THE DEFIANCE.
'Tis well for thee, Sir, that I wear no sword,
Else it had soon decided which should claim,
And which for death's colde arms exchange the dame.
OLD PLAY.
Walter had listened longer than he intended, and for a moment he felt
keenly how sad a thing it was that there were neither parent nor
kindred to bless his departing steps. The sincere grief of the
humble cottar had deeply moved him; but two kind kisses were yet
glowing on his cheek, and the remembrance that there were two gentle
beings who sorrowed for his departure and sighed for his return,
filled his heart with joy.
The ardour of youth, and his old enthusiastic spirit, blazed up
within him as he galloped back to the town. There, bustle and
confusion reigned supreme. The streets were thronged with citizens
and soldiers; and, though the hour was late, the hum of many voices
shewed that all were upon the qui vive.
As he passed the old house of the High Riggs, in the gloom of the
autumnal night, he nearly rode over a man whose grey plaid and broad
bonnet indicated him to be a peasant.
"Hollo, friend!--I crave your pardon."
"Goodeen to you, Mr. Fenton--you ride with a slack rein for a
cavalier," replied the other in a thick voice, after a brief pause.
"Ha! you know me, and it seems as if your voice was not unfamiliar;
but the night is so dark. You are----"
"Captain Napier of the Scots-Dutch," replied the other in a low voice.
"Astonishment! Unwary man, know you not that the Council have placed
a price on you, dead or alive? Is it madness that prompts you to
venture, in this Cameronian disguise, within a city swarming with
royal troops?"
"No, sir," replied the other haughtily; "but the service of William
Prince of Orange."
"For Godsake, sir, hush! These words are enough to raise the very
stones in the streets against you."
"Enough, young spark. I have been too long under the ban of
Scotland's accursed misrulers not to have learned caution. But I
know that he who addresses me is a man of honour."
"I thank you, sir, for the compliment."
"I believe you to be honourable as I have found you brave, and will
trust you when I cannot do better. I am bound for England, on the
shores of which William of Orange will soon pour his legions like
another Conqueror. Hark you, Mr. Fenton, we are rivals in love as we
are foes in faction; and, though the goal we aim at is the same, our
paths are widely different. The scene I saw and overheard this
evening by the fountain, makes me long with the hatred of a tiger
rather than the spirit of a Christian man to slay you; for, by the
might of God! no mortal shall ever cross the path or purpose of
Quentin Napier, while his hand can hold a rapier or level a pistol!
"Walter Fenton, from my boyhood, I have loved that amiable girl, and
there was a time when I fondly thought she loved me too. Necessity
forced me into the ranks of the Stadtholder. In the campaigns in
Zealand and Flanders, amid the turmoil of war, her image almost faded
from my mind; but when again we met, my memory went back to the
pleasant days of our younger years--all the first hopes and fond
feelings of my heart returned to their starting-place. 'Twas thou
that didst destroy this spell! And well it is for thee, youth, that
I am unarmed; for strong in my heart at this moment, is the power of
the spirit of darkness."
"Sir," replied Walter scornfully, "this is the mere Cameronian cant
of the Scots Brigade; and had I pistols----"
"The dust beneath our feet should drink the heart's blood of one or
both of us! By the Heaven that hears me, it should be so!"
At that moment the balefire on the cone of Arthur's Seat suddenly
burst forth into a lurid flame, and, flaring on the night wind in one
broad forky sheet, seemed to turn the dark mountain into a volcano,
and, tipping its ridgy outline with light, brought it forward in
relief from the inky sky beyond. The turreted battlements of
Heriot's Hospital, and the casements of the towering city, were
reddened by the gleam, and a faint light glowed on the pale
contracted features of Quentin Napier. He smiled grimly.
"How long have I looked forward to the time when yonder blaze would
redden on our Scottish hills! The time hath come! Farewell," he
said, grasping Walter's hand with fierce energy, while his voice
became deep and hoarse; "blows will soon be struck, and we may--_we
must_--meet in the field. When _that_ hour comes, spare me not; for
by the Power who this night heard your plighted troth, and from His
throne in heaven hears us now, I will not spare thee."
"Till then, adieu," replied Walter, with something of pity mingling
in his pride and scorn.
"But that you may fall by other hands than these, is the best I can
wish you. You were generous once, and I respect while I abhor you."
They separated.
A ferocious rival and uncompromising traitor were within his grasp,
and effectually he might have crushed both in one; but he could not
forget that this stern and cold-blooded partisan was the kinsman of
Lilian Napier, and one who trusted in his honour.
As he urged his horse towards the Bristo Port, the great forges of
the foundry, where formerly the Covenanters had cast their cannon,
were in full operation, and the rays of those lurid pyramids of fire,
that shot upwards from their towering cones, produced a wild and
beautiful effect as they fell on the fantastic projections and deep
recesses of the old suburbs, and the long line of crenelated wall
which girdled the city, on the dark and ancient college of King
James, and on the groups of anxious citizens gathered at their
windows and outside-stairs, conversing in subdued tones on those
"coming events" which were already casting their shadows before. As
Walter passed, their voices died away, and many a lowering eye was
bent upon him, while not a few shouted injurious epithets, and
chanted "_Lillibulero bullen à la_," the Marseillaise hymn of the
Scottish revolutionists.
The arcades or piazzas in the High Street were crowded by a noisy
mob. The whole city seemed on tip-toe from the Highriggs to the
Palace Gate, and many an eye was turned to where, like stars upon the
west and northern hills, the answering balefires threw abroad the
light of alarm. No man had yet dared to assume the blue cockade of
the Covenant; but the faces of the "sour-featured Whigs," were become
radiant with hope in anticipation of their coming triumph and
revenge. Guarded by Buchan's musqueteers, the Scottish train of
artillery were drawn up near the Tron, wheel to wheel, limbered and
ready for service; while cavalier officers with their waving plumes
and scarfs, guardsmen, and dragoons in their flashing armour galloped
hurriedly from street to street.
Women were wailing, and soldiers crowding and revelling in and around
the hostels and taverns, and the whole city was one scene of
universal confusion, noise, and dismay. Followed by six of his
splendidly accoutred cavaliers, Claverhouse (now Major-General
Viscount Dundee) dashed up from the Palace at full gallop. All
shrunk back as he swept forward on some mission of importance to the
Duke of Gordon, "the COCK of the north," who commanded in the castle
of Edinburgh, and, fired by the gallant air of Claverhouse, Walter
felt his heart glow with ardour for the military splendour of the
coming day.