"'Go bid your love bind in her hair The blue of Scotland's Kings, Go bid her don her bravest gown And all her gauds and rings, And bid her shine all maids above, As she can shine alone;-- For the news was whispered in the night, And the night hath told the day, And the cry hath gone across the land From Lochaber to the Tay! From Lochaber far beyond the Tay The glorious news hath flown-- So bid her don her best array, For the King shall have his own Once more! The King shall have his own!'" Lady Jane was in tears, and my Margaret was little better, though smiling at me from the spinet, while the Vicomte sat the only composed one in the room--I being affected, as I always am when I hear a fine effort, whether by myself or another--when Mr. Colvill, who was Lady Jane's man of business, entered to us, and without any preamble began: "Mr. Maxwell, I have certain information that your lodgings will be searched to-night, and I have a suspicion that you are the person sought for." My poor Margaret cried out and nearly swooned with terror, but Lady Jane was herself at once. "Give over your nonsense, Peggy, this instant! Hughie is not a mewling baby to be frightened, with a warning before him! Colvill, you have acted with the discretion I should have expected in you, and I thank you in my cousin's name and my own. Hughie, do you find out some new place at once; I marked a little sempstress who has a shop in Wych Street only the other day, and I would apply there if you know of no other. Do not go back to your old lodgings on any account. When I hear where you are, I will supply you with everything needful." The Vicomte very obligingly offered me the shelter of his roof for the night, but I answered I could not think of exposing him, when on diplomatic business, to the charge of sheltering a rebel, and was pleased to have so handsome an excuse to cover my unwillingness to lie under an obligation towards him. In a moment the whole aspect of our little party was changed, and I took my way to seek for a new shelter, leaving anxious hearts behind me. CHAPTER III "THE DEAD AND THE ABSENT ARE ALWAYS WRONG" I myself was not greatly disturbed over the turn things had taken, for I had begun to be suspicious of my thrifty Scot in Greek Street, and, as I had left behind me neither papers nor effects which could compromise myself or others when he laid his dirty claws upon them, I turned my back on him without regret. The hour was late to enter upon a search for new lodgings without arousing suspicion, and this determined me to try the sempstress indicated by Lady Jane. I found the street without difficulty, and, what was better, without questioning, and soon discovered the little shop with a welcome gleam of light shewing through the closed shutters. The street was empty, so I advanced, and, after knocking discreetly, tried the door, which, to my surprise, I found open, and so entered.