"Maiden!" cried Mr. Bummel, in a shrill and stern voice; "mean ye the bloody and papistical Duke James, who, contrary to religion and to law, hath usurped the throne of this unhappy land--that throne from which (as I show in my _Bombshell_) justice hath debarred him--that throne from the steps of which the blood of God's children, the blessed sancts of our oppressed and martyred Kirk, rolls down on every hand! But the hour cometh, Lilian, when it is written, that he shall perish, and a new religious and political millenium will dawn on these persecuted kingdoms. On one hand we have the power of the horned beast that sitteth upon seven hills, and her best beloved son James, with his thumbscrews, the iron boots and gory maiden,--the savage Amorites of the Highland hills--who go bare-legged to battle--yea, maiden, naked as the heretical Adamites of Bohemia--those birds of Belial, the soldiers of Dunbarton--those kine of Bashan, the troopers of Claverse, of Lag and Dalyel, the fierce Muscovite cannibal--in England the _lambs_ of Kirke, and the gallows of the Butcher Jeffreys--a sea of blood, of darkness, death, and horror! But lo! on the other hand, behold ye the dawn of a new morn of peace, of love, and mercy; when the exile shall be restored to his hearth, and the doomed shall be snatched from the scaffold--for he cometh, at whose approach the doors of a thousand dungeons shall fly open, the torch of rapine be extinguished, the sword of the persecutor sheathed, and when the flowers shall bloom, and the grass grow green on the lonely graves of our ten thousand martyrs. Yea--he, the Saviour--William of Orange!" The eyes of Ichabod Bummel filled with fire and enthusiasm as he spoke; the crimson glowed in his sallow cheek--the intonations of his voice alternated between a whistle and a growl, and with his hands clenched above his head, he concluded this outburst, which gave great uneasiness and even terror to the old lady, though Lilian smiled with ill-concealed merriment. "You have all heard this tirade of treason and folly?" said Douglas to his soldiers. "Hech me!" ejaculated the macer, drawing a long breath; "it is enough to hang, draw, and quarter a haill parochin, I think." "The Dutch rebel!" exclaimed Douglas, whose loyalty was fired. "Soldiers! look well that none escape by the windows; close up, my 'birds of Belial;' and, harkee, Sergeant Wemyss, tirl at the pin there." The risp rung, and the door resounded beneath the blows of the halberdier. Lilian shrieked, Lady Grizel grew pale, and all the blood left the cheeks of the poor preacher, save the two scarlet spots on his cheek-bones. "Woe is me!" he shouted; "for, lo! the Philistines are upon me!" "The Guards of Pontius Pilate, he means," said the soldiers, as they gave a reckless laugh. A shutter flew open, and the fair face of Lilian Napier, with all her bright hair waving around it, appeared for a moment gazing into the obscurity without.