as good quarters
again."

"If that be the case," said Bothwell, "I will pay my respects to her as
we pass, and request some refreshment for men and horses; I am as thirsty
already as if I had drunk nothing at Milnwood. But it is a good thing in
these times," he continued, addressing himself to Henry, "that the King's
soldier cannot pass a house without getting a refreshment. In such houses
as Tillie--what d'ye call it? you are served for love; in the houses of
the avowed fanatics you help yourself by force; and among the moderate
presbyterians and other suspicious persons, you are well treated from
fear; so your thirst is always quenched on some terms or other."

"And you purpose," said Henry, anxiously, "to go upon that errand up to
the tower younder?"

"To be sure I do," answered Bothwell. "How should I be able to report
favourably to my officers of the worthy lady's sound principles, unless I
know the taste of her sack, for sack she will produce--that I take for
granted; it is the favourite consoler of your old dowager of quality, as
small claret is the potation of your country laird."

"Then, for heaven's sake," said Henry, "if you are determined to go
there, do not mention my name, or expose me to a family that I am
acquainted with. Let me be muffled up for the time in one of your
soldier's cloaks, and only mention me generally as a prisoner under your
charge."

"With all my heart," said Bothwell; "I promised to use you civilly, and I
scorn to break my word.--Here, Andrews, wrap a cloak round the prisoner,
and do not mention his name, nor where we caught him, unless you would
have a trot on a horse of wood."

[Note: Wooden Mare. The punishment of riding the wooden mare was,
in the days of Charles and long after, one of the various and cruel
modes of enforcing military discipline. In front of the old
guard-house in the High Street of Edinburgh, a large horse of this
kind was placed, on which now and then, in the more ancient times, a
veteran might be seen mounted, with a firelock tied to each foot,
atoning for some small offence.

There is a singular work, entitled Memoirs of Prince William Henry,
Duke of Gloucester, (son of Queen Anne,) from his birth to his ninth
year, in which Jenkin Lewis, an honest Welshman in attendance on the
royal infant's person, is pleased to record that his Royal Highness
laughed, cried, crow'd, and said Gig and Dy, very