Now that Adam Armstrong had done all that there was to do, he went again to the cottage where Allan lay. He had paid several visits there, in the afternoon; but there was nought for him to do, and no comfort to be gained from the white face of the insensible lad. Meg assured him, however, that he was going on as well as could be expected.

"He is in a torpor, at present," she said; "and may so lie for two or three days; but so long as there is no fever he will, I hope, know you when he opens his eyes. There is nought to do but to keep wet cloths round his head, and to put on a fresh poultice over the wound, every hour."

Now Armstrong took his place by his son's pallet. For a time, the work of making preparations for Oswald's departure, and of sending off messages to his friends, had prevented his thoughts from dwelling upon his loss. Throughout the night, the picture of his home, as he had left it when he rode out that morning; and the thought that it was now an empty shell, his wife dead, his daughters carried off, and his son lying between life and death, came to him with full force, and well nigh broke him down.

In the meantime, the little party were making across the hills, and before morning they came upon the northern road, fifteen miles from the Bairds' hold. Here Oswald and Roger dismounted. It was arranged that the men should return with the horses into the hills, and should there rest until late in the afternoon, and then mount and ride for Parton. One or other of them was to come down, at seven o'clock each evening, to the road half a mile from the village; and was there to watch till nine. If no one came along, they were then to return to their lodging.

"I feel stiff in the legs, master," Roger said; "a fifty-mile ride, up and down the hills, is no joke after a hard day's work."

"They will soon come right again, Roger. I feel stiff, myself, though pretty well accustomed to horse exercise. However, when we present ourselves at the hold, dusty and footsore, we shall look our characters thoroughly."

Neither were sorry when they arrived at a small village, a quarter of a mile from the Bairds' hold. They went in together to the little ale house, and vigorously attacked the rough fare set before them.

"Hast thou travelled far?" their host asked, as he watched them eating.

"Indifferently far," the monk said: "'tis five-and-twenty miles hence to Moffat, and it would have seemed farther to me, had not this good fellow overtaken me, and fell in with my pace. He is good company, though monkish gowns have but little in common with steel pot and broadsword; but his talk, and his songs, lightened the way."

"Whither are you going, father?"

"I am making my way to Carlisle," he said. "I have a brother who is prior in a small monastery, there, and it is long since I have seen him. Who lives at the stronghold I saw on the hills, but a short distance away?"

"It is the hold of William Baird, the head of that family; of whom, doubtless, you may have heard."

"I have heard his name, as that of a noted raider across the border," the monk said; "a fierce man, and a bold one. Has he regard for the church? If so, I would gladly take up my abode there, for a day or two; for in truth I am wearied out, it being some years since my feet have carried me so long a journey."

"As to that, I say nothing," the host said. "It would depend on his humour whether he took you in, or shut the gates in your face without ceremony; but methinks, at present, the latter were more likely than the former; for his hold is full of armed men, and I should say it were wisest to leave him alone, even if you had but the bare moor to sleep upon."

"Nevertheless, I can but try," the monk said. "He may be in one of those good tempers you spoke of. And I suppose he has also a priest, in his fortalice?"

"Ay, the Bairds are not—but I would rather not talk of them. They are near neighbours, and among my very best customers."

As he spoke, four armed men came in at the door.

"Good day, Wilson! Whom have you here? An ill-assorted couple, surely. A monk, though a somewhat rough one, and a man-at-arms."

"Fellow travellers of a day," Roger said calmly. "We met on the road, and as I love not solitude, having enough and to spare of it, I accosted him. He turned out a good companion."

"You are a man of sinew yourself, monk, and methinks that you would have made a better soldier than a shaveling."

"I thought so sometime, myself," the monk said; "but my parents thought otherwise, and it is too late to take up another vocation, now."

"Is that staff yours?" the soldier asked, taking it up, and handling it.

"Yes, my son. In these days even a quiet religious man, like myself, may meet with rough fellows by the way; and while that staff gives support to my feet, it is an aid to command decent behaviour from those I fall in with. I have not much to lose, having with me but sufficient to buy me victuals for my journey to Carlisle; where, as I have just told our host, I am journeying to see a brother, who is prior at a convent there."

"This fellow—where did you fall in with him?"

"He overtook me some twenty miles north, on the road to Glasgow."

"And are you travelling to Carlisle, too?" the man said to Oswald.

"Nay," he said, "I purpose not going beyond the border. I have lost my employment, and have tried, in vain, to find another as much to my liking. I have come south to seek service, with one who will welcome a strong arm to wield a sword."

"Hast tried the Douglas?"

"No," he said, "the Douglas has men enough of his own, and methinks I should not care to be mewed up in one of his castles. I have had enough of that already, seeing that I was a man-at-arms with George Dunbar, till he turned traitor and went over to the English."

"You look a likely fellow; but, you know, we do not pay men, here, to do our fighting for us. 'Tis all very well for great nobles, like Dunbar and Douglas, to keep men always in arms, and ready to ride, at a moment's notice, to carry fire and sword where they will. War is not our business, save when there is trouble in the air, or mayhap we run short of cattle or horses, and have to go and fetch them from across the border. It is true that there are always a score or two of us up there, for somehow the Bairds have enemies, but most of the followers of the house live on their holdings, raise cattle and mountain sheep, grow oats, and live as best they can."

"For myself, I would rather live with others," Oswald said. "I am used to it, and to live in a hut on the moors would in no way be to my fancy; and if I cannot get a place where I have comrades to talk to, and crack a joke with, I would rather cross the seas, take service with an Irish chieftain, or travel to Wales, where I hear men say there is fighting."

"You need not go very far, if it is fighting that you want," the man said. "Those who ride with the Bairds have their share, and more, of it. If you like to stop here a day or two, I will take an opportunity to talk to William Baird, or to one of his sons, if I find a chance; but I cannot take you up there, now. At the best of times they are not fond of visitors, and would be less so than usual, now."

