"Fareweel, my bairn, my winsome Habbie! On this side o' the grave we sail never meet mair. England is a far awa' and an unco' place, and long ere ye return I will be laid in the lang hame o' my forbears. But fearfu' times will come and pass ere the grass is green and waving oure me. Mind your Bible, Hab, for your faither (peace be wi' him, for he had none wi' me) ever gaed forth to battle with a whinger in one hand and the _blessed book_ in the other. Beware o' the errors of episcopacy and idolatory, for your gaun to the hotbed o' them baith." "O yes; ou' aye," muttered Hab impatiently. "Now gang, my bairn, and God will keep his hand oure ye in the hour of strife, for he ne'er forgets those by whom his power and his glory are remembered." And while Hab dashed off towards the city, the old woman with upraised hands implored with Scottish piety and maternal fervour a blessing on the footsteps of the son that had departed from her--for ever. CHAPTER XII. THE DEFIANCE. 'Tis well for thee, Sir, that I wear no sword, Else it had soon decided which should claim, And which for death's colde arms exchange the dame. OLD PLAY. Walter had listened longer than he intended, and for a moment he felt keenly how sad a thing it was that there were neither parent nor kindred to bless his departing steps. The sincere grief of the humble cottar had deeply moved him; but two kind kisses were yet glowing on his cheek, and the remembrance that there were two gentle beings who sorrowed for his departure and sighed for his return, filled his heart with joy. The ardour of youth, and his old enthusiastic spirit, blazed up within him as he galloped back to the town. There, bustle and confusion reigned supreme. The streets were thronged with citizens and soldiers; and, though the hour was late, the hum of many voices shewed that all were upon the qui vive. As he passed the old house of the High Riggs, in the gloom of the autumnal night, he nearly rode over a man whose grey plaid and broad bonnet indicated him to be a peasant. "Hollo, friend!--I crave your pardon." "Goodeen to you, Mr. Fenton--you ride with a slack rein for a cavalier," replied the other in a thick voice, after a brief pause. "Ha! you know me, and it seems as if your voice was not unfamiliar; but the night is so dark. You are----" "Captain Napier of the Scots-Dutch," replied the other in a low voice. "Astonishment! Unwary man, know you not that the Council have placed a price on you, dead or alive? Is it madness that prompts you to venture, in this Cameronian disguise, within a city swarming with royal troops?" "No, sir," replied the other haughtily; "but the service of William Prince of Orange." "For Godsake, sir, hush! These words are enough to raise the very stones in the streets against you."