"Where do you steer for now, and where am I to moor myself? Leastways, not here, if I knows it! for it is rascally cold--we'd best run down after a boosing ken."

"You are for swilling, no doubt, Bill--you drunken old satyr--always up to filling your barrel-shaped body with liquor! but look you, Bill, we haven't come all this way to lush. I must be off to the Towers. Blow this climate, it's always sleeting and raining in this rotten hole! You and I, L'Estrange, will go and meet Archy, he will have the nags ready; and you, old sot, you may go and be d--d, or swig, or what you like, only be here by the time tide is full, and leave Hans (the boy) to watch over the boat. Give him some grog--for it is infernally cold! Come, Ned."

The Captain and L'Estrange walked off and left old Bill to find a pump, whilst the unfortunate foreigner was left to watch in the sleet and wind which blew most chillily over the Links.

"This is a regular wild goose chase," said the Captain, as he and his friend struck out for a small village called Fisherrow, a bleak hamlet between Musselburgh and Portobello, where Archy was to be in waiting with horses; "and I only do it as a last hope--you must make up your mind for a failure--and then remember you are never to speak of the wench again--that was the promise."

"It was--oh! how my heart seems to sink--in a few hours more I shall know my fate!"

"You will--and I am thankful for it. Your whining and teasing after that woman are enough to drive a saint mad! On my soul I wonder at you--I dare swear she has never thought of you once! Then there's her child, whatever are we to do with that, supposing our plan succeeds? To be sure it's easy giving it a heave into the sea! But yet it is an awful risk!

Carrying off Ellen Ravensworth was one thing, but carrying off the Countess of Wentworth is another! Never mind--nothing like aiming high, as Lucifer once did."

"And got a grievous fall for his pains too," put in L'Estrange.

"As we perhaps, nay doubtless, shall!" said the Captain.

"Had we not better think again? it is not too late yet," said L'Estrange.

"It is too late; I haven't come all this way, nor been tossed on that rough sea for nothing! I tell you, however, I shall go and see only; if what we heard is true and she is alone, it is but a whistle and you come up, toss her over a nag, brain any flunkeys who interfere, and away over heath and moor to the boatie good! The sea is a road where it is hard to track a cunning fox like Bill."

"I almost repent I ever came--after all if she did nothing but cry and lament, I could do nothing. Remember what I said, I will try by words, and if she doesn't come round again, I will take her back scathless."

"A fool's errand that--you may do what you like after you have got her.

I will be shot if I burn my fingers again for her, or any other woman under the sun! But here we are at last--I will whistle."

The Captain--for though he no longer had a right to the name, we still know him best by it--then blew a shrill whistle. It was answered, and presently Archy Forbes appeared.

"Glad to see ye baith looking sae weel--it's ay a saft night when we are about."

"It is, Archy my boy! it's easy to see Heaven doesn't smile on us--but devil's weather for me! Have you the nags?"

"Surely, surely--they are in yon byre--follow me."

"Who are at the Towers, Archy?" said L'Estrange.

"Dinna speer on me, sir! I have na been there this mony a day. Sin my father was dead and gane--Heaven rest him! the gear a' went wrang, and my mither and the bairns left. The laird wasna pleased, and folk say he kent mair than was right anent your honour's business, and thae----"

"Peace, fool, who wants to hear about your concerns? If you had found out who were at the Towers you might have been somewhat worth listening to. Where is this byre, or what d'you call it?"

"It's near by noo, yon dark house, wi' the reek frae the chimla."

"All right--there's your hire--and now decamp and find out old Bill, and tell him to put the cabin in order for fair freight."

By this time they had reached a wretched stable, or rather cow-house, from which two tolerable horses were produced. The Captain, selecting the best, was soon mounted, and together they trotted off for the Towers. During the long ride scarcely a word was spoken, except now and then a hoa.r.s.e curse on the snow, which now began falling thick and fast, and balled in their horses hoofs, forcing them to dismount several times on their way. When within a quarter of a mile of the Towers they stopped at a summer-house or arbour, where L'Estrange was to await the result of the Captain's reconnaissance, and if summoned by the whistle ride up at once to the Towers. This bold and diabolic attempt had been undertaken, owing to a statement which had reached the Captain to the effect that the Countess and her infant baby, a fine little girl of nearly three months of age, were then staying in perfect seclusion at the Towers, and the Earl in London on business. Judging themselves able to overcome old Andrew, and any other footmen, they fancied they could get clear off with the lady and her child before any of the out-door servants took the alarm, and then their determination was to set sail for the north of Scotland, where L'Estrange madly dreamed he could excite the old love by his eloquence of woe. He vowed he would restore her safely to her home again should he fail, and then fly to America and bury himself from the world. The Captain took part in the plot, and promised his a.s.sistance if the little girl was also carried off--Bill was to take care and keep her out of sight, living or dead--and we are authorized in stating that though he verbally approved of L'Estrange's plan of returning the Countess, unless she chose to stay with him,--an idea that could only take its birth in a mind maddened by a strange delusion,--yet he inly determined, if he once got hold of both he would keep them out of sight until he could gain a heavy ransom from his brother; for his violent deeds seemed to have excluded all hopes of his ever succeeding to the t.i.tle even if he got rid of the heirs.

