As the soldier thus congratulated himself on the re-appearance of his sweetheart, and was chuckling over the near prospect of that promised “smack,” the cloaked figure arrived in front of the gateway, and stopped within a few paces of him.
“I thought ye were gone, an’ hed gi’en me the slip, Mistress Betsey,” said he, stepping a pace or two outward to get nearer to her. “It’s very kind o’ ye to come back. Why, ye look as if ye were frightened? Don’t be scared to come near me. Come up, now, an’ gie me the kiss ye promised. Come, that be a good lass!”
He was about opening his arms to offer what he supposed would be a welcome embrace, when at that moment the lightning gave forth a vivid flash, disclosing in the figure before him not the crimson-cloaked peasant girl, from whom he had so lately parted, but a lady richly enrobed in silk, satin, and velvet!
On the slender white fingers, that protruding from her cloak held its hood closed over her chin, he had seen, under the electric light, the sheen of sparkling jewels.
There was no mistaking the style of the personage that had thus presented herself.
Without doubt some grand dame—a “lady of the land.”
On perceiving his mistake, the surprised sentry gave way to a series of very natural reflections. “It be the one as sent Betsey? Sure it be! She’s growed impatient, and come herself. I suppose she’ll want to go in, and see him too. Well, for a kiss, I don’t mind lettin’ her; though I’d rather a had that buss from Betsey.”
“Good-night, sir!” said the lady, speaking in a tone that courted conciliation, though indicative of some surprise at the style of the sentry’s first salutation.
“The same to yourself, mistress!” rejoined the soldier, putting on his most courteous air; “May I be so bold as to ask your errand? It be a dark night for a fine lady to be abroad; and late too!”
“If I mistake not,” said she, without heeding the interrogatory, “you are Withers?”