Other armed men had come in, while the conversation was going on. No further attention was paid to the travellers. The others, sitting down at a table across the room, talked among themselves.

"I care not for the work," one said presently, raising his voice to a higher pitch than that in which the others had spoken. "Across the border, I am as ready for work as another; but when it comes to Scot against Scot, I like it not."

"Why, man," another said, "what qualms are these? Isn't Scot always fighting against Scot? Ay, and has been so, as far back as one has ever heard. It does not take much for a Douglas or a Dunbar to get to loggerheads; and as to the wild clans of the north, they are always fighting among themselves."

"Yes, that is all very well," the other said, "and there is no reason why neighbours should not quarrel, here; but I would rather that they each summoned their friends, and met in fair fight and had it out, than that one should pounce upon the other when not expected, and slay and burn unopposed."

"Ay, ay," two or three others of the men agreed. "It were doubtless better so, when it is Scot against Scot."

"'Tis border fashion," another put in. "There is no law on the border, and we fight in our own fashion. Today it is our turn, tomorrow it may be someone else's. We follow our chiefs, just as the northern clansmen do; and whether it is a Musgrave or a Baird, a Fenwick or an Armstrong, he is chief in his own hold, and cares neither for king nor earl, but fights out his quarrel as it may please him. I am one of William Baird's men, and his quarrel is mine; and whether we ride against the King of Scotland or the King of England, against a Douglas or a Percy, an Armstrong or a Musgrave, it matters not the value of a stoup of ale."

"That is so, Nigel, and so say we all. But methinks that one may have a preference for one sort of fighting over another; and I, myself, would rather fight a matter out, man against man, than fall suddenly on a hold, where none are ready to encounter us."

Roger, during a pause in the conversation at the other table, got up from his seat and stretched himself.

"Well, friend," he said to Oswald, "I will go up and see if they will make me welcome, at the hold. If they do, I may see you no more. If not, I shall return here to sleep. Therefore I bid you good day, and hope that you may find such service as will suit you. Benedicite!"

And, paying for his refreshment, Roger took his staff from the corner, and went out.

"A hearty fellow, and a stalwart one," the man who had spoken to him said. "I should not care to have a crack over the crown, with that staff of his. You met him coming down from the north, comrade?"

"Yes, some twenty miles away. It was near Moffat that I overtook him. I would rather drink with him than fight with him. Seldom have I seen a stronger-looking man."

"I am of your opinion, comrade; and some of these monks are not bad fighters, either. There have been bishops who have led the monks to battle, before now, and they proved themselves stout men-at-arms."

After the others had gone out, Oswald strolled through the village, and then mounted an eminence whence he could take a view across the valley, and of some of the hilltops to the northeast. On one of these, two miles away, he could make out a man standing by a horse. He watched him for some little time, but beyond taking a few steps backwards and forwards, the man did not move.

"He is a lookout," he said to himself, "and is no doubt watching some road from Kelso and Jedburgh. Baird will hardly think that the Armstrongs can have so soon gathered a force sufficient to attack him, but he may have thought it as well to place one of his men on the watch.

"I wonder how Roger is getting on! I think they must have taken him in, or he would have been back before this."

Roger had walked quietly up the hill on which the Bairds' hold was perched. A man stepped forward from the gate, as he neared it.

"None enter here," he said, "without permission from the master."

"Will you tell him that a poor monk, of the order of Saint Benedict, on his way from his convent at Dunbar to one near Carlisle, of which his brother is prior, prays hospitality for a day or two, seeing that he is worn out by long travel?"

The sentry spoke to a man behind him, and the latter took the message to William Baird. The latter was in a good humour. He himself had not taken part in the raid on the Armstrongs, which had been led by Thomas Baird, a cousin; but the fact that the latter had been entirely successful, and had burned down Armstrong's house, and brought back his daughters, had given him the greatest satisfaction. There was a long-standing feud between the two families, and the fact that the Armstrongs were on good terms with their English neighbours, and still more that one of them had married the sister-in-law of a Forster of Yardhope, had greatly embittered the feeling, on his side. He had long meditated striking a blow at them, and the present time had been exceptionally favourable.

Douglas had his hands full. He was on ill terms with Rothesay, whose conduct to his daughter had deeply offended him. The newly-acquired land of the Earl of March gave him much trouble. He was jealous of the great influence of Albany, at court; and was, moreover, making preparations for a serious raid into England. It was not likely, then, that he would pay any attention to the complaints the Armstrongs might make, of any attack upon them; especially as their aid was of small use to him, while the Bairds could, at any moment, join him, in an invasion across the border, with three hundred good fighting men.

William Baird had not, as yet, even considered what he should do with his captives. He might give them in marriage to some of the younger men of his family, or he might hold them as hostages. As to injuring them personally, he did not think of it. Slaughter in a raid was lightly regarded, but to ill-treat female prisoners would arouse a general feeling of dissatisfaction along the border. Reprisals might be made by the Armstrongs and their friends, and in any case, there would be such widespread reprobation excited, as William Baird, reckless as he was, could hardly afford to despise.

Therefore, when Roger's request was brought to him, he said at once:

"Take him up to Father Kenelm. Tell him to look after the monk's comfort. This evening he can bring him down to the hall, and I will question him as to his journey."

Roger followed the man through the courtyard. He paid, apparently, no attention to what was going on there, but a quick glance enabled him to perceive that the hold was full of men. He followed his guide up a winding stair, to a turret on the wall, the lower story of which was inhabited by the priest.

The soldier knocked at the door, and on its being opened by the priest, he gave Baird's message to him. He was a tall man, spare and bony. He himself was a Baird, and report said that, in his youth, he had ridden on many a foray in England. But fighting men were common in the family, and it had been thought well that one should enter the church, as it was always good to have a friend who could represent them there and, should any complaint be made, explain matters, and show that the family were in no wise to blame. And moreover, as it was necessary to have a priest at the chief fortalice of the family, it was best that it should be one who would not be too strict in his penances, and could be conveniently silent as to the doings within its walls.

