the night came on, but still the brave
young dalesman held to his purpose. The snow had become crisp and
easier to the foot, but the way was long and the wayfarer was sick at
heart.

Morning came at last, and when the mists had risen above the meadows,
Robbie saw before him, nigh at hand, the ancient city of Carlisle. A
presentiment that he came too late took the joy out of the
long-expected sight.

Was the sky gloomy? Did a storm threaten? Were the murmuring rivers
and the roaring ghylls telling to Robbie's ear the hopeless tale that
lay cold and silent at his heart? No!

The sun arose and sparkled over the white landscape. It thawed the
stiff boughs of the trees, and the snow dropped from them in gracious
drops like dew. All nature seemed glad--cruelly, mockingly,
insensately glad--lightsome, jubilant. The birds forsook their
frost-bound nests, and sang cheerily in the clear morning air. One
little linnet--so very little--perched on a delicate silver birch, and
poured its full soul out of its liquid throat.

Robbie toiled painfully along with a feeble step, and with nerveless
despondency on every feature of his face--his coat flying open to his
woollen shirt; one of his hands thrust with his pipe into his belt;
the other hand dragging after him a heavy staff; his cap pushed back
from his hot forehead.

When he walked listlessly into Carlisle it was through the
Botcher-gate on the south. The clock of the cathedral was striking
ten. Robbie passed along the streets scarcely knowing his own errand
or destination. Without seeking for it he came upon the old Town Hall.
Numbers of people were congregated in the Market Place outside, and
crowds were hurrying up from the adjacent streets. Robbie had only
once been in Carlisle before, but he felt convinced that these must be
unaccustomed occurrences. He asked a townsman standing near him what
the tumult meant. The man could tell him nothing. Then he asked
another and another spectator of the scene in which there appeared to
be nothing to see, but all seemed as ignorant as himself. Nevertheless
there was an increasing commotion.

An old stone cross, raised high on steps, stood in the Market Place,
and Robbie walked up to it and leaned against it. Then he was
conscious that word had gone through the crowd that a famous culprit
had surrendered. According to some authorities the culprit was a
thief, according to others a murderer; some said that he was a forger,
and some