his?"

"You shall have full time," said Earnscliff; "I plight my faith and
troth, my hand and my glove."

"Wait there a moment, then," said Westburnflat; "or hear ye, I wad
rather ye wad fa' back a pistol-shot from the door. It's no that I
mistrust your word, Earnscliff; but it's best to be sure."

O, friend, thought Hobbie to himself, as he drew back, an I had you but
on Turner's-holm, [There is a level meadow, on the very margin of the
two kingdoms, called Turner's-holm, just where the brook called Crissop
joins the Liddel. It is said to have derived its name as being a place
frequently assigned for tourneys, during the ancient Border times.] and
naebody by but twa honest lads to see fair play, I wad make ye wish ye
had broken your leg ere ye had touched beast or body that belanged to
me!

"He has a white feather in his wing this same Westburnflat, after
a'," said Simon of Hackburn, somewhat scandalized by his ready
surrender.--"He'll ne'er fill his father's boots."

In the meanwhile, the inner door of the tower was opened, and the mother
of the freebooter appeared in the space betwixt that and the outer
grate. Willie himself was next seen, leading forth a female, and the old
woman, carefully bolting the grate behind them, remained on the post as
a sort of sentinel.

"Ony ane or twa o' ye come forward," said the outlaw, "and take her frae
my hand haill and sound."

Hobbie advanced eagerly, to meet his betrothed bride. Earnscliff
followed more slowly, to guard against treachery. Suddenly Hobbie
slackened his pace in the deepest mortification, while that of
Earnscliff was hastened by impatient surprise. It was not Grace
Armstrong, but Miss Isabella Vere, whose liberation had been effected by
their appearance before the tower.

"Where is Grace? where is Grace Armstrong?" exclaimed Hobbie, in the
extremity of wrath and indignation.

"Not in my hands," answered Westburnflat; "ye may search the tower, if
ye misdoubt me."

"You false villain, you shall account for her, or die on the spot," said
Elliot, presenting his gun.

But his companions, who now came up, instantly disarmed him of his
weapon, exclaiming, all at once, "Hand and glove! faith and troth! Haud
a care, Hobbie we maun keep our faith wi' Westburnflat, were he the
greatest rogue ever rode."

Thus protected, the outlaw recovered his audacity, which had been
somewhat daunted by the menacing gesture of Elliot.

"I have kept my word, sirs," he said,