deep silence. At length the gay
and bold spirit of the glee maiden rose above the circumstances in which
she had been and was now placed.

"Do the horrors of Falkland, fair May, still weigh down your spirits?
Strive to forget them as I do: we cannot tread life's path lightly, if
we shake not from our mantles the raindrops as they fall."

"These horrors are not to be forgotten," answered Catharine. "Yet my
mind is at present anxious respecting my father's safety; and I cannot
but think how many brave men may be at this instant leaving the world,
even within six miles of us, or little farther."

"You mean the combat betwixt sixty champions, of which the Douglas's
equerry told us yesterday? It were a sight for a minstrel to witness.
But out upon these womanish eyes of mine--they could never see swords
cross each other without being dazzled. But see--look yonder, May
Catharine--look yonder! That flying messenger certainly brings news of
the battle."

"Methinks I should know him who runs so wildly," said Catharine. "But if
it be he I think of, some wild thoughts are urging his speed."

As she spoke, the runner directed his course to the garden. Louise's
little dog ran to meet him, barking furiously, but came back, to
cower, creep, and growl behind its mistress; for even dumb animals can
distinguish when men are driven on by the furious energy of irresistible
passion, and dread to cross or encounter them in their career. The
fugitive rushed into the garden at the same reckless pace. His head was
bare, his hair dishevelled, his rich acton and all his other vestments
looked as if they had been lately drenched in water. His leathern
buskins were cut and torn, and his feet marked the sod with blood. His
countenance was wild, haggard, and highly excited, or, as the Scottish
phrase expresses it, much "raised."

"Conachar!" said Catharine, as he advanced, apparently without seeing
what was before him, as hares are said to do when severely pressed by
the greyhounds. But he stopped short when he heard his own name.

"Conachar," said Catharine, "or rather Eachin MacIan, what means all
this? Have the Clan Quhele sustained a defeat?"

"I have borne such names as this maiden gives me," said the fugitive,
after a moment's recollection. "Yes, I was called Conachar when I was
happy, and Eachin when I was powerful. But now I have no name, and there
is no such clan as thou speak'st of; and thou art a foolish maid to
speak of that whi