layed when he was a bairn, with his mother, the
gentle "Flower of Yarrow," watching over him, and which he knew he would
never see again.

But, to his astonishment, instead of being led straight out to the
"dule-tree," as he had expected, he was taken into the great hall, and
stationed close to one of the narrow windows. A strange sight met his
eyes.

The hall was full of armed men, who were looking about them with broad
smiles of amusement, while, on a dais at the far end of the hall, were
seated, in two large armchairs, his captor of the night before, Sir
Juden Murray, and a severe-looking lady, in a wondrous head-dress, and a
stiff silken gown, whom he took to be his wife.

Between them, blushing and hanging her head as if the ordeal was too
much for her, was the plainest-looking maiden he had ever seen in his
life. She was thin and ill-thriven-looking, very different from the
buxom lassies he was accustomed to see: her eyes were colourless; her
nose was long and pointed, and the size of her mouth would alone have
proclaimed her to be the worthy couple's eldest daughter, Muckle-Mou'ed
Meg.

Near the dais stood her two younger sisters. They were plain-looking
girls also, but hardly so plain-looking as Meg, and they were laughing
and whispering to one another, as if much amused by what was going on.

Sir Juden cleared his throat and crossed one thin leg slowly over the
other, while he looked keenly at his prisoner from under his bushy
eyebrows.

"Good morrow, young sir," he said at last; "so you and your friends
thought that ye would like a score or two o' the Elibank kye. By whose
warrant, may I ask, did ye ride, seeing that in those days peace is
declared on the Border, and anyone who breaks it, breaks it at his own
risk?"

"I rode at my own peril," answered the young man haughtily, for he did
not like to be questioned in this manner, "and it is on mine own head
that the blame must fall. Thou knowest that right well, Sir Juden, so it
seems to me but waste of words to parley here."

"So thou knowest the fate that thy rash deed brings on thee," said Sir
Juden hastily, his temper, never of the sweetest, rising rapidly at the
young man's coolness. He would fain have hanged him without more ado,
did prudence permit; and it was hard to sit still and bargain with him.

"So thou knowest that I have the right to hang thee, without further
words," he continued; "and, by my faith, many a man would do it, too,
withou