s fate, and indignation against his
oppressors. There was no keeping, as the artists say, in the picture, no
proper causality in a stolen cow, for the production of such an effect
as a hanged Phaon or strangled Hercules; and though we have used some
classic names to grace our idea, the very same thought, at least as good
a one, though perhaps not so gaudily clothed, occupied the mind of
Margaret Elliot. She sobbed and cried bitterly, till the Gilnockie
ravens and owls, kindred spirits, were terrified from the riever's
tower.

"What is this o't?" she exclaimed, in the midst of her tears. "Shall
Christie's Will, the bravest man o' the Borders, be hanged because a
cow, that kenned nae better, followed him frae Stobbs to the Hollows;
and shall it be said that Margaret Elliot was the death o' her braw
riever? I had meat enough in Gilnockie larder that day I scorned him wi'
his laziness, and forced him to do the deed that has brought him to
Jedburgh jail. But I'll awa to the warden, James Stewart o' Traquair,
and see if it be the king's high will that a man's life should be ta'en
for a cow's."

Making good her resolution, Margaret threw her plaid about her
shoulders, and hied her away to Traquair House, the same that still
stands on the margin of the Tweed, and raises its high white walls,
perforated by numerous Flemish-shaped windows, among the dark woods of
Traquair. When she came to the front of the house, and saw the two stone
figures stationed at the old gate, she paused and wondered at the
weakness and effeminacy of the Lord High Steward in endeavouring to
defend his castle by fearful representations of animals.

"My faith," muttered she to herself, as she approached to request
entrance, "the warden was right in no makin' choice o' the figure o' a
_quey_ to defend his castle." And she could scarcely resist a chuckle in
the midst of her tears, at her reference to the cause of her visit.

"Is my Lord Steward at hame?" said she to the servant who answered her
call.

"Yes," answered the man; "who is it that wishes to see him?"

"The mistress o' Gilnockie," rejoined Margaret, "has come to seek a guid
word for Christie's Will, who now lies in Jedburgh jail for stealing a
tether, and I fear may hang for't."

The servant heard this extraordinary message as servants who presume to
judge of the sense of their messages ever do, with critical attention,
and, after serious consideration, declared that he could not deliver
s