But the lady had no intention that her agreeable visitors should remain for too long a period. In the midst of her mirth she had never entirely got rid of a certain air of apprehension, and twice or thrice she had stopped in the middle of a sentence as if to listen. All at once she turned pale, _really_ pale this time, and set her goblet down untasted. ‘For any sake! my lord,’ she exclaimed, with an imploring look at Bothwell, ‘go your ways now. I can let you down the back stair. Go your ways, gentlemen, I entreat you, or there will be blood spilt before all’s done!’ Already the tramp of feet and altercation of voices had been heard in the street; now the clink of steel fell familiarly on the ears of the guests up-stairs. They rose to their feet, and commenced buckling on their swords simultaneously. ‘We are, indeed, fortunate,’ observed d’Elbœuf in high glee; ‘a jovial carouse, a delightful supper-party, and a midnight fray, all without the slightest trouble or inconvenience.’ ‘For the love of mercy, begone!’ pleaded Mistress Alison, pushing them, one after another, to the door. ‘For _my_ sake, for _any_ sake, for _all_ our sakes! They’re breaking in the door! They’re coming up the stair! It’s the earl; as sure as death, it’s the earl!’ ‘What earl?’ laughed Bothwell, carelessly, and yet curious to know the name of the favoured nobleman, for whom the supper they had just eaten was prepared. ‘The Earl of Arran, of course!’ replied Mistress Alison, blushing through her tears. ‘It’s too late now, for their swords are out and their blood up, and the street full of the red-handed Hamiltons! What will I do? What will I do?’ Pending further measures, Mistress Alison covered her head with her mantle and cried piteously. Bothwell smiled grimly in his beard when he heard the name of Arran. They were none of the best of friends, the Hepburns and the Hamiltons, at any time. To-night, the warden’s heart thrilled with a fierce pleasure at the thought of crossing swords with their chieftain’s son. ‘Draw, gentlemen,’ exclaimed Bothwell, putting himself at the head of the party. ‘A Hepburn! a Hepburn to the rescue! draw, and follow me!’ Thus shouting, he rushed to the stair-head, followed by his friends, who appeared, one and all, as ready for the fray as they had proved themselves for the feast.