absently, then added, 'D' ye ken the name o' this
cleuch?'

'No,' I replied; 'I come from the wrong side of the Border,' finally
succeeding, as I spoke, in drawing my mare's head out of the water.

''Tis Peden's Cleuch,'[1] he said with animation; ''tis the place where
blessed Master Peden was preachin' when the bloody "Clavers" was huntin'
him like a fox on the fells; ay, and would hae worrited him wi' his
hounds had na the Lord sent down His mist and wrapped him awa frae the
hunters.'

He paused a moment, then continued slowly:

'They still hunt for him--"Clavers" and Grierson o' Lag; 'tis the weird
they hae to dree till the Day o' Doom for their wickedness i' pursuin'
the Saints o' God.'

'Have you ever seen them?' I asked lightly.

'Ay, I hae,' came the unexpected response, 'whiles i' the "oncome" or
"haar," or by the moonlicht.

'D' ye no ken the bit ballant?

"_Soondless they ride--for aye i' search o' their boon--_
_They ha' died, but God's feud is for aye unstaunched,_
_And aye they mun ride by the licht o' the moon._"'

'No,' I replied, astonished, 'but how--supposing you have seen
them--could you know them to be "Clavers" and Grierson o' Lag?'

'Not only hae I seen them, but I aince heard them talking,' my companion
replied quietly as before.

'When was that?' I asked, still more astonished, as I looked more keenly
at the speaker.

He was a man of middle stature, dressed in rough shepherd's costume,
with a plaid about his shoulders; he had a gentle aspect, with tremulous
mouth, and a far-away look in his eyes of speedwell blue.

'I'll tell ye,' he replied simply. 'Blessed Master Peden had been here
i' the "killing times," ye ken, preachin' till the puir hill folk, an'
baptizin' their bairns--he baptized a forebear o' my ain--and it would
likely be the annivairsary o' the day when he escaped frae the hans o'
the hunters through the "haar," when I chanced to come by here an' saw a
bit tent pit up, an' heard folk carousin' within.

'I creepit up, an' I keeked within the openin' o't, an' there I saw twa
hunters sittin' at board--eatin', and whiles drinkin' the blood-red
wine--ane o' them was the bonniest man e'er I saw i' my life, but he had
the sorrowfullest eyes e'er set i' a man's face. There was ne'er a bit
colour to his cheeks save where a trickle o' claret had stained the
corner o' his lip.

'His comrade was juist the opposite till him; foul he was, an'
discoloured wi' lust