The priest had accepted the role not unwillingly. He was an ambitious man, and saw that, as one of the fighting Bairds, there was but small opportunity of rising to aught beyond the command of one of the holds. Douglas regarded them with no friendly eye, for their breaches of the truces brought upon him constant complaints from the English wardens, who might, some day or other, lead a force to punish the family, which had been one of the few exempted from the general pardon, at the last truce. As a priest he would have better opportunities, for the Bairds had much influence along the border; and might, some day or other, exert it in his favour.

So far, no such opportunity had occurred. It had been a disappointment to him that Henry, in his last invasion, had kept along the eastern coast; and he hoped that the war, which assuredly would, ere long, break out violently, would give him the chance he longed for; and he might be sent by his uncle to Douglas, with offers of service, or might even go north, and have an interview with Albany.

Once fairly away from Liddesdale, he was resolved that it would be a long time, indeed, before he returned. He was now some thirty years of age, with a hard, keen face.

"Well, brother," he said, "it is not often that any of your order sojourn here. I am glad to have one with whom I can converse, of other matters than arms and armour, forays and wars."

"These matters are, indeed, too much in men's mouths," Roger said; "though I own that I, myself, in some degree am interested in them; for, had I had the choice of a vocation, I would rather have been a man-at-arms than a monk."

"I wonder not at that," the other said, "seeing that nature has been bountiful to you, in the matter of height and strength; and I doubt not that you could, in case of need, use that staff you carry with good effect."

"Methinks that I might do so, but happily none have molested me on my way, seeing perhaps that my wallet was not likely to be a full one; and that, mayhap, it was hardly worthwhile to meddle with me, with so small a prospect of plunder."

"But come in, and sit down," the priest said. "My uncle has consigned you to my care. We shall sup in half an hour."

"I shall not be sorry," Roger replied, "for though I broke my fast on black bread and small beer, down in the village, 'tis but poor nourishment for a man who has travelled far, and who has a large frame to support."

"But how come you to be here?"

Roger again repeated his story.

"It would have been shorter for you to have travelled down through Berwick, brother."

"The difference was not great," Roger replied; "and I had to carry a message to Edinburgh, and from there it was shorter to keep west of the Pentlands, and come down to Lanark, and thence through Moffat."

"Yes, I suppose it is as short. And you had no trouble on your way?"

Roger shook his head.

"No; I generally join some traveller or other, and that makes the journey pass all the quicker. I came down here today with a stout young fellow, who overtook me this side of Moffat. He was somewhat out at elbow, and I looked askance at him at first; but he turned out a blithe companion, and we got on well together. He could troll a good song, and my own voice is not wanting in power. It was curious that he also was from Dunbar, though not immediately; having, it would seem, wandered for some time, on the lookout for service."

"What was he, a cattle drover?"

"No, he had been a man-at-arms, of George of Dunbar—at least, so I understood—and when the earl fled, and Douglas took possession of Dunbar, he lost his living. He told me that he had made his way down here in hopes of finding employment on the border, where blows were common, and a good blade was of more use than it was farther north. I said that he might have found employment under Albany, or under some other great lord; but he said that he had seen the Earl of March a fugitive, and that he cared not to enter the service of another noble, who might, in turn, be ousted from his place and lose his life; but as for Albany, he thought, from what he heard, that he would rather serve him than any other master.

"I said, 'Why not Rothesay, who would be King of Scotland?'

"He laughed lightly, and said as Rothesay had managed to get upon ill friendship, not only with the Earl of March but with Douglas, and, as he heard, with Albany, he thought that his chances of becoming King of Scotland were not worth considering."

"He must be a bold varlet, thus to speak irreverently of great ones."

"I think not that he was bold," Roger said, "but only a merry, thoughtless young fellow, who in such company as mine let his tongue loose, and said what first came into his head. As to the matter, methought he spoke not without warrant."

"And he came from the north, now?"

"I know not whence he came last, but I think that he was at Edinburgh, and had taken service there, when the English king sat down before it; but, as you know, nought came of the siege."

At this moment a horn blew.

"There is supper," the priest said. "We will go down."

The meal was laid in the hall; which, however, was not large enough to contain more than the ordinary retainers of the hold. These, and the men who had come in at the summons of Baird, were provided for in the courtyard, the table being occupied entirely by members of the Baird family, and others who always acted with them. These had not yet taken their seats, when the priest entered with his companion, whom he at once took up to Sir William Baird.

"By Saint Andrew! Monk, I have seen no finer figure, for many a day. A pity that a monk's gown should clothe such limbs as yours."

"That has always been mine own opinion," Roger said, with a heartiness that raised a smile on the hard faces of the men standing round.

"You look as if you had carried arms."

"I did so, in my wild youth," Roger said, "and had no thought of ever donning monk's hood; but I was grievously wounded, in a foray in Northumberland, and when I reached my home at Lauder, I well nigh died of the fever of the wound; and I swore that, if my life was saved, I would become a monk. I got well, and I kept my vow; but methinks, had I but known how dull the life was, I would rather have died of the fever."

As this story was perfectly true, save the name of his birthplace, Roger spoke so heartily that no one doubted his story.

"And your monastery is at Dunbar?

"You have been at Dunbar, Rotherglen. Ask him where the convent stood."

As Roger had stayed there, when with Oswald he was at Dunbar, he was able to answer this, and other questions, satisfactorily. The party then took their places at table, the priest and Roger sitting at the bottom of it. The conversation at the upper end naturally turned on the foray, and a general disbelief was expressed, as to the chance of the Armstrongs retaliating.

