"Alas, alas!" said he, looking sadly on the silk standards that rustled in the evening wind. "Are those old banners that were wrought for us by the noble demoiselles of Versailles to be thus dishonoured at last? Often have they been pierced by the bullets, but never sullied by the touch of a foe!" "We will yield to our ain kindly folk," cried Sergeant Wemyss and several soldiers; "we will yield us to Major Maitland and the Scots Guards." "You must surrender to the Swart Ruyters alone, my brave hearts!" cried Langstone. "And what if we do not?" asked Dunbarton. "Good my Lord, the consequences will be frightful--unconditional surrender, or utter extermination, Dutch terms. On every hand you are hemmed in, and every road to your native land is blocked up by enemies. My noble Lord," and here with generous confidence the brave Englishman rode close to the levelled pikes, "be advised by one who wishes well to Scot as to Southern. If one cannot fight prudently to-day, better be fighting a year hence, than have the sod growing green over us. Shall I ride back to the Baron, and promise your surrender?" "Be it so; but deeply do I grieve that Sir Marmaduke Langstone, whose family has ever been distinguished for valour and loyalty, is the propounder of such bitter terms to George of Dunbarton." "The times are changed, my Lord; live and let live is my motto; had such been the maxim of James II., this sword, which _my_ father drew for _his_ at Marston, had not this day been drawn against him. Liberty of conscience is dear to us all, and I respect the high principles of those soldiers who rushed to the standard of our deliverer." "Then learn still more to respect the chivalry and generosity of the few whose principles of loyalty bound them to their unhappy king in the darkest hour of his distress and misfortune." "Decide, my Lord, decide--for the Swart Ruyters are closing up troop upon troop." "We will yield our national standards to the Scottish Guards--our arms and persons to de Ginckel." "It is enough," replied Sir Marmaduke, as he wheeled round his horse, and rode towards the immense Dutch commander, whose Ruyters with the brigades of Scots and English, had now hemmed in the fugitives, as it were in a large hollow square. Far off, at the horizon of the frozen heath, the winter moon shining, red and luminous rose slowly into the blue sky, eclipsing the light of the diamond-like stars as it ascended; and its pale splendour fell brightly and steadily on the fitful weapons and the dark masses of half mailed men, among whom they gleamed--on the white and powder-like frost that glittered silvery and clearly on every blade of grass, and on the dark spots that dotted the plain to the southward. There many a rider and horse were lying stiff and cold. END OF VOL. II. LONDON: HARRISON AND SON, PRINTERS, ST. MARTIN'S LANE.