CHAPTER XII.

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.