The law is strong, and may not be trifled with.  But I will consider, fair lady, indeed will I; I will seek direction and counsel in the matter from on high.  I will do so this night; I will have this night to think of the matter, and thou wilt call upon me at this hour to-morrow, and I will then see if the Lord will vouchsafe me any light as to how I may assist thee and thy poor husband; for on thy account I would do so if I could.”

Confused, and all but wholly unintelligible, as was this address of Cromwell’s, Lady Rae perceived that it contained a gleam of comfort, that a ray of hope-inspiring light, however feeble, played through its obscurity; and, satisfied with this, she urged her suit no further, but, with a thankful acceptance of the Parliamentary general’s invitation to her to wait upon him on the following day, she withdrew.

On Lady Rae issuing from Cromwell’s lodgings, she stood in the street, gazing around her for an instant, as if looking for some one whom she had expected to find waiting her, but who was not at the moment in sight.  This was the case; but it was only for a moment that she was so detained.  She had glanced but two or three times around her, when she was joined by a personage of very striking appearance.  This was a huge Highlander, considerably above six feet in stature, proportionably stout and well made, and apparently of enormous strength.  He was dressed in the full costume of his country, and armed to the teeth.  By his side depended a tremendous claymore; in his belt were stuck a dagger and a brace of pistols; and on his shoulder rested that formidable weapon called a Lochaber axe.

The countenance of this tremendous personage was in keeping with his other charms:  it was manly, and decidedly handsome, but withal was marked with an expression of fierceness that was appalling to look upon; and was thus calculated, when associated with his gigantic figure, to inspire at once admiration and fear.

As this formidable personage approached Lady Rae, he touched his bonnet with an air of the most profound respect, and assumed a look and attitude of devoted attention to her commands.

“I have seen him, John,” said Lady Rae, addressing her Goliath of an attendant, who was neither more nor less than a retainer of Lord Rae’s, but one who stood high in the estimation of both the former and the latter for his fidelity, and, fierce as he looked, for the gentleness of his nature.  John M’Kay—­for such was his name—­was, in short, an especial favourite of both Lord and Lady Rae, and was admitted to a degree of confidence and familiarity that elevated him much above his real condition.  They were proud, too, of his superb figure, and delighted to exhibit him in the full dress of his country, as a specimen of the men which it produced.  “I have seen him, John,” said Lady Rae, whose protector and attendant John always was when she went forth on occasions of business of importance like the present.