e hall to where Meg o' Elibank stood trembling
by her delighted parents.

She greeted him with a look which set him thinking of a bird which sees
its cage flung open, and I wot that, though he did not know it, at that
moment he began to love her.

Be that as it may, his words to Sir Juden were short and gruff. "Sir,"
he asked, "hast thou a priest in thy company? For, if so, let him come
hither and finish what we have begun. I would fain spend this night in
my own Tower of Oakwood."

Sir Juden and his lady were not a little taken aback at this sudden
demand, for, now that the matter was settled to their satisfaction, they
would have liked to have married their eldest daughter with more state
and ceremony.

"There's no need of such haste," began Dame Margaret, with a look at her
lord, "if your word is given, and the Laird satisfied. The morn, or even
the next day might do. The lassie's providing[12] must be gathered
together, for I would not like it said that a bride went out of Elibank
with nothing but the clothes she stood in."

[Footnote 12: Trousseau.]

But young Harden interrupted her with small courtesy. "Let her be
married now, or not at all," he said, and as the heir of Harden as a
prospective son-in-law was very different from the heir of Harden as a
prisoner, she feared to say him nay, lest he went back on his word.

So a priest was sent for, and in great haste William Scott of Harden was
wedded to Margaret Murray of Elibank, and then they two set off alone,
over the hills to the old Tower of Oakwood--he, with high thoughts of
anger and revenge in his heart for the trick that had been played
him;--she, poor thing, wondering wistfully what the future held in store
for her.

The day was cold and wet, and halfway over the Hangingshaw Height he
heard a stifled sob behind him, and, looking over his shoulder, he saw
his little woebegone bride trying in vain with her numbed fingers to
guide her palfrey, which was floundering in a moss-hole, to firmer
footing.

The sight would have touched a harder heart than Willie of Harden's, for
he was a true son of his mother, and the Flower of Yarrow was aye
kind-hearted; and suddenly all his anger vanished.

"God save us, lassie, but there's nothing to greet[13] about," he said,
turning his horse and taking her reins from her poor stiff fingers, and,
though the words were rough, his voice was strangely gentle. "'Tis not
thy fault that things have fallen out thus, a