mained
standing still in the same posture, like a maniac whose fit is over.

"The dangerous time is by now," said the little girl who had followed;
"it seldom lasts beyond the time that the sun's ower the hill; ye may
gang in and speak wi' him now. I'll wait for you at the other side of the
linn; he canna bide to see twa folk at anes."

Slowly and cautiously, and keeping constantly upon his guard, Morton
presented himself to the view of his old associate in command.

"What! comest thou again when thine hour is over?" was his first
exclamation; and flourishing his sword aloft, his countenance assumed an
expression in which ghastly terror seemed mingled with the rage of a
demoniac.

"I am come, Mr. Balfour," said Morton, in a steady and composed tone,
"to renew an acquaintance which has been broken off since the fight of
Bothwell Bridge."

As soon as Burley became aware that Morton was before him in person,--an
idea which he caught with marvellous celerity,--he at once exerted that
mastership over his heated and enthusiastic imagination, the power of
enforcing which was a most striking part of his extraordinary character.
He sunk his sword-point at once, and as he stole it composedly into the
scabbard, he muttered something of the damp and cold which sent an old
soldier to his fencing exercise, to prevent his blood from chilling. This
done, he proceeded in the cold, determined manner which was peculiar to
his ordinary discourse:--

"Thou hast tarried long, Henry Morton, and hast not come to the vintage
before the twelfth hour has struck. Art thou yet willing to take the
right hand of fellowship, and be one with those who look not to thrones
or dynasties, but to the rule of Scripture, for their directions?"

[Illustration: Morton and Black Linn--272]

"I am surprised," said Morton, evading the direct answer to his question,
"that you should have known me after so many years."

"The features of those who ought to act with me are engraved on my
heart," answered Burley; "and few but Silas Morton's son durst have
followed me into this my castle of retreat. Seest thou that drawbridge of
Nature's own construction?" he added, pointing to the prostrate
oak-tree,--"one spurn of my foot, and it is overwhelmed in the abyss
below, bidding foeman on the farther side stand at defiance, and leaving
enemies on this at the mercy of one who never yet met his equal in single
fight."

"Of such defences," said Morton, "I should