"'Tis out of the question," one of the Bairds said, "they could not raise fifty men. Doubtless they will send a complaint to Douglas, but he has his hands well full; and is not likely to quarrel with us about such a trifle, when he may want our aid, at any moment, either against Albany or against the English."

"What do you intend to do with the girls?"

"I have not settled yet," William Baird said, shortly. "At any rate, for the present I shall hold them as hostages. I don't think that anything is likely to come of the affair; but if we should hear of any force approaching, likely to give us trouble, we could send word to them that, if an arrow is loosened at our walls, we will hang the girls out as marks for their archers. I fancy that will send them trooping off again, at once."

As soon as the meal was over, and the carousal began, the priest rose and, accompanied by Roger, retired to his chamber.



Chapter 13: Escape.

Oswald, who was thoroughly fatigued with the events of the last thirty-six hours, slept soundly, on an armful of rushes that his host threw down in a corner of the room for him. At eight o'clock, the man who had spoken to him on the previous evening came in.

"I have spoken to William Baird," he said. "I told him that you seemed a likely fellow. He called down the monk, and asked him several questions about you; and he told me, at last, that I could bring you up to see him. So come along, at once."

"Thanks, comrade," Oswald said, as he slung his long two-handed sword from his shoulder.

"A likely-looking young fellow, indeed," Baird said to Rotherglen, whom he had sent for to be present; "over six feet and, I should fancy, has not attained his full width.

"So you would fain take service with me?" he said.

"I want a master," Oswald replied, "and from what I hear, I am more likely to see fighting, under you, than under any other on the border."

"And you were with George Dunbar?"

"I was," Oswald replied. "But indeed, the service was not altogether to my taste, for we were always pent up in Dunbar; and, save in a street broil, there was no need to draw a sword. I was glad enough to leave his service, though in truth, I have fared but badly, since."

"Now do you question him, Rotherglen."

A number of questions were put to Oswald, concerning the names of the streets, the direction, the name of the principal inns, and the approaches to the castle. All these were satisfactorily replied to.

"He knows Dunbar, there is no question about that.

"And you can use your arms?"

"I think so."

"We will have a trial," Baird said. "A man is no use to me, who cannot use his weapon. Send Robert here."

In a minute, one of the young Bairds entered. He was a man of about twenty-five, tall and sinewy, and was accounted the best swordsman of his family.

"Cousin Robert," William Baird said, "this young fellow would enter our service; but before I take him, I must see that he knows his business. Do you take a turn with the sword with him.

"No, no, not a two-handed sword; I don't want him to be slain. Take a couple of swords from the wall. Give him another steel cap, and full body armour. That of his own would not keep out a good, downright stroke."

By the time that Oswald was armed, a number of the Bairds and their friends had assembled in the hall, hearing of what was going to take place.

"A fine young fellow, truly," Rotherglen said. "In height and width, he matches Robert well, though of course your cousin must be the more powerful, seeing that he is some four or five years older than this young fellow; who, when he reaches his age, bids fair to be well-nigh as strong a man as that monk."

Roger had just entered, with the priest.

"Well, monk," Baird said, "we are going to try the mettle of your companion of yesterday."

"I answer not for his mettle," Roger said; "but if he fights as well as he talks, he will not do discredit to himself."

As they took their places, facing each other, the lookers on, men well qualified to judge of strength and sinew, murmured to each other that it would be difficult to find a better-matched pair. They were about the same height, both stood lightly on their feet, and their figures seemed full of life and activity. Both were smiling, Robert Baird with a smile of confidence, and of assurance in his skill; while Oswald's face expressed only good temper and, as the others took it, a belief that he would, at any rate, be able to make such a defence as would assure his being taken into the Bairds' service.

The first rally, indeed, proved more than this. Robert Baird had at once taken the offensive, and showered his blows heavily down, while springing backwards and forwards with wonderful quickness and activity; but Oswald's blade ever met his, and he did not give way an inch, even when Baird most fiercely attacked him. Then suddenly he adopted the same tactics as his opponent, and pressed him so hotly that he was, several times, obliged to give ground. Oswald could twice have got in a heavy blow, but he abstained from doing so. He could see that his antagonist was a favourite among his kinsmen, and felt that, were he to discomfit him, he would excite a feeling of hostility against himself. Both, panting from their exertions, drew a step backwards and lowered their swords.

"Enough!" William Baird said, "The matter need be pushed no further. 'Tis long since I have seen so good a bout of swordplay. This young fellow has learned his business, and if, in other respects, he does as well, he will make a good recruit, indeed.

"What say you, lad? Will you join us for a month, till you see whether you like our service, and we can judge how your service will suit us? For that time you will have your living here, and drink money. After that, if we agree, you can either be a retainer here, or we will give you a holding on the moor, build you a shelter, give you a horse, and, after our next foray, a clump of cattle."

"That will suit me well," Oswald said; "and I like well the month of trial you propose."

"I will take him, if you will let me, Uncle, as my own man," Robert Baird said. "If, at the end of the month, he chooses service with us, and likes better to follow a master, with half a dozen men, than to live alone on the moors. Methinks he would make a cheery companion, and one I could take to, heartily; and indeed, during the long winters, 'tis no slight thing to have one merry fellow, who can keep one alive, and of whose mettle and skill you are well assured."

"So let it be, then, Robert. You have tried him, and yours should be the advantage. But for the month he shall remain here, under Malcolm's eye."

Oswald went down with the man, who was Baird's right hand in the hold.

"What will be my duties?" he asked.

"To keep your arms and armour ready for service."

"That will be an easy task, methinks; for I see that instead of being polished and bright, as were ours at Dunbar, the others keep their steel caps and back pieces painted a sombre colour."

The other nodded.

"Yes, our arms are for use and not for show; and when we ride by moonlight, we care not to have our presence shown, miles away, by the glint of the moon on our armour.

"You will do your turn of keeping watch and ward. Just at present there will be a good deal of that, for we have been stirring up a wasps' nest, and mayhap they may come and try to sting. When you are off duty, you will be your own master, save that you had best be within sound of the warder's horn.

