nd not
pedestrian exercise the flourish of a fife), that I think I had better
ensconce myself in one of these bushes, and even lie quiet there to
abide what fortune God shall send me. I entreat you, mine honest friend
Ranald, to shift for yourself, and leave me to my fortune, as the Lion
of the North, the immortal Gustavus Adolphus, my never-to-be-forgotten
master (whom you must surely have heard of, Ranald, though you may have
heard of no one else), said to Francis Albert, Duke of Saxe-Lauenburgh,
when he was mortally wounded on the plains of Lutzen. Neither despair
altogether of my safety, Ranald, seeing I have been in as great pinches
as this in Germany--more especially, I remember me, that at the fatal
battle of Nerlingen--after which I changed service--"

"If you would save your father's son's breath to help his child out
of trouble, instead of wasting it upon the tales of Seannachies," said
Ranald, who now grew impatient of the Captain's loquacity, "or if your
feet could travel as fast as your tongue, you might yet lay your head on
an unbloody pillow to-night."

"Something there is like military skill in that," replied the Captain,
"although wantonly and irreverently spoken to an officer of rank. But
I hold it good to pardon such freedoms on a march, in respect of the
Saturnalian license indulged in such cases to the troops of all
nations. And now, resume thine office, friend Ranald, in respect I am
well-breathed; or, to be more plain, I PRAE, SEQUAR, as we used to say
at Mareschal-College."

Comprehending his meaning rather from his motions than his language,
the Son of the Mist again led the way, with an unerring precision that
looked like instinct, through a variety of ground the most difficult and
broken that could well be imagined. Dragging along his ponderous boots,
encumbered with thigh-pieces, gauntlets, corslet, and back-piece, not to
mention the buff jerkin which he wore under all these arms, talking of
his former exploits the whole way, though Ranald paid not the slightest
attention to him, Captain Dalgetty contrived to follow his guide a
considerable space farther, when the deep-mouthed baying of a hound was
heard coming down the wind, as if opening on the scent of its prey.

"Black hound," said Ranald, "whose throat never boded good to a Child of
the Mist, ill fortune to her who littered thee! hast thou already found
our trace? But thou art too late, swart hound of darkness, and the deer
has gaine