ived me--craft as well as cruelty is permitted by
his creed." Such was his inward thought; he said aloud, "I cannot stay,
Mrs Wilson, I must go forward directly."

"But, oh! bide to eat a mouthfu'," entreated the affectionate
housekeeper, "and I'll mak it ready for you as I used to do afore thae
sad days," "It is impossible," answered Morton.--"Cuddie, get our horses
ready."

"They're just eating their corn," answered the attendant.

"Cuddie!" exclaimed Ailie; "what garr'd ye bring that ill-faur'd, unlucky
loon alang wi' ye?--It was him and his randie mother began a' the
mischief in this house."

"Tut, tut," replied Cuddie, "ye should forget and forgie, mistress.
Mither's in Glasgow wi' her tittie, and sall plague ye nae mair; and I'm
the Captain's wallie now, and I keep him tighter in thack and rape than
ever ye did;--saw ye him ever sae weel put on as he is now?"

"In troth and that's true," said the old housekeeper, looking with great
complacency at her young master, whose mien she thought much improved by
his dress. "I'm sure ye ne'er had a laced cravat like that when ye were
at Milnwood; that's nane o' my sewing."

"Na, na, mistress," replied Cuddie, "that's a cast o' my hand--that's ane
o' Lord Evandale's braws."

"Lord Evandale?" answered the old lady, "that's him that the whigs are
gaun to hang the morn, as I hear say."

"The whigs about to hang Lord Evandale?" said Morton, in the greatest
surprise.

"Ay, troth are they," said the housekeeper. "Yesterday night he made a
sally, as they ca't, (my mother's name was Sally--I wonder they gie
Christian folk's names to sic unchristian doings,)--but he made an
outbreak to get provisions, and his men were driven back and he was taen,
'an' the whig Captain Balfour garr'd set up a gallows, and swore, (or
said upon his conscience, for they winna swear,) that if the garrison was
not gien ower the morn by daybreak, he would hing up the young lord, poor
thing, as high as Haman.--These are sair times!--but folk canna help
them--sae do ye sit down and tak bread and cheese until better meat's
made ready. Ye suldna hae kend a word about it, an I had thought it was
to spoil your dinner, hinny."

"Fed, or unfed," exclaimed Morton, "saddle the horses instantly, Cuddie.
We must not rest until we get before the Castle."

And, resisting all Ailie's entreaties, they instantly resumed their
journey.

Morton failed not to halt at the dwelling of Poundtext, and summon him to