"I will hand over a horse to you. For the present, it is at that croft on the opposite hill. Each of the tenants keeps two or three at our service. We have only the Bairds' own horses kept in the hold. It would be too much trouble to gather forage for those of the twenty men who always live here, and indeed, we have no room for such number.

"Mind that you drink not too much, over in the village there; for though the Bairds care not, on feast days, if the whole garrison gets drunk, so that there are enough sober to keep watch and ward, they set their faces against it at other times, seeing that it leads to broils and quarrels."

"I will take care. I like my cup, occasionally; and can drink with others, without my head getting addled, but as a rule I care not overmuch for it."

After being roughly introduced to several of the retainers as a new comrade, Oswald was left to follow his own devices. Presently, Roger came out into the courtyard.

"So you have got service, comrade," he said, in a voice that could be heard by any of those standing near. "You had better fortune than I had expected."

"That have I," he replied. "Still, I thought that it would be hard, if one who could use his sword indifferently well, and puts no great value on his life, could not find service on the border. How long do you stay here?"

This was a question that had been arranged, for had they been seen speaking privately together, it might have aroused suspicion.

"Methinks I shall stay here two days, to get rid of my leg weariness. I am not so accustomed to long marching as you are."

The real meaning of the question, as arranged, was, "Have you found out where the prisoners are kept?"

The answer meant "Yes, and it will not be difficult to get at them."

The evening before, indeed, when he returned with the priest to his chamber, they had broached a bottle together. The priest, on his part, had asked many questions as to the state of things in Edinburgh, and Dunbar; what were the opinions of people with regard to the Duke of Albany, and the Prince; and what would probably come of the coldness that was said to exist between them.

Roger was able to conceal his ignorance of these matters by saying that he knew little of what was passing, for that he had been the cellarer in the convent, and went out but little. Nevertheless, he had kept his ears open; as they rode north to Jedburgh, he had heard a good deal of talk and speculation, and was able to give various pieces of news that had not before reached the ears of the priest. He was not long in discovering that the latter was ill satisfied with his present position, and was ambitious to take part in more important affairs, and he presently said:

"I wonder, father, that a man of your ability should be content to remain as chaplain in a border hold, when there are so many opportunities beyond, for one like you, to make his way in the church."

"In truth," the priest said, "I have had such thoughts myself; and hope, some day, to see a little more of the world.

"By the way, can you read and write, brother?" he asked suddenly.

"Assuredly," Roger replied.

He guessed, at once, that the question had been put at the instigation of William Baird; who perhaps still had some doubts whether he was really a monk, and an affirmative answer would be an almost conclusive proof that he was so, for very few outside the walls of the convents, even among the nobles and knights, possessed any knowledge of letters.

"I have a missal here," the priest said carelessly, "that has somewhat troubled me, being written in a cramped hand. Perhaps you could read it for me," and, getting up, he took a roll from a closet.

Roger smiled quietly, as he turned it over. By a private mark upon it, he knew that it had been written at Alnwick, and was doubtless the proceed of some foray upon a monastery across the border. He ran his eye over it; and then, in a sonorous voice, proceeded to read it aloud.

"I thank you," the priest said, when he had finished. "Truly you are an admirable reader, and well skilled in deciphering. I wonder that you held not some more important post than that of cellarer."

Roger laughed.

"I might have done so," he said, "but in truth, I am not strict enough in matters of discipline to suit our prior, and am somewhat over fond of the wine cup. More than once, when it seemed that I might have been chosen as reader to the monastery, I fell into disgrace, and lost my chance; and indeed, I was far better pleased with my post, there, than if they had appointed me sub-prior."

Any vestige of doubt there might have been in the priest's mind had vanished, as Roger read; for he was conscious that he, himself, could not have picked up a manuscript and have deciphered it so easily and fluently.

"It must be trying to you, good father," Roger went on, "to be among men who, if reports speak truly, are somewhat lawless, and hold even the church in but slight respect. Surely, among them there can be but little scope for your abilities?"

"'Tis true, brother; but they are, you know, kinsmen of mine. They have many foes across the border, and some on this side, and are forced to hold their own as they may. It was but two days ago that they were obliged to punish a family that have long been at feud with them, and who might well have fallen upon their holds, if they marched into England with Douglas. However, they have brought off two hostages for the good behaviour of these people."

"Yes, I heard a chance word, in the village, that a party had just returned from a foray, and had brought back a number of prisoners."

"Not a number, brother, but two girls."

"I have seen no women in the castle," Roger said.

"No. William Baird lost his wife years ago, and cares not to have women in the hold. There is not a married man among the garrison. If a man takes him a wife, he must go and settle on the lands.

"The women are in a safe place of keeping. They are overhead. There are wild young fellows among the Bairds, and the girls are good looking; therefore he thought it best to place them in my charge, and that is why you see two sentries marching on the battlements, one on each side of this turret. He himself keeps the key of their chamber, handing it over to me every morning, and receiving it again at night—a precaution wholly unnecessary, methinks."

"Surely, surely," Roger said. "I wonder that you are not offended."

"I told him that it was strange he could not trust me, a priest, with the charge of them; but he laughed and said, 'As a priest you are well enough, Father Kenelm, but remember also that you are a Baird. Though a priest, I would trust you to ride with me on a foray across the border; but as a Baird, I would not entrust you with the custody of women. You may take it as a compliment that I have trusted you as far as I do.'"

Roger's answer to Oswald had been eminently satisfactory to the latter. Still more pleased was he when, later on in the day, Roger repeated, as he passed him, "They are lodged in the turret, over my chamber."

