ver supposed
aught else than that he had been liberated and intrusted with some
private commission by their master. In this belief, and having received
the parole, they gave him free passage.

Dalgetty rode slowly through the town of Inverary, the outlaw attending
upon him like a foot-page at his horse's shoulder. As they passed the
gibbet, the old man looked on the bodies and wrung his hands. The look
and gesture was momentary, but expressive of indescribable anguish.
Instantly recovering himself, Ranald, in passing, whispered somewhat
to one of the females, who, like Rizpah the daughter of Aiah, seemed
engaged in watching and mourning the victims of feudal injustice and
cruelty. The woman started at his voice, but immediately collected
herself and returned for answer a slight inclination of the head.

Dalgetty continued his way out of the town, uncertain whether he should
try to seize or hire a boat and cross the lake, or plunge into the
woods, and there conceal himself from pursuit. In the former event he
was liable to be instantly pursued by the galleys of the Marquis, which
lay ready for sailing, their long yard-arms pointing to the wind, and
what hope could he have in an ordinary Highland fishing-boat to escape
from them? If he made the latter choice, his chance either of supporting
or concealing himself in those waste and unknown wildernesses, was in
the highest degree precarious. The town lay now behind him, yet what
hand to turn to for safety he was unable to determine, and began to be
sensible, that in escaping from the dungeon at Inverary, desperate
as the matter seemed, he had only accomplished the easiest part of a
difficult task. If retaken, his fate was now certain; for the personal
injury he had offered to a man so powerful and so vindictive, could be
atoned for only by instant death. While he pondered these distressing
reflections, and looked around with a countenance which plainly
expressed indecision, Ranald MacEagh suddenly asked him, "which way he
intended to journey?"

"And that, honest comrade," answered Dalgetty, "is precisely the
question which I cannot answer you. Truly I begin to hold the
opinion, Ranald, that we had better have stuck by the brown loaf and
water-pitcher until Sir Duncan arrived, who, for his own honour, must
have made some fight for me."

"Saxon," answered MacEagh, "do not regret having exchanged the foul
breath of yonder dungeon for the free air of heaven. Above all, repe