' us being brought into trouble, when our puir
bluiding country is groaning beneath the yoke o' an enemy, and we see
them harrying us not only oot o' hoose and ha', but even those that
should be our protectors oot o' their manhood! See," added she, "do ye
see wha yon is, skulking as far as he can get frae our door wi' the
weel-filled sack upon his shouthers? It is yer ain dearie, Florence
Wilson! O the betrayer o' his country!--He's a coward, Janet, like the
rest o' them, and shall ne'er ca' ye his wife while I live to ca' ye
daughter."

"O mother!" added the maiden, in a low and agitated voice--"what could
poor Florence do? It isna wi' a man body as it is wi' the like o' us. If
he didna do as the lave do, he wad be informed against, and he maun obey
or die!"

"Let him die, then, as a man, as a Scotchman!" said the stern guidwife
of Coldingham.

Florence Wilson, of whom Madge had spoken, was a young man of three or
four and twenty, and who then held, as his fathers had done before him,
sheep lands under the house of Home. He was one of those who obeyed
reluctantly the command of the governor to bring provisions to the
garrison; and, until the day on which Madge beheld him with the sack
upon his shoulders, he had resisted doing so. But traitors had whispered
the tale of his stubbornness and discontent in the castle; and, in
order to save himself and his flocks, he that day took a part of his
substance to the garrison. He had long been the accepted of Janet
Gordon; and the troubles of the times alone prevented them, as the
phrase went, from "commencing house together." He well knew the fierce
and daring patriotism of his intended mother-in-law, and he took a
circuitous route, in order to avoid passing her door, laden with a
burden of provisions for the enemy. But, as has been told, she perceived
him.

In the evening, Florence paid his nightly visit to Janet.

"Out! out! ye traitor!" cried Madge, as she beheld him crossing her
threshold; "the shadow of a coward shall ne'er fall on my floor while I
hae a hand to prevent it."

"I'm nae coward, guidwife," retorted Florence indignantly.

"Nae coward!" she rejoined; "what are ye, then? Did not I, this very
day, wi' my ain een, behold ye skulking, and carrying provisions to the
enemy!"

"Ye might," said Florence; "but ae man canna tak a castle, nor drive
frae it five hundred enemies. Bide ye yet. Foolhardy courage isna
manhood; and, had mair prudence and caution, and