Oswald was scarcely surprised, for he had noticed that two sentries were on the wall on that side, although it was the one farthest removed from the direction in which any foes were likely to appear. He had, moreover, just before dinner, observed one of the kitchen men go up, with two dishes in his hand, by the steps leading to the top of the wall, on that side. There was no hindrance to the men going freely in and out of the hold, and as no duty had been assigned to him that evening, he strolled out of the gate when it became dusk, soon after six o'clock, for it was now the beginning of April, 1401, and walked down through the village; and then, taking off his armour and steel cap, and laying them down under a bush by the roadside, set off at the top of his speed in the direction of Parton. He did the ten miles in under an hour, and nearly ran against a man who was standing in the middle of the road, a short distance from the little town.

"Is that you, Fergus?"

"No, I am John, master. Fergus will take the watch tomorrow evening."

"Good. Keep the horses saddled at this time, every evening; and hold them in readiness all night. Things are going on well, and I may be here any night. Which is the house?"

"That is it, master, where you see the light, a quarter of a mile farther up the hill."

"Where are you sleeping?"

"In the stables, with the horses. It is some ten yards off the right of the house."

"Then you must keep watch through the night, by turns, and get your sleep in the daytime. I hope we shall get them away without waiting for a force to come. The hold is a very strong one, and a strict watch is kept at night; and, before we could carry it, we should have all the Bairds on the countryside down upon us.

"Can you get me a rope? I want a long and a strong one."

"There are some ropes in the stable, master, but they are in use, and would be missed."

"Then run, at the top of your speed, down to the town; and buy a rope strong enough to hold the weight of half a dozen men. I shall want a hundred feet of it. Here is money."

The man shot away into the darkness and, in a little over a quarter of an hour, was back again with the rope. Oswald took off his doublet.

"Wind it round and round me," he said. "Begin under the arms. Wind it neatly, and closely, so that it will make no more show than necessary."

This was soon done, and then Oswald started on his way; and an hour later entered the tavern, and took his seat with three or four of the men from the hold, and called for wine for the party. He sat there for some time, and then one said:

"It is half-past eight; we had best be going. At seven o'clock the gates are shut; but they are opened, for those who belong to the hold, till nine, after which none are admitted till morning, and any who come in then are reported to Baird, and they are lucky if they get off with half a dozen extra goes of sentry duty. Baird is a good master in many things, but he is a bad man to deal with, when he is angry; and if anyone was to be out a second time, and he did it too soon after the first offence, he would have his skin nearly flayed off his back, with a stirrup leather. There is no fooling with the Bairds."

Oswald arranged with Roger that, if the latter remained in the castle, he should always come down half an hour before the garrison were moving, as they might then exchange a word or two unseen; and accordingly, he took his place at an angle of a building, where he could keep his eye on the steps leading up to the battlements, on the north side.

Presently he saw Roger descending. He waved his hand, and caught his follower's eye; and the latter, on reaching the courtyard, at once joined him.

"I have a rope, Roger," Oswald began, "that will reach from the turret to the foot of the craig. I took it off during the night, and have just hidden it away behind a pile of rubbish, in the stable. Are the girls locked up?"

"Yes."

"Is there any getting the key?"

"No, William Baird himself keeps it."

"Then we must have something to force the door open, or to saw round the lock."

"The door is studded with iron."

"Are the windows barred?"

"No; but they are mere loopholes, and there is no getting through them."

"I suppose there are steps from their room on to the platform above?"

"No doubt. In fact, there are sure to be."

"I suppose that you will have no difficulty in silencing the priest?"

Roger smiled.

"No; I think I can answer for him."

"Could you speak to the girls through the keyhole, Roger?"

"There would be no difficulty about that, master. I have but to choose a time when the priest is out."

"Then tell them that we are here, Roger, and they are to be ready to escape, whenever we give the signal. Ask them if the trapdoor leading on to the platform is fastened, and whether they can unfasten it. If not, we must break it in, from above. We can get on to the top of the turret, easily enough, by throwing the rope up with a hook attached.

"Of course, the two sentries must be first silenced. I would wait till I, myself, should be on sentry there; but that might not occur for a week, and you cannot prolong your stay here more than another day; therefore, we will try it tonight. I have given the men with the horses notice.

"Do you get the priest bound and gagged, by ten o'clock; everything will be quiet by that time. I will come noiselessly up the steps. At that hour, do you be at the door, and on the lookout for me. The sentries will have to be silenced—that is the most difficult part of the business."

"We can manage that," Roger said, confidently. "One blow with my quarterstaff, on the back of the head under the steel cap, will do that noiselessly enough."

"That would not do, Roger. The man would go down with such a crash, that the fall of his armour on the flags would be heard all over the castle. He must be gripped by the throat, so that he cannot holloa; and then bound tightly, and gagged before he has time to get breath."

"I suppose that would be the best way," Roger said regretfully; "but I should like to have struck two good blows; one for the sake of Dame Armstrong, and one for Allan. However, your plan is the best. The only difficulty will be the trapdoor."

"Well, we must look about today, and get a couple of bits of iron that we can use as a prise. Still, I hope that it will not be needed. I saw a bit of iron, in the stables, that I think I can bend into a hook for the rope; and if I can't, I have no doubt that you can.

"That is all. You had better move away now. People will be stirring, directly."

That night, at ten o'clock, when all in the hold had been asleep half an hour, Oswald rose quietly from the rushes, on which he and a dozen of his comrades were sleeping, and made his way noiselessly out of the room; went into the stables and fetched the piece of iron, which he had, during the day, placed so that he could feel it in the dark; took the coil of rope in his hands, and ascended the steps. The top was but some ten feet from the turret. He stood quiet, until he heard the sentry moving away from him, then he mounted the last steps, and in a moment reached the foot of the turret stairs. Roger was standing there.

"All right, master!" he whispered. "I took the priest by surprise, and he was gagged before he knew what was happening. I tore the blanket up into strips, and tied him down onto his pallet with them. He is safe enough.

