"They may have got back so early," hazarded Douglas, "that already all are abed. Or they may have gone on to Lady Belrose's, in Hanover-square. A hundred things may have happened. And where, I wonder, is Archie? He surely will be in bed."
"Can he be arrested? It may be so."
"God forbid! Yet this darkness and silence seem to me ominous. What shall we do?"
"Heaven knows. Hist! Who comes here?" and as he spoke, from out of one of the doorways over which was, as may still be seen, a huge scallop-shell, there stepped forth a man. Enveloped in one of the long cloaks, or roquelaures, still worn at the period, and with the tip of a sword's scabbard sticking out beneath it, the man sauntered leisurely away from where they were standing, yet as he went they could hear him humming to himself an air they both knew well. It was that old tune "The Restoration"--which they had heard once before this evening!--to which the Highland army marched after it had crossed the border.
Presently the man turned and came towards them slowly, then as he passed by he looked straight in their faces, and, seeming satisfied by what he saw, he muttered, "A fine spring night, gentlemen. Ay, and so it is. A fine night for the young lambs outside the town and for the hawks within--though the hawks get not always their beaks into the lambs too easily; in fact, I may give myself classical license and say they are non semper triumphans."
"In very truth," replied Bertie, "some--though 'tis not always the hawks--are nunquam triumphans. That is, if I apprehend your meaning."
"Ay, sir," said the man, dropping his classics and changing his manner instantly. "You apprehend me very well. Sir, I am here with a message for you from a certain Scotch trader, one Mr. Archibald; also from a certain fair lady----"
"Ah!"
"Or rather, let me say, without beating about the bush, I brought to a certain fair lady, to-night, a message from Mr. Archibald, while she, considering it possible that a certain, or two certain brave gentlemen might appear in this square to-night, did beg me to remain in this sad square to deliver the message."
"Sir," said Elphinston, teased by the man's quaint phraseology, yet anxious to know what the message really was that had been sent from Father Sholto to Kate, and on from her to him, "sir, we thank you very much. Will you now please to deliver to us that message?"