"By all the devils, 'tis very droll to hear you speak of a noble lady and a poor bona-roba in the same breath. Mary is beautiful, magnificently so, but wary, proud, and poor--we would hate each other in a week. Now I really think little Lilian Napier is capable of fixing all my wandering fancies into one focus for life." "He, he," chuckled Mersington, "I have heard you say the same o' twenty. But a peer of the realm, heir of--" "The whole heraldic honours of the house of Clermont, which you see on yonder window-pane, or, three bars wavy embattled, surmounted by a lion _sable--argent_, a bend engrailed _gules_, and so forth. Ha, ha!" "The coronet aboon them is a braw die, and ane that glitters weel in lassies' een." "With Lilian Napier it has no more value than a peasant's bonnet. A thousand times I have endeavoured to gain her notice, by the most respectful attentions, which the little gipsy ever evaded, or affected to misunderstand, treating me with the most frigid coldness. The older lady, perhaps, is not indisposed towards me, but the memory of--Fury! always _that_ thought!..... I never was crossed in my purpose, and now I mean to hang Quentin Napier, and marry his cousin forthwith. Ha, ha!" "What, if he should discover and carry her off in the meantime?" "Ah--the devil! don't think of that. I would give a hundred French crowns to have the right scent after her." "I could do sae for half the money, my lord," said Juden, suddenly waking up from his standing doze. "The deuce! fellow, art _thou_ there?" exclaimed his master with stern surprise. "Fellow, indeed!" reiterated the ancient servitor, indignantly. "Troth, I was the best o' gude fallows when I received on my ain croon here, the cloure that Claverse meant for yours, in that braw tulzie on Bothwell Brigg." "True, Juden--though I like not being overheard in some matters," replied the lord more kindly; "but as Colonel Grahame and I are now the best of friends, it would be better to recall the memory of bygone days as little as possible. Dost hear me?" "And Alison Gifford--my lady that is dead and gone now, puir thing," continued Juden, spitefully and mournfully, knowing well that her name stung Clermistonlee to the soul. "Often, and often, she used to say, 'you are a gude and leal servitor, Juden, and the laird (ye were but a laird then), can never think enough, or mak' enough o' ye, Juden--for ye are one that, come weal, come woe, peace or war, victory or defeat, will stick to the house o' Clermont, Juden, like a burr on a new bannet. But losh me! _he_ doesna ken the worth o' ye Juden!'" The pawkie butler raised his table napkin to hide "the tears he did _not_ shed;" but the face of Lord Clermistonlee, which had gradually grown darker as he continued to speak, now wore a terrible expression. "Puir young Lady Alison! sae kind and sae gentle, sae sweet-tempered, blooming and bonnie. You were aye owre rough and haughty wi' her, my lord----"