"Now for the sentries. I will take the one to the right, first. I will go out and stand in the angle. It is a dark night, and there is no chance of his seeing me. When you hear his walk cease, you will know that I have got him. I have managed to bring up a rope, that I have cut into handy lengths. Here are two of them.

"There, he has just turned, so I will go at once."

"How about the trapdoor?"

"It is all right, master. It is bolted on the inside. They have tried the bolts, and find they can move them;" and with these words, he at once stepped noiselessly out.

Oswald stood listening. Presently he heard the returning steps of the sentry. They came close up to the turret, and then suddenly ceased.

He at once hurried round. The sentry hung limp in Roger's grasp. Oswald bound his hands tightly, and twisted the rope three or four times round his body, and securely knotted it. Then he tied the ankles tightly together.

"I will lay him down," Roger whispered, when he had done so.

Oswald bent the man's legs and, trussing him up, fastened the rope from the ankles to that which bound the wrists. Roger now relaxed his grip of the man's throat, thrust a piece of wood between his teeth, and fastened it, by a string going round the back of the head. He then took off his steel cap, and laid it some distance away.

"That will do for him, master. I reckon that he will be an hour or two, before he will get breath enough to holloa, even without that gag."

The other man was captured as silently as the former had been. When he was bound, Roger said:

"Now for the hook, master."

"Here is the iron. It was too strong for me to bend."

Roger took it and, exerting his great strength, bent it across his knee. Then he took the coil of rope, and tied a knot at the end, and with some smaller cord lashed it securely along the whole length of the hook.

"Now, Master, do you get on to my shoulders, and I think you will be able to hook it to the battlements. It is not above twelve feet. If you find that you cannot, step on my head."

"I am sure I can reach it without that, Roger."

And indeed, he found that he could do so easily; and having fixed it firmly, he got hold of the rope, and hoisted himself to the top of the turret. In a minute, Roger was beside him.

Feeling about, they soon discovered the trapdoor, on which Roger knocked three times. Then they heard a grating sound below and, shortly, one end of the heavy trapdoor was slightly raised. The two men got their fingers under it, and pulled it up, and Janet and Jessie ran out, both crying with joy and excitement.

"Hush!" Oswald whispered. "Do not utter a sound. There are sentries on other parts of the walls, and the slightest noise might be heard.

"Now, we will knot this rope."

He and Roger set to work, and before long knots were tied, a foot apart, along the whole length of the rope.

"I will take you down first, Jessie, for you are the lightest," Oswald said.

"Now, Roger, tie us together."

One of the pieces of rope Roger had brought was passed round and round them, tying them firmly, face to face.

"Now, Jessie, you had best take hold of the rope, too, and take as much of your weight off me as you can. It is a long way down; and, though I think that I could carry your weight that distance, it is best that you should help me as much as you are able."

The rope was shifted to the outside of the turret. Roger, after fixing it firmly, helped them over the battlements, holding Oswald by the collar, until he had a firm grasp of the rope in his hands, and obtained a hold with his feet.

"That is right, Jessie," he whispered, as the girl also took a firm hold of the rope. "You are no weight, like that. Now, let the rope pass gradually through your hands and, when I tell you, hold tight by one of the knots."

After lowering himself forty feet, Oswald found that he was standing on a ledge of rock, three inches wide, at the foot of the wall.

"Now, dear, it will be more difficult," he said. "You must use one of your hands, to push yourself off from any rugged points. There are not many of them. I had a look at the rock today, and its face is almost smooth. I will do the best I can to keep you from it."

In another three minutes, they stood at the foot of the craig. Oswald shook the rope violently, to let those above know that they were down. Then he untied the cord that bound him to his cousin, who at once sat down, sobbing hysterically. Oswald put his hand upon her shoulder.

"Steady, Jessie, steady. You have been brave and quiet, coming down. The danger is over now, but we have a long walk and a longer ride before us, and you will need all your strength."

In a very short time, Roger and Janet joined them. As soon as she was untied, Janet threw her arms round Oswald's neck, and spoke for the first time.

"Oh, Oswald, from what have you saved us! How brave and good of you to risk so much!"

"Tut, tut, Janet, as if we should leave you here, in the hands of the Bairds, without making an effort to free you! Now, come along, dear. Be very careful how you walk, till we get down to the bottom. It is pretty steep and, if you were to set a stone rolling, we might have them after us, in no time. As it is, we shall only have an hour and a half start, for the sentries will be relieved at midnight. However, by that time we shall be on horseback, and of course they won't know which road we have taken."

As soon as they came to level ground, they set off at a run. They were but a mile from the village when they heard, on the still night air, distant shouts, followed half a minute later by the winding of a horn; then, almost immediately, a glimmering light appeared on the highest turret of the hold, and this rapidly broadened out into a sheet of flame.

"They have discovered our escape, by some misfortune or other," Oswald exclaimed, "and they will be after us, before many minutes have passed. You must run in earnest now, girls."

"Do you run on, Oswald," Janet said, "you and Roger. We will turn and walk back. They will do us no harm."

Oswald thought of the murder of the girls' mother, and knew that, in their fury at having been tricked, the Bairds were capable of anything.

"It is not to be thought of," he said. "Such a watch would henceforth be kept that there would be no possibility, whatever, of effecting your rescue. We must take our chance together.

"What think you had best be done, Roger?"

"In sooth, I know not. I am ready to do whatever you think best."

"We cannot hope to reach Parton, before they overtake us," Oswald said. "Besides, the Bairds are sure to have many friends there, and the lighted beacon will warn all the countryside that something unusual has happened. No, we cannot think of going there."

"But you said that there were horses," Janet said.

"They are but a short distance on this side of the town. We could not hope to get there before the Bairds; and, even if we did, it would be a quarter of an hour before we could mount and be off."

"Could we not hide and get the horses after they have passed, master?" Roger suggested.

