"What news, my tall grenadier?--You have the rix-dollars, I hope." "My Lord Earl, the devil a tester. This English burgomaster was not a whit dismayed by my threats, but assailed me with a band of tip-staves; so, with drawn rapier, I was glad to beat a retreat and gain Finland's band with my skin whole." "And what think you inspired him to beard us thus?" asked Walter. "By the head of the King, I care not!" said Dunbarton, setting his teeth and rising in his stirrups. "I will hang him from yonder steeple and inquire after." "Jeddart justice all the world over," muttered old Wemyss. "He had received news that Sir John Lanier, with his regiment of Dragoon guards and Langstone's horse, have already reached Saffron Waldron, in which case it were madness in us to tarry." "Gavin, must we then retreat?" said the Earl, colouring with passion. "Who brought these evil tidings?" "An English gentleman." "Pshaw--I don't think he can be relied on." "I know him to be a man of good repute," replied Gavin: "Sir Tufton Shirley of Mildenham. He fought for the King at Sedgemoor. I warrant him brave and honourable as any cavalier in his country." "Be advised, noble Earl," urged the grim old Laird of Drumquhasel; "every moment is worth the life of a brave comrade." "Indubitably so," added the Reverend Dr. Joram, as he spurred a prancing mare which he had borrowed unconditionally, with holsters and saddle-bags, from the host of the Bulloign-gate. "As Sir John Mennys saith in his 'Musarum Delicæ'-- "Hee that fights and runnis away, May live to fight----" Ye know the rest, sirs." "We are not wont to make such reservations, reverend sir; but you are in the right," replied the Earl. "March in silence, comrades, and with circumspection. Keep your ranks close and your matches lighted--forward!" About midnight they passed Needham, a town on the Orwell. All was dark and silent; scarcely a dog barked as they marched through its deserted streets, and continued their way, by the light of the stars, across the fertile country beyond. The fugitive Scots marched with great care and rapidity; four hundred miles lay between them and their native land, a long and perilous route, on which they knew innumerable dangers and difficulties would attend them.