ere the tread of a horse. It must be, she
instantly thought, the scout of the king's cavalcade; for, in her
painful anxiety, she had forgotten her own messenger. The step
approached nearer and nearer; and more intense, in the same degree, grew
her apprehension, till the sound of her messenger's voice, calling the
warder, struck her ear--and she imagined she never heard a voice so
hollow and ominous of death. The man was admitted, and his heavy step up
the spiral stair, flustering in the toil of a vain precipitude in the
dark entrance, declared the impatience of his intelligence.

"Ah! my Leddie," said he, as he ran forward, breathlessly and fearfully,
"Ralph spoke truth. The king's party will be at the castle in less time
than an eagle may flee frae Dunyon to Ruberslaw. I hae seen them. They
carry torches to shew them the hill-paths, and keep them oot o' the saft
bogs. The light shone fearfully on the hill-sides, and the clatter o'
their horses' hoofs rang in my ears. I had seen enough, and made the
greatest speed to bring the ill news."

"Cockburn, Cockburn," ejaculated the disconsolate wife, "what power may
now save ye from thy fate? His proud spirit will disdain flight--ay, and
prompt a meeting with his executioner. What has become of Ralph?
Everything conspires toward the ruin of my hopes. You must to Tushielaw,
Thomas, and give a second warning to your master. Tell him of this
torch-light progress of the royal executioner, and warn him again to fly
for his life, and the life of one who lives through him. Yet,
stay--shall I not go myself? One messenger hath failed already--shall a
wife fail in the cause of her husband's life?"

"The mountain torrents are swelled, my Leddie," replied Thomas of the
Woodburn, "an' will be noo sweepin owre the Riever's Road, carryin baith
man an' horse to the howes; an' nane but an auld hill-roadster may ken
the richt tract frae that to ruin in the midst o' the darkness. Ye micht
as weel try to pass the Brig o' Dread, my Leddie. Yer bonnie body wad be
fund a corpse wi' the mornin's licht, an' Cockburn, pardoned by the king
maybe, micht greet owre't. Besides, ye should be here. A woman's voice
turns awa meikle wrath."

"Away, then, yourself, good Thomas!--I believe your counsel is good.
Heaven speed the message! Cockburn's delay gives me a glimmer of hope,
that Ralph hath already turned his head to England. If so be it, you
will report to me privately, and away from the ear of the kin