"Assure me of that," exclaimed Dundee, sharply reining up his horse, "and by all the devils, I will hang him from his own bartizan, lord and baron though he be! Halt, gentlemen, we will pay these lords a visit; they, or their stewards, must pay us riding money, for the king's service. My lord, Earl, and thirty of you gentlemen, will detour across to Clermiston, while I will ride down to make my devoir to the Forester of these hills--forward, trot." The troop separated, and Walter somewhat unwillingly accompanied Lord Dunbarton, whose party galloped in single files along the muddy and rough bridle-road that led over the lea to the gate of the solitary tower. They encircled the barbican wall, which was built partly on fragments of low rock, without being able to find entrance, the great gate being securely fastened, and the stillness of the place seemed to imply that it was uninhabited. A shriek, echoing through the vaulted recesses of the tower, rang out upon the clear morning air; a window was dashed open, and a female hand, white and bleeding, appeared, while a voice calling for aid made the blood of Walter Fenton rush back upon his heart. "On, on, good sirs!" he exclaimed, leaping from his horse; "some work of hell is being enacted here!" and he rushed against the tower gate, making fruitless efforts to burst it open; but they were as those of a child against the solid planks of the barrier. "By Mahoud's horns, Clermistonlee is at his old tricks again!" cried Jack Holster, leaping from his saddle, and unslinging his carbine. "He hath a lass in his meshes; alight gallants all, or the fair fortress will be won by storm, while we dally in the trenches." "Would to God I had a petard!" exclaimed Walter; "this gate is like a wall." "Unsling your carbines, gentlemen," said the Earl of Dunbarton. "A volley at the lock--give fire!" Thirty carbines poured their concentrated volley upon the gate; it was torn to fragments, and an aperture formed which admitted the troopers; to creep through, and rush on with his drawn rapier, were to Walter a moment's work. By pulling the leathern latch of a long oak pin which secured the door of the tower, they procured ingress, and rushed up the turnpike stair to the hall, at the very moment that Lilian was just sinking backwards, with her hands clasped in despair, while Lord Clermistonlee, enraged by her outcries, and the new and pressing danger, was endeavouring with ferocious violence to drag her into some place of concealment.