As they came nearer to the city they began to pass groups of country folk, all hastening in to see the glories of the court. For the king had come so far from his capital to receive the homage of his northern province, before departing to Ireland on the great campaign which was to make him unquestioned monarch of the kingdoms three.

Soon Wat and Kate reached the ancient bar which spanned the northern road by which they had ridden.

"Whither-away so fast?" cried the sentinel to them.

"From Scotland to see the king!" said Wat, confidently, giving the man the salute in a manner only practised by the regiments in Holland.

"You are of his Highness's Scot regiments?" cried a much-surprised voice from the low doorway.

"Of the Douglas Dragoons," replied Wat, over his shoulder.

"Pass—a gallant corps!" returned the officer of the guard, who had been watching, giving Wat back his salute in form, but, notwithstanding, keeping his eyes fixed upon Kate, whose head shone like a flower out of the blue deeps of the cape in which the rest of her beauty was shrouded.

As they rode more slowly on, several distinct streams of people all setting in one direction told them without need of question in what place the king held his court. There were many strange folk to be seen about the ancient city that day. In front of the cathedral were encamped the king's Laplanders, each armed with a great two-handed sword, nearly as long as the owner (for they were little men of their stature), and wearing bear-skins over their black armor.

The splendid uniforms of the prince's body-guard were also to be seen here and there. But it was not till they entered the wide grassy court of the castle that the full splendor of the scene was revealed to them.

Again and again they were challenged, but Wat's confident reply, "From Scotland to see the king!" together with his knowledge of the military etiquette in the Dutch army (and perhaps also in some measure the beauty of his companion), insured him a free and courteous passage on every occasion.

As they rode into the court-yard of the castle the king was just coming out of a pavilion which had been erected to receive him. The gentlemen of his body-guard, in orange uniforms, and with brilliant armor upon their breasts, lined the square. The dignitaries of the province stood more uncertainly about.

Walter and Kate rode straight up to within twenty yards of the king. Then Wat dismounted and took his wife by the hand. She vaulted lightly to the ground. So, hand-in-hand, the pair of runaway lovers stood before the king.

William of Orange was a man valiant by nature. He had no fear of assassination. And so on this occasion he put aside one or two assiduous courtiers who would have interposed between him and Lochinvar.

Wat stood with his hat in his hand waiting for the king to put a question. But William of Orange was silent. It was the custom of his house that they never spoke the first word.

"Have I your highness's leave to speak?" said Wat, at last.

William looked him all over with his eagle eye. "I have seen you before," he said; "you are the Scots officer who brought me the papers concerning the forces at Amersfort."

Wat bowed, and at once began his speech to the king.

"Your highness," he said, "I am not here to ask a pardon for myself, but to claim your courteous protection for this lady—who is my wife."

The circle of dames and damsels who elbowed and rustled behind William at this point manifested the greatest interest. Kate had let the hood of her cloak fall from her head, and now stood, with the simple white of her bridal dress, unsoiled even after her long journey, showing beneath it.

"I will speak freely to your highness," said Wat, "asking no boon for myself. I am Walter Gordon of Lochinvar, in Galloway. Twice I am your outlaw—once according to the law of King James have I been an exile from my native land."

He spoke clearly and firmly, like one who will hide nothing.

The king bowed slightly, showing no more interest or animation than if he had been listening to the light gossip of the court.

"Because we two loved each other, I have carried off a bride from your councillor of state, my Lord Barra, that I might make her my wife. I escaped from your prison of Amersfort in order that I might rescue my love. I fought at Killiekrankie and Dunkeld—fought for King James, that I might win a way to her. For myself, therefore, I ask no mercy, and I expect none. But with confidence and unbound heart I place this lady, my wife, under the protection of your highness, a prince just and clement—so that whatever happens she may not fall into the power of her enemy and mine, the Lord Barra, from whom and from death I have saved her this day!" "And how did you save her?" said William, looking at him level-eyed, as one man looks at another whom he knows to be also a man.

