"O' which my late lord (rest him!) had most ocular proof," said Lady Drumsturdy, in a low impressive voice--"when he saw him, wi' horns and tail, dancing on the walls o' Blackness, in the hoar o' its upblawin', in the year 1652."* * See Nicol's _Diary_. "Cocksnails!" muttered Drumdryan, "here's the snow coming down the lum," and he shook the flakes from his wig. "You are sitting owre far ben the ingle, laird." "We'll hae a storm this night, sirs," said Simeon. "I ken by the sough o' the norlan wind--its gey driech and eerie." "'Sdeath! I hope not," said Drumdryan. "I've a score o' braw bell-wethers owre the muir at the Buckstane; and I lost enough at Martinmas-tide, when twa hundred black faces were smoored in the Glen o' Braid." "And there has been no word from England since the snow fell--six weeks?" said Lilian sighing. "Some say the roads are deep, sweet mistress," said General Dalyell; "and others say the Orangemen are deeper: but the deil a scrap hath reached the Council since that rinawa' loon Craigdarroch arrived; and gude kens wha's hand maybe strongest by this time. But God bless the King and the gude auld cause!" continued the old cavalier, draining his tankard. Drumdryan did the same, adding cautiously,--"The King, whae'er he be!" "Out upon ye, Laird!" exclaimed Lady Grisel with great asperity. "Wha could he be but his sacred Majesty King James VII., whom I pray the blessed God to counsel wisely and protect." "'Live and let live' has ever been my maxim, Lady Grisel; but such words may cost ye dear, if the next news frae Berwick be such as I expect," replied the sly laird, drinking with quiet composure. Rage bristled in every hair of Dalyell's beard, and his eyes glistened like those of a rattlesnake. He could not speak; but the old lady, whose loyalty, fostered by that of the umquhile baronet, was tickled by these observations, brought her chair sharply round, and, striking her long cane emphatically on the floor, said to the shrinking delinquent-- "Shame on ye, Drumdryan!--is your blood turning to water, or what? Gif ye expect bad tidings, it is time that ye donned your buff coat and bandoliers, and had your steed in stall wi' garnissing and holsters. And mair let me tell thee, Sir Laird----but what is that I hear?--singing and mumming, eh? What is it, Simeon?" "Guisards!" exclaimed Lilian, looking from the window down the snow-covered avenue--"guisards with links glinting and ribbons flaunting. A braw band, in sooth!" At that moment a faint but merry chorus was heard upon the night wind that rumbled in the wide stone chimney, and a loud knocking rung on the barbican gate.