But the officer dared not cross the boundary, Cromwell’s orders had been strict, so he and his men stood glum, making no response to the generous invitation.
“Well, here’s to us a’,” cried William, raising the bottle to his lips.
“And now, my friends,” he continued, replacing the flask and springing into the saddle, “don’t be so down in the mouth. You’ve seen a Scotchman run, which was more than your ancestors saw at Bannockburn.”
And with that he rode for Traquair Castle.
CHAPTER VIII.—ACCOMPLISHMENT.
As evening drew on, the old warder of Traquair Castle beheld a sight that caused him to rub his eyes in the fear that they were misleading him. A horseman bearing the guise of a Roundhead trooper, his steel cap glittering, approached the ancient stronghold. That such a man dared set foot on Scottish soil and ride thus boldly to the home of the most noted Royalist on the Border seemed incredible, but the warder was not to be caught napping, and he gave orders that the gates be closed and guarded, for the Border was ever a land of surprises, and one must take all precaution. Doubtless this lone trooper had a company concealed somewhere, and was advancing to parley, although he carried no flag of truce. He came on with a fine air of indifference, and stopped when he found his way barred, sitting carelessly on his horse with an amused smile on his lips.
“What’s yer wull, surr?” demanded the warder from the wall.
“That’s it,” replied the horseman.