So much did he resemble the feathered type of wisdom, that Walter could scarcely repress a smile. "Young man, wherefore dost thou not join with me?" asked the divine, raising his black eyebrows and looking at Walter alternately under, over, and through his barnacles. "Reverend sir, I never sung a Psalm in my life, and really cannot do so now." "I warrant thou canst sing _Claver'se and his Cavaliers_, _King James's March_, _Rub-a-Dub_, and other profane ditties and camp-songs of thy wicked faction and ungodly profession," said Ichabod reproachfully. At that moment the deep-mouthed bell of St. Giles, which seemed to swing immediately above their heads, gave one long and sonorous toll. "It is the first hour of the last morning I shall ever spend on earth!" exclaimed Walter, starting up and striking his fetters together in the bitterness of his soul. "Oh, Lilian, Lilian, how little could we have foreseen of all this!" He wept. "'Tis well--no tears can be more precious than these," said Mr. Bummel, who thought his exhortations had begun to prove effectual. "Soon, good youth, shalt thou reach the end of this vale of tears! Lo! thy bride already waiteth thee, and these tears----" "You deem those of contrition and remorse. They are _not_. I have done nothing to repent of, or for which I ought to feel contrite. I never wronged man nor woman, though many have wronged me in more than a lifetime can repay. These tears spring only from bitterness and unavailing regret. Have I no hope of pardon? I care not for life, but my king and the son of my king require my services, and could my blood restore them I would die happy. Where is old Sir Thomas Dalyell?" "Gone to a warmer climate than Scotland," said Ichabod spitefully. "Sir George of Rosehaugh?" "He is gone where he cannot assist thee." "Where is old Colin of Balcarris?" "Fled no one knows whither." "Where, then, is old Sir Robert of Glenae?" "Gone to his last account with other persecutors." "All then are dead or in exile, and none is left to be a friend to the poor cavalier." "Save one," said Ichabod, pointing upward. "True, true," replied Walter, and covering his face with his hands he stooped over the table and prayed intently. Two o'clock struck, three and four followed, but still he remained, as Ichabod thought, absorbed in earnest prayer, and kneeling by his side, the worthy minister joined with true and pious fervour, till his patience became quite exhausted. He stirred him, and Walter, who had fallen asleep, started up. "Is it time?" he asked. "Thou hast slept well," said the divine, pettishly; "out of seven hours that were allotted three have already fled."