in' reed. I see them a' broken--a' the pride o' the
West, an' the dragoons are riding here an' there amang them, an' haggin'
them doon. But your faither I canna see--I canna see my man----"

"Mither," I said, mostly, I think, for something to say, "Mind the Guid
Cause!"

She flung her hands abroad with a fine gesture as of scorn. "What cause
is guid that twines a woman frae her ain man--an' we had been thegither
three-an'-thirty year!"

In a little I got her to lie down, but the most simple may understand
how much more sleep there was in Earlstoun that night. Yet though we
listened with all our ears, we heard no other sound than just that blind
and unkindly wind reestling and soughing about the house, groping at the
doors and trying the lattices. Not a footstep went across the courtyard,
not the cry of a bird came over the moors, till behind the barren ridges
of the east the morning broke.

Then when in the grey and growing light I went down and again opened the
door, lo! there with his nose against the latchet hasp was Gay Garland,
my father's war-horse. He stood and trembled in every limb. He was
covered with the lair of the moss-hags, wherein he had sunk to the
girths. But on his saddle leather, towards the left side, there was a
broad splash of blood which had run down to the stirrup iron; and in the
holster on that side, where the great pistol ought to have been, a thing
yet more fearsome--a man's bloody forefinger, taken off above the second
joint with a clean drawing cut.

My mother came down the turret stair, fully dressed, and with her
company gown upon her. Yet when she saw Gay Garland standing there at
the door with his head between his knees, she did not seem to be
astonished or afraid, as she had been during the night. She came near to
him and laid a hand on his neck.

"Puir beast," she said, "ye have had sore travel. Take him to the stable
for water and corn, and bid Jock o' the Garpel rise."

The dark shades of the night were flown away, and my mother now spoke
quietly and firmly as was her wont. Much in times bygone had we spoken
about sufferings in the House of Earlstoun, and, lo! now they were come
home to our own door.

CHAPTER IV.

SANDY GORDON COMES OVER THE HILL ALL ALONE.

The House of Earlstoun sits bonny above the water-side, and there are
few fairer waters in this land than the Ken water. Also it looks its
bonniest in the early morning when the dew is on all sides, and a
st