Leaving L'Estrange at the arbour, the Captain wrapped himself up in a costly cloak of sable fur, and rode for the Towers, which he reached a little past ten in the evening. The brilliant lights first excited his fears that the rumour was a false one; however, he rang the bell and waited to see the result. Whilst he is waiting we will take a view of the dining-room and its inmates. About a dozen gentlemen are sitting over their wine after dinner. The Earl at the head of the table--next him the Marquis--all the rest are strangers but two, young Scroop and Mr. Lennox.

"I wonder what has become of the Captain?" said the Earl; "except these scandals, which I hope are worthless, we never hear a word of him, or his friend."

"Their names," said the Marquis, "are, I fear, famous for infamy; while John kept to a few harmless revels, and only now and then an affair _d'honneur_, I didn't care; but shooting fellows at every town, is too wild by half!"

At the same moment the door opened, and a tall figure, so m.u.f.fled in fur as to be almost irrecognizable, entered. Old Andrew appeared giggling behind.

"Hallo! old fellows," said the figure, throwing off his cloak; "here I am again. By Jove! this snug room, and these merry fellows make me feel jolly. Andrew, you knave, get some hot punch, blest if I am not half frozen--I will thaw anon and welcome old friends, wait till I have got some life in me," approaching the fire.

Old Andrew, grinning with joy, hastened to get the punch as he knew the Captain liked it, whilst all his old allies gathered round him, and beset him with questions on all sides.

"Preserve me from my friends; why, you will be driving me into the fire, and one in a family is enough for it. Egad, I am thawing now: how are you, Wentworth, hearty, and you Arranmore, old boy? I was very sorry for poor dear Edith; how the devil did she go and manage to get burned? ah, I see you are still tender about it; never mind, time will cure you of the burn. And you, Scroop: ha! bless my soul, I am gladder to see you well than any; shake hands, old fellow, no malice. And you, Lennox; by Jove, this reminds me of old times. Where's Johnny Ravensworth?"

"He is at Sandhurst, preparing for the line. My father-in-law has succeeded to a nice little property in the Highlands, and Ellen--you havn't asked me about my wife."

"Egad, I quite forgot her. I'll warrant her flourishing from your face;--and your little boy--"

"No, no, little girl; it was rather a disappointment, but she is a darling child."

"Never mind, better luck next time; do you not think so, Wentworth?

Come, let us sit down and hear about all my friends. Ha, Scott, I thought I knew you; and Trevors too,--keen after the hounds as ever, squire?"

"As ever, but this weather is bad for us, it's like snow, I fear."

"Like it; it is snowing like fury now. Egad it was balling in avalanches on my nag's hoofs."

"Oh, you rode then?" said the Earl.

"I didn't exactly walk, as my boots and spurs might have told you, but where I came from I won't say; the fox doesn't show where it earths, and I mustn't show my face by aught than lamplight."

"Then I fear your evil reports are true,--you have been making the Continent too hot for you."

"My evil reports,--if you mean by that my duels,--are certainly not few and far between; but it isn't my fault, if those rascally foreigners will quarrel so. Egad, they will find one Englishman a match for twenty of their cowardly selves. I'll whip them into order. But it is sheriff's officers that I fear here, and when I've had my grog, and seen the girls, I must put a dozen miles between us."

"I am sorry for that; but remember the Towers are safe, no sheriff's officer puts his head in here."

"I know that, but then I have a friend waiting--Czinsky." Scroop looked uneasy.

"Why didn't you bring him here?" said the Earl.

"He wouldn't come; he's waiting a dozen miles from this, and I must soon be off."

"Stay, we can send. Do rest a day or two," said the Earl.

"No use pressing, I can't. I don't mean to be rude, only G.o.d knows I can't stop. Ring the bell, Lennox, please; what is that stupid villain Andrew about?"

"Here, Captain, here; het, strang, and sweet, isna that your song? an'

how are ye? weel to dae?" said the old servant, bringing in a large bowl of smoking punch.

"Egad, this is the stuff on a snowy night. It's always snowing here it seems. Do you remember the night I hooked it, after nailing Musgrave, poor devil--I hope he was decently interred. By Jove, I was very sorry I hit him where I did; he was a good fellow, and here's to his health, and yours, Scroop; and as you love me don't quarrel."

"If little quarrels make great friends, sharp cuts make blunt ones. Why you drive your rapier through and through a fellow, like a spit through a partridge, and then talk of being good friends again! however, I will drink your health, and the further we fly the tighter we'll tie! I've had enough of close friendship with you."