"Are you Miss Drummond?" he asked, very kindly.
"Flora Drummond is my cousin," I answered. "I will take you to her.
But is it about Angus?"
"It is about her brother, Lieutenant Drummond. He is not killed--let me
say so at once."
We were pressing through the superb crowd, and the moment afterwards we
reached Flora. She was standing by a little table, talking with Ephraim
Hebblethwaite, who spoke to Mr Raymond in a way which showed that they
knew each other. Flora just looked at him, and then said, quietly
enough to all appearance, though she went very white--
"You have bad news for some one, and I think for me."
"Lieutenant Drummond was severely wounded at Prestonpans, and has fallen
into the hands of the King's troops," said Mr Raymond, gently, as if he
wished her to know the worst at once. "He is a prisoner now."
Flora clasped her hands with a long breath of pain and apprehension.
"You are sure, Sir? There is no mistake?"
"I think, none," he replied. "I have the news from Colonel Keith."
"If you heard it from him, it must be true," she said. "But is he in
London?"
"Yes; and he ran some risk, as you may guess, to send that message to
you."
"Duncan is always good," said Flora, with tears in her eyes. "He was
not hurt, I hope? Will you see him again?"
"He said he was not hurt worth mention." (I began to wonder what size
of a hurt Mr Keith would think worth mention.) "Yes, I shall see him
again this evening or to-morrow."
"Oh, do give him the kindest words and thanks from me," said Flora,
commanding her voice with some difficulty. "I wish I could have seen
him! Let me tell Annas--she may wish--" and away she went to fetch
Annas, while Mr Raymond looked after her with a look which I thought
half sad and half diverted.
"Will you tell me," I said, "how Mr Keith ran any risk?"
"Why, you do not suppose, young lady, that London is in the hands of the
rebels?"
"The rebels!--Oh, you are a Whig; I see. But the Prince is coming, and
fast. Is he not?"
"Not just yet, I think," said Mr Raymond, with an odd look in his eyes.
"Why, we hear it from all quarters," said I; "and the red ribbons are
all getting white."
Mr Raymond smiled. "Rather a singular transformation, truly. But I
think the ribbons will be well worn before the young Chevalier reviews
his army in Hyde Park."
"I will not believe it!" cried I. "The Prince must be victorious! God
defends the right!"
"God defends His own," said Mr Raymond. "Do you see in history that He
always defends the cause which you account to be right?"
No; I could not say that.
"How can you be an opponent of the Cause?" I cried--I am afraid,
shifting my ground.
He smiled again. "I can well understand the attraction of the Cause,"
said he, "to a young and enthusiastic nature. There is something very
enticing in the son of an exiled Prince, come to win back what he
conceives to be the inheritance of his fathers. And in truth, if the
Old Pretender were really the son of King James,--well, it might be more
difficult to say what a man's duty would be in that case. But that, as
you know, is thought by many to be at best very doubtful."
"You do not believe he is?" cried I.
"I do not believe it," said Mr Raymond.