ide?" asked Lady Lochinvar, "Certes,
the Falkland dominie had not made that speech."

"The same that took your husband, Lady Lochinvar," I returned, somewhat
nettled. For she spake as if the many honest folk in Scotland were but
dirt beneath the feet of the few. But that was ever the way of her kind.

"Kenned ye ever a Gordon that would be driven with whips of scorpions,
or one that could not be drawn with the light of ladies' eyes?"

She sighed, and gathered up her skirts.

"Ay, the last all too readily," she said, thinking, I doubt not, of
Walter Gordon and my lady of Wellwood.

It was dusking when we stepped out. My aunt took my arm and desired that
we should walk home, though already I had called a chair for her. So we
went up the narrow, dirty street and came slowly to her lodgings. Walter
met us on the stair of the turnpike. He was shining in silk and velvet
as was recently his constant wont. Lace ruffles were at his wrists. He
had a gold chain about his neck, and a jewelled rapier flashed and swung
in a gold-broidered velvet sheath at his side.

He seemed no little dashed by our coming in together. I quickly
understood that he had thought his mother safely out of the way, and
wondered how I should keep the peace between them. For by the tremble of
her hand on my arm I felt that the storm was nigh the breaking.

Yet for all that he stopped and kissed her dutifully, standing on the
step with his hat in his hand, to let her pass within. The flickering
light of the cruisie lamp in the stairhead fell on him, and I thought he
had the noblest figure of a youth that ever my eyes had rested upon.

But his mother would not let him go.

"Attend me to my chamber, Walter," she said. "I have that concerning
which I would speak with you."

So we went upward, turning and twisting up the long stairs, till we came
to the door where my lady lodged. She tirled fretfully at the pin, the
servant-maid opened, and we went within. The window stood wide to give a
draft to the fire of wood that burned on the firegrate. I went over to
close it, and, as I did so, a broad flake of snow swirled down, and lay
melting on my wrist. It told me that it was to be a wild night--the last
snowstorm of the year, belike.

My lady came back from her own bed-chamber in a moment. She had merely
laid aside her plaid, waiting not to change her gown lest her son should
be gone.

Walter Gordon stood discontentedly enough at the side of the firegrat