The carriage lamps fell on her bright fairness and the shimmer of her dress; the night wind blew her hair and ribbons about her; in the sudden surprise of her appearance the crowd was silent.
The Earl’s hand dropped to his side.
“Surely you will let us pass,” she said, looking round her in a gentle way.
There was no one there who had any wish to shed blood before Lady Dalrymple; she was greatly beloved in Edinburgh and neither her beauty nor her fearlessness failed of their effect.
“We willna’ touch ye, mistress,” cried a man. “Stand awa’ frae yer husband.”
But she had laid her hand on the Earl’s breast and though he sought to move her, kept her place.
“Ye hae a bad lord!” shouted another. “But ye are a gentle leddy—stand frae the Earl—”
“Madam—retire!” cried her husband, very white.
But she took no heed of him.
“Give us leave to pass,” she said very softly.