ad played with him upon
the Links of Leith at our diversion, I could not reject his
ministrations. And also, as I said, he was a pleasant, well-spoken man.
But he had hardly said many words, or indeed gotten fairly into the
matter of his prayer--which being an Episcopalian, it took him a long
time to do--when his voice seemed to be drowned in the surging murmur
which rose from the people far down the spaces of the Grassmarket. The
sound we heard was as that of a mighty multitude crying aloud; but
whether for joy or hate, I could not tell. The Dean went on praying with
his book open. But none, I think, minded him, or indeed could have heard
him if they had. For every eye in all that mighty throng was turned to
the distance, whence came the cheering of the myriad throats.

The soldiers looked one to the other, and the officers drew together and
conferred. They thought, doubtless, that it was the messenger of death
with the other warrant of execution, that for Anton Lennox. Yet they
marvelled why in that case the people shouted.

The commander bade the drums beat, for the voices of those about the
scaffold-foot began to take up the shouting, and he feared a tumult. So
the kettle drums brayed out their angry waspish whirr, and the great
basses boomed dull and hollow over all.

But in spite of all, the crying of the whole people waxed louder and
louder, and the rejoicing came nearer and nearer, so that they could in
no wise drown it with all their instruments of music.

Then, in the narrow Gut of the West Port I saw a white horse and a rider
upon it, driving fiercely through the black press of the throng. And
ever the people tossed their bonnets in the air, flecking the red
sunrise with them. And the crowd fell back before the rider as the foam
surges from the prow of a swift boat on Solway tide.

And lo! among the shouting throng I looked and saw, and knew. It was my
own lass that rode and came to save me, even while the headsman was
wiping the crimson from the bloody shearing knife to make it ready for
me. In either hand she waved a parchment of pardon, and the people
shouted: "A pardon! a pardon! God save the King!"

Without rein she rode, and the people opened a lane for her weary horse.
Very pale was her face, the sweetest that ever the sun shone on. Very
weary were the lids of her eyes, that were the truest and the bravest
which ever God gave to woman. But when they were lifted up to look at me
on the scaffold of