The king’s heart, and that of his brave companions, sunk as they heard this resistless plan of destruction proposed and set about. It was for a moment only, however, for suddenly they heard the clear sweet voice of Edith exclaiming, “We are saved, we are saved! yonder comes the Lord of Wemyss and his gallant followers!” and immediately after the maiden herself appeared to reiterate the tidings.
“Are you sure of what you say, Edith?” asked the king eagerly. “How do the horsemen ride?”
“As if their coursers were winged,” replied Edith, “all of them; but one who backs a gray steed of surpassing power, is far before the rest, and ever and anon turns round, as if upbraidingly, to his followers.”
“My trusty David!” exclaimed the king, with emotion, “well wert thou worthy of the gallant gray!”
There was now heard a peculiar shout from among the Egyptians without, which was rightly interpreted as a signal of retreat; for it was immediately followed by the evacuation of the house; and so speedy and simultaneous was their flight, that the king could only perceive the latest of the tribe as they made for the wood, leaving to Wemyss and his companions a deserted field and an open entrance.
“Thanks, David, for this timely rescue,” said the king, as the knight bended the knee before him. “By my crown, the spurs were well bestowed on one who can so fairly use them!”
James, followed by Sir David, Walter, Arthur, and the rest, now led the way to the upper chamber where the immoderate joy and hospitality of the old man displayed itself in the most substantial form. When they had caroused for some time, the king, turning to Colville, said,—
“Mine host, did I hear rightly when you said there was nothing beneath this roof-tree to which I was not welcome?”
“Your highness heard rightly.”
“Give me then this fair maiden. We kings, you know, seldom choose the least valuable of our subjects’ chattels.”