"Wherever the shade of Montrose shall direct me," was the thoughtful and poetical reply. "Believe me, Mr. Fenton," he continued, after a pause, "under whatever circumstances, or however oppressed by fate, I will acquit myself before God, the world, and my own conscience. Yes!" he exclaimed, with flashing eyes, and striking his gloved hand upon his corsletted breast, "I will hazard life and limb, estate and title, name and fame, yes, I would peril even my salvation, were it possible, in the cause of my honour and allegiance; and if I cannot save the throne of King James, at least I will not survive its fall--so the will of God be done!" There was something sublime in his aspect as he spoke; his dark and lustrous eyes were full of fire; his face, the manly beauty of which few have equalled and none surpassed, was suffused with a warm glow, and the proud curl of his mustachioed lip, showed the high spirit of achievement that burned within him. The soul of the great Montrose seemed indeed to inspire him, and in such a moment all the darker and weaker points were forgotten. His ardour was communicated to Walter, whose heart beat fast as he exclaimed, "Noble Dundee, to victory or the grave, to the field or the scaffold, I will follow thee, and in that hour when I fail in my duty or allegiance, may woe betide me and dishonour blot my name!" Dundee pressed his hand and replied, "In the wilds of the pathless north, ten thousand claymores will flash from their scabbards at the call of Dundee. The loyal and gallant clans have not forgotten the glories of Alford, Inverlochy, and Auldearn, when the standard of James Grahame, of Montrose, was never unfurled but to victory. Again, like him, will I lead them against this Dutch usurper, whom in an evil hour I saved from death upon the battle-field of Seneff. Yes, after he had fallen beneath the hoofs of Vaudemont's Reitres, I saved his life at the risk of my own, and horsed him on my own good charger, when, could his future ingratitude to me, and the usurpation of this hour have been foreseen, my petronel had blown his brains to the wind." "Ha! what wants his grace of Gordon?" said Dunbarton as the flash of a cannon broke from the dark castle wall, and a puff of white smoke curled away on the clear morning air, while the echoes of the report reverberated like thunder among the black basaltic cliffs of the great fortress past which they were riding. A little arched postern to the westward opened, and a soldier appeared waving a white flag from the brow of the steep rock, which the turretted bastion overhung. The troop halted, and their kettle-drums gave three ruffles in honour of the duke.