felt her embrace as
tight as a lover's heart could wish. He was as happy as one who is on
the verge of the enjoyment of stolen pleasures can be in a world where
lawful indulgences had no zest for him; and he turned his head for the
muffled kiss, which was granted as freely as any rieving lover, even
Lochinvar himself or Jock o' Hazeldean, could have desired. Nor less was
he pleased with the pressure of her fair arms, which accompanied or
followed the other demonstrations of her affection, and the speed of his
steed, now safe, as he thought himself, from all pursuit, was quickened,
that he might reach the goal, where all the joys of a long-sighed-for
possession awaited him. At length he gave his horse breathing-time, and,
taking himself a long inspiration--

"When, think ye, Mary," said he, "I will send for the six steers I
purchased from your father yesterday?"

"Maybe never, Robert," was the whispered reply.

"You say right, love. It was never my intention," said he. "I thought it
but fair to leave old Giles some consideration for his daughter."

A squeeze was the expression of the gratitude felt by the female for the
boon so generously bestowed on the farmer of Kelpiehaugh.

"Was I known, think ye?" he continued. "I liked not the sharp eye of
your mother. By my faith! I quailed under it. The devil an ancient
carlin duenna in an old romance ever observed so sharp a look-out for
the safety of her ward. But, ha! ha! Mary, we have outwitted the old
dame, and let her catch us now, if she can. We want only two miles of
Langholm, and then, hey! hey! and be merry, as the song says--

'Now all this time let us be merry,
And set nocht by this world a cherry.'

Safe in my house at Langholm, Mary, let Giles and his old dame enjoy the
bargain they have got. They may sell the steers at the next fair of St
Boswell's; but I will not so soon part with my Mary."

"Na, I hope not," replied the whispering female. "But hearna ye the
sounds of a horse's feet?"

The lover turned his head.

"Your father, by the rood!" cried he; and, clapping spurs again to his
horse, they set off at a quick gallop, with a view to distance their
pursuer, who was no other than Giles Ramsay himself, mounted on one of
his quickest plough-horses, and brandishing a huge cudgel, in the double
act of beating his nag and threatening vengeance on the fugitives.

The pursued were now in danger of being overtaken; for the greater speed
of the hunter was