concentrated volley upon the gate; it was torn to fragments, and an aperture formed which admitted the troopers; to creep through, and rush on with his drawn rapier, were to Walter a moment's work. By pulling the leathern latch of a long oak pin which secured the door of the tower, they procured ingress, and rushed up the turnpike stair to the hall, at the very moment that Lilian was just sinking backwards, with her hands clasped in despair, while Lord Clermistonlee, enraged by her outcries, and the new and pressing danger, was endeavouring with ferocious violence to drag her into some place of concealment.
"False villain!" exclaimed Walter, springing upon him with his rapier. "I have a thousand insults to avenge; but this, and this, and this, repay them all!" and he made three furious lunges at his rival, who escaped two by the intervention of Dunbarton, who vigorously interposed; but he received one severe wound in the left shoulder. Infuriated by the sight of his own blood, and being a man of great strength and agility, he grappled fiercely with Walter, breathlessly exclaiming, in accents of rage—
"Woe betide thee, thou unhanged rascal! A sword! a sword! lend me a sword, some one! Juden! Traitors, I am a Lord of Parliament, and dare ye slaughter me under the rooftree of my own fortified house? This is hership and hamesucken with a vengeance! Death and confusion, villains; recollect I am unarmed!"
"Lend him a sword, some of you," said Walter.
"Oh no, no; spare him," moaned Lilian, who was supported by the Earl of Dunbarton.
"Base-born runnion, and son of a dunghill!" exclaimed Clermistonlee, with that intense ferocity and scorn which he could so easily assume at all times; "an hour will come when this insult shall be fearfully repaid——" here the clenched hand of Walter struck him down. Staggering backward, making a futile attempt to recover himself, his clutching hands tore away the veil that concealed the portrait already mentioned. The face it revealed instantly arrested the forward stride and menacing sword of Walter Fenton, who stood irresolute, trembled, and the sinking sword half fell from his relaxed hand, as he muttered—
"What is this coming over my spirit now? That face seems like a vision from the grave to me!"
"'Tis the Lady Alison, my Lord's late wife," said the shrill but sullen voice of Beatrix.
"Pshaw!" rejoined Walter; "then my weakness is over. Give him a sword, gentlemen. In fair stand-up fight, I will meet him here, with case of pistols, sword, and dagger, or anything he pleases."
"O part them, for the sake of mercy!" implored Lilian.