"I went to the wedding to drink the bride's last loving-cup, and when the bride came to the hall-door to speak with me I looked in her eyes once. Then I took her on my saddle-bow and rode away from among them all," said Wat, simply.

A little cheer fluttered out among the courtiers at this conclusion, and the ladies clapped their hands as at a play.

The king silenced them with a wave of his hand.

"And you expect—?" said William, and paused, questioningly.

"I expect nothing, Prince of Orange," said Wat, boldly. "But I resolved to come to you and tell you the worst. For I would rather have your justice than any other man's mercy—especially that of the men who rule for you in Scotland."

The king shrugged his shoulders.

"Aye," he said. "I am with you there. I wish that stiff-necked country of yours were a thousand miles off and Duke Hamilton the king of it."

"You fought by my side at Calmthout, did you not?" he said, suddenly, bending his piercing eyes on the young man.

Wat bowed, with a sudden access of pleasure shining on his face.

"And you saved the colors at Louvain," the king added.

Wat continued to hold his head down. William's memory was marvellous.

"You also brought the papers, relative to the manning and armament of the camp, out of the inn of Brederode, wresting them from the French spies at the risk of your life. And I made you an officer for it." He paused again, still smiling. Never was there a brave man so nobly clement as William of Orange.

"If I pardon you the double treason—and the prison-breaking," he added, a little thoughtfully, "will you command again for me—not a company this time, but a regiment?"

It was an offer noble, generous, worthy of the greatest prince.

The courtiers and the great folks assembled gave a shout, which was not checked this time.

The king still stood silent, smiling, expectant, confident of Wat's answer.

"My general, and your most noble highness," began Lochinvar, slowly, "but lately it would have been the greatest honor of my life to command a regiment in the service of the Prince of Orange. But I cannot command one in the service of William, King of England."

"Think again," said the king, who understood him. "I have regiments over seas as well as in England."

"But they might be needed here, and I could not desert my colors a second time for loyalty, as once I did for love."

"What, then, do you desire?" said the king, shortly, looking manifestly disappointed.

"Only your highness's most noble clemency," replied Wat, gravely; "the right to live quietly in mine own ancient tower, under the protection of your just and equal laws, giving my word of honor, if you will, never again to bear arms during your highness's life."

"You have it, my Lord Lochinvar," said the king. "Gallantly you have won your bride. Wear her on your breast and keep her safe with the strength of your arm. I have lost me a good soldier and she has gotten her a good man."

Kate ran forward with a charmingly girlish gratitude, and, kneeling, kissed the king's hand. She looked about her to where Lochinvar stood. There was entreaty and command in her eye.

"It is the first thing I have ever asked of you as your wife!" she said, in a low voice.

For a moment he resisted. Then Wat came forward, since his love had called him, and, bending his knee, he said, "I kiss your hand, most noble, most generous prince."

"Rise, my Lord Lochinvar," replied the king; "keep your castle and your ancient loyalty, till your lands, and abide in peace within your borders. I shall see that neither council nor councillor stir you. And as for my Lord of Barra, I have bidden him to confine himself to his own islands. He is no more councillor of mine. I have at last found the truth concerning the matter of the inn at Brederode."

So, with a wave of his hand, the king passed away. A great king he was, though even in that hour Wat had named him no more than prince. Then, as soon as he was gone, a swarm of courtiers surrounded Wat, and the ladies took Kate off to make much of her. For so great a marvel as the open carrying away of a bride on her marriage day, with her own free will and consent, had not been heard of in any land.

But when all was over, my Lord of Barra rode in, anxious and jaded with hard spurring; but the king turned his back on him.

"I know my friends at last," he said. "Let me not see your face again, my Lord Barra. Ye have my leave to abide in your isles, if ye will."

But instead Barra betook himself forthwith to France, where he was received into great honor as a consistent favorer of the true king. He was killed at Steenkirk, as was fitting, leading a charge. For though a traitor, Murdo of Barra was a brave man.