“Your pardon, my lady—I beg your pardon—I canna help it. Eh, Lady Anne! Eh, Miss Katie! ‘Little wat ye wha’s coming; prince and lord and a’s coming.’ There’s ane in the court—ane frae the North, wi’ the news of a’ the victories!” Lady Anne’s face flushed a little. “Who is it?—what is it, Bauby?” “It’s the Prince just, blessin’s on his bonnie face!—they say he’s the gallantest gentleman that ever was seen—making a’ the road frae the Hielands just ae great conquish. The man says there’s thousands o’ the clans after him—a grand army, beginning wi’ the regular sodgers in their uniform, and ending wi’ the braw tartans—or ending wi’ the clouds mair like, for what twa e’en could see the end of them marching, and them thousands aboon thousands; and white cockauds on ilka bonnet of them. Eh, my leddy! I could greet—I could dance—I could sing— ‘An somebody were come again, Than somebody maun cross the main, And ilka man shall hae his ain, Carle an the King come!’” “Hush, Bauby, hush,” said Lady Anne, drawing herself up with a consciousness of indecorum; but her pale cheek flushed, and her face grew animated. She could not pretend to indifference. “Ye had best get a sword and a gun, and a white cockade yoursel. You’re big enough, Bauby,” said the anti-Jacobite Katie; “for your grand Chevalier will need a’ his friends yet. Maybe if you’re no feared, but keep up with a’ thae wild Hielandmen, he’ll make you a knight, Bauby.” “Katie, you forget who’s beside you,” said Lady Anne. “Oh! ne’er mind me, my lady; I’m used to argue wi’ her; but if I did fecht for the Chevalier—ay, ye may ca’ him sae!—was it no your ain very sel, Katie Stewart, that tellt me, nae later than yestreen, that chivalry meant the auld grand knights that fought for the distressed lang syne? And if I _did_ fecht for the Prince, what should ail me? And if it was the will of Providence to make me strong and muckle, and you bonnie and wee, whase blame was that? The Chevalier! Ay, and blessings on him!—for isna he just in the way of the auld chivalry—and isna he gaun to deliver the distressed?” “The way the King did in the persecuting times—him that shot them down like beasts, because they liket the kirk,” said Katie. “Eh, ye little Whig! that I should say sae! But I have nae call to stand up for the auld kings—they’ve gaen to their place, and rendered their account; but this bonnie lad—for a bonnie lad he is, though he’s born a prince, and will dee a great king, as it’s my hope and desire—has nae blame of thae ill deeds. He’s come for his ain kingdom, and justice, and the rights of the nation, ‘and ilka man shall hae his ain.’” “But wha’s wronged, Bauby?” asked the unbeliever. “Wha’s wronged? Isna the nation wronged wi’ a bit German duke pitten down in the big seat of our native king? Isna a’body wronged that has to suffer that? And isna he coming with his white cockade to set a’thing right again?”