said a traitor, and some that he was another of the
regicides, and would be sent on to London.

On one point only was there any kind of agreement, and that was that
the culprit had voluntarily surrendered to a warrant issued for his
arrest.

The commotion reached its climax when the doors of the old hall were
seen to open and a company of soldiers and civilians passed out.

It was a guard for the prisoner, who was being taken to the common
gaol to await his trial.

A dull, aching, oppressive pain lay at Robbie's heart. He climbed on
to the cross and looked over the people's heads at the little company.

The prisoner was Ralph Ray. With a firm step, with upright and
steadfast gaze, he walked between two soldiers; and close at his
heels, with downcast eyes, Simeon Stagg toiled along.

Robbie's quest was at an end.

CHAPTER XXXV. ROBBIE'S QUEST ENDED.

It was all over now. The weary chase was done, and Robbie Anderson
came late. Ralph had surrendered, and a sadder possibility than Robbie
guessed at, a more terrible catastrophe than Rotha Stagg or Willy Ray
had feared or looked for, lay in the sequel now to be unfolded.

The soldiers and their prisoner had gone; the crowd had gone with
them, and Robbie stood alone in the Market Place. From his station on
the steps of the cross he turned and looked after the motley company.
They took the way down English Street.

How hot and tired his forehead felt! It had ached before, but now it
burned like fire. Robbie pressed it hard against the cold stone of the
cross. Then he walked aimlessly away. He had nowhere to go; he had
nothing to do; and hour after hour he rambled through the narrow
streets of the old town. The snow still hung in heavy flakes from the
overhanging eaves and porches of the houses, and toppled at intervals
in thick clots on to the streets. The causeways were swept dry.

Up and down, through Blackfriars Street, past the gaol that stood on
the ruins of the monastery, along Abbey Street, and past the
cathedral, across Head Lane, and into the Market Place again; then
along the banks of the Caldew, and over the western wall that looked
across the hills that stretched into the south; round Shaddon-gate to
the bridge that lay under the shadow of the castle, and up to the
river Eden and the wide Scotch-gate to the north. On and on, he knew
not where, he cared not wherefore; on and on, till his weary limbs
were sinking beneath him, until the long lines