turning and winding, every dip of the ground, and every rock and
streamlet in the course. There was the stillness of death on every side;
and although Owen stopped more than once to listen, not the slightest
sound could be heard. The gloom and dreariness suited well the "habit of
his soul." His own thoughts were not of the brightest, and his step was
slow and his head downcast as he went.

At last the glimmering of light, hazy and indistinct from the foggy
atmosphere, came into view, and a few minutes after, he entered the
little enclosure of the small garden which flanked one side of the
cabin. The quick bark of a dog gave token of his approach, and Owen
found some difficulty in making himself recognised by the animal,
although an old acquaintance. This done, he crept stealthily to the
window from which the gleam of light issued. The shutters were closed,
hut between their joinings he obtained a view of all within.

At one side of the fire was Mary--his own Mary, when last he parted with
her. She was seated at a spinning-wheel, but seemed less occupied with
the work, than hent on listening to some noise without. Phil also stood
in the attitude of one inclining his ear to catch a sound, and held a
musket in his hand like one ready to resist attack. A farm-servant, a
lad of some eighteen, stood at his side, armed with a horse-pistol, his
features betraying no very equivocal expression of fear and anxiety.
Little Patsy nestled at Mary's side, and with his tiny hands had grasped
her arm closely.

They stood there, as if spell-bound. It was evident they were afraid, by
the slightest stir, to lose the chance of hearing any noise without; and
when Mary at last lifted up her head, as if to speak, a quick motion
of her brother's hand warned her to be silent. What a history did that
group reveal to Owen, as, with a heart throbbing fiercely, he gazed upon
it! But a few short months back, and the inmates of that happy home
knew not if at night the door was even latched; the thought of attack or
danger never crossed their minds. The lordly dwellers in a castle felt
less security in their slumbers than did these peasants; now, each night
brought a renewal of their terrors. It came no longer the season of
mutual greeting around the wintry hearth, the hour of rest and repose;
but a time of anxiety and dread, a gloomy period of doubt, harassed by
every breeze that stirred, and every branch that moved.

"'Tis nothing _this time_," s