Hannah sent into the night
a peal of derisive laughter, and then turned into the house and shut the
door.

"I said I'd sort them," she chuckled, "and I've sorted them rightly. Yin
o' them will carry a mark on his mug to the day of his death, and lucky
if he hasn't lost the sight of an eye. There'll be a hole in the breeks
of the other that'll tak a quare width of cloth to make a patch for
it. And, what's more, thon man'll no sit easy on his horse for a bit.
They'll not be for chasing Master Neal the night any way. But, faith,
this house will be no place for me the morrow. I'll just tak my wee bit
duds under my arm and away with me up to Dunseveric House. Miss Una'll
take me in when she hears the tale I ha' to tell. I'd like to see the
yeos or the sojers either that would fetch me out of the ould lord's
kitchen. If they tak to ravishing and rieving the master's plenishins I
canna help it. Better a ravished house nor a murdered woman."

Neal got out of the window, and once more crossed the meadow. He lay for
a minute in the ditch beside the road listening intently. He feared that
he might have been tracked home, that the house might be surrounded, and
that escape might be difficult or impossible. But there was no sound
of any sort on the road--neither voices of men, treading of horses, or
jangling of accoutrements. Evidently the men at the door of the manse
were no more than a patrol. They were entering the house out of wanton
desire to annoy Hannah Macaulay or on the chance of discovering there
something which might give them a clue--not because they actually
suspected that he was within. He heard the crash of the first kick on
the door, rose from the ditch, crossed the road, and took to the edge of
the cliffs again. He walked quickly, frightened and shaken. He started
into a breathless run when Hannah's battle whoop reached him on the
still air. He heard distinctly the men's shrieks, and even the noise of
the runaway horses galloping on the hard road. He went the faster--a mad
terror driving him.

He passed Port Moon again, crossed the majestic brow of Pleaskin Head,
skirted the Causeway, and reached the Runkerry cliffs. He went more
slowly, ceased running, sat down, drawing deep laboured breaths. The
food he ate in the manse had strengthened him. The assurance of the care
and watchfulness of his friends cheered him, but his mind was like that
of a hunted animal. He had no courage left, nothing but an overmastering