"Heard ye that, my Lords, heard ye that? Gadso! a half acknowledgment that he can enlighten us anent the retreat of these traitresses, and I demand that he be put to the question!" Now ensued a scene of confusion. "Aye, the boot!" said Rosehaugh, Mersington, and one or two others. "Let him be remanded to the Water Hole--the caspie claws." "My Lords, I protest--" said Claverhouse, starting up abruptly. "Hoity toity!" said Mersington; "here's the Laird of Claverse' turned philanthropist! Since when did this miracle take place?" "Since the cold-blooded atrocities this chamber has witnessed--" began Claverhouse, turning his eyes of fire on the law lord; but the entrance of Pincer and his two subaltern torturers, whom that little viper, Mersington, had summoned, cut short the observation. Walter's blood grew cold--his first thought was resistance--his second, scorn and despair. "Had the noble Earl of Dunbarton, or all our blades, the old Royals, been in Edinburgh instead of being among the westland whigs, ye had not dared to degrade me thus!" he exclaimed, with fierce indignation. "I disclaim your authority, and appeal to a council of war--to a court of commissioned officers!" "Uds daggers!" said Dalyel, "I love thee, lad. Thou art a brave fellow, and the first man that ever bearded this council board." "But we will teach thee, braggart," said Sir George of Rosehaugh sternly, "that from this chamber there is no appeal, either to courts of peace or councils of war. There can be no appeal----" "Save to his majesty," added the Chancellor, who, to please James VII., had recently embraced the Catholic faith. "And of what value is the appeal, noble Earl, after one's bones have been ground to powder by your accursed irons?' "We do not sit here to bandy words in this wise," replied the Chancellor; "Macer, lead the prisoner to the ante-room, while his sentence is deliberated on." After a delay of some minutes, which to Walter seemed like so many ages, so great was his anxiety, he was again summoned before the haughty conclave. The first whose malignant glance he again encountered was Clermistonlee, whose voice he had often heard in loud declamation against him, and he felt a storm of wrath and hatred gathering in his breast against that vindictive peer. The monotonous voice of the clerk reading his sentence with a careless off-hand air now fell on his ear. "Walter Fenton, private gentleman in the regiment of Dunbarton, commonly called the Royal Scots Musqueteers of Foot, for default and negligence of duty----" "Anent whilk it is needless to expone," interposed Mersington.