"It would be useless, Roger. The road leads up and down this valley, and there would be no possibility of riding the horses across the hills, at night; so that we should have either to ride down through Parton, or up past the Bairds' hold. No, the horses must be given up, for the present. The only thing that I can see is to cross the Esk, and to take refuge in the hills. I know not if there are any fords, or where they are; but, were we to turn to the right, we should be getting farther and farther away. The Esk is no great width, and we can carry them across it, easily enough."

"The water will be dreadfully cold," Jessie said, with a shiver, for it was now the beginning of April.

"Hush, Jessie!" her sister said. "What matters a little cold, when our lives are at stake?"

"No, that is our only hope," Oswald said. "Quick, girls, there is no time to lose."

The river was but some fifty yards from the road, and they ran down to it.

"Now, girls," Oswald said when they reached it, "you must take off your cloaks, and all upper garments. Were you to get these wet you would, before morning, die of cold. Don't lose a moment. Undress under the shelter of these bushes.

"Now, Roger, let us move a few yards away, and then take off our doublets and shirts, and swim across, holding them above the water. By the time that we are back, the girls will be ready."

"I will carry them across, master. It is of no use two of us going, with so light a burden. I shall make nothing of it."

Oswald made no opposition and, a minute later, the shirts and doublets were made into a bundle, and bound on Roger's head. He waded into the water until it reached his chin, and then swam out. The distance to be traversed was but some fifteen yards, and a few strokes of his brawny arms brought him to the opposite bank. Having laid down his bundle there, he swam quickly back again.

"Are you ready, girls?" Oswald asked.

"Yes," Janet replied, and two white figures came out from the bushes, each carrying a bundle.

"Do you go into the bushes again, for a minute. We cannot take you and the bundles over together; and it is better that you should stand here, in dry things, than wait in wet ones, over there."

A minute sufficed to tie the bundles on the heads of the two men. They soon swam across to the other side, left them there, and returned.

"The water is bitterly cold for the girls," Oswald said, as they swam across together.

"It is, master, but they will only be in it for a minute, and they will soon be warm again."

"Now, girls."

"We have just heard the sound of horses in the distance, Oswald," Janet said.

He listened.

"Sound travels far, this still night," he said; "they can only just have started. We shall be across long before they come along.

"Now, Jessie, we will take you first. The stream runs strongly, and it were best that you went over separately. All you have to do is to put a hand on a shoulder of each of us. Come along."

"I will carry her till we get into deep water," Roger said, catching the girl up in his arms, and running into the stream.

Jessie gasped, as the water reached her.

"It will be over in a minute," Oswald said encouragingly. "Now, we are going to swim. Put your hands upon our shoulders. That is right."

Striking out strongly, they easily carried her until she was in her depth.

"Now, dear, get ashore, and stand behind those bushes, and take off your wet things and put on your dry ones. We will have Janet across, in no time."

The girl was carried across as easily as her sister had been.

"Here is your bundle, dear. Jessie has taken hers. Dress as quickly as you can. Stoop down, as soon as you reach the bushes. They will be here, directly."

Janet ran to the thicket, and Oswald and Roger threw themselves down behind a great stone. Two minutes later, they could hear the thunder of hoofs go along the road opposite, but could not make out the figures.

"How many are there of them, do you think, Roger?"

"A dozen or so, master."

"Yes, I should think you are right. However, it makes no difference; were there ten times as many, they would not catch us, tonight."



Chapter 14: In Hiding.

The moment the horsemen had gone by, Oswald and Roger hastily dressed again. It was three or four minutes before the girls joined them.

"We have been a long time, Oswald, but our fingers are so cold that we could not tie the strings."

"You will soon be warm. Climbing the hill will set your blood in motion."

There was no hurry now. They were safe until the morning.

"We will make up the hill until you are thoroughly warm, and then we will discuss matters."

Before they were very far up the ascent, both girls declared that they were comfortably warm again.

"Well, Roger, what do you think our best course will be? The Bairds have, of course, sent horsemen along the other road. They will have heard, from the priest, that we have but a few minutes' start; and will know that we cannot have gone far. The party who passed us will doubtless stop at Parton, the other at the next village higher up; and they will be sure that either we concealed ourselves as they passed, or have taken to the hills on one side or other of the valley. They will naturally suppose that it is this side, as it would be madness for us to plunge farther into the country to the west; and you may be sure there will be scores of men out on these hills, tomorrow, searching for us; and some of them may ride nearly to Hiniltie, to cut us off there in case we escape the searchers on the hills.

"I think that the only plan will be to hide up for a couple of days, or so; then to make our way down again to where the horses are, and then make a dash through Parton."

"That would certainly be far the best way," Roger said; "but how are we to manage for food for the ladies?"

"We will go on until we get to the top of the hill, Roger, and then find a sheltered spot, where they can stop. It is of no use trying to go on much farther, for the night is cloudy, and there are no stars to be seen, and we should lose our way directly, for there is no wind that would serve as a guide as to which way we were travelling. When we find a good shelter, we must stop with them; and I will make my way down to the place where the horses are, and warn the men as to what has happened, and tell them to lie quiet till I come again. I will bring back whatever food they may have with them, a big jug of water, and the four horse cloths."

"I will go, master."

"I would rather go myself, Roger. I am accustomed to traverse the moors at night, and am sure that I can find this place again, without difficulty."

On nearing the top of the hill, they came upon a number of rough stones.

"We cannot do better than stop here," Oswald said. "It will be bare on the top of the hill. Now, Roger, help me to pile a few of these stones together, so as to make a sort of shelter."

They set to work at once, Roger's strength enabling him to lift stones that ordinary men could scarcely have moved. In a quarter of an hour a little inclosure, six feet long by four wide and three high, had been constructed. An armful of dry heather was then pulled up, and laid on the ground.

"There, girls, I think you will be able to manage to keep yourselves warm, by lying close together."

"What are you going to do, Oswald?"

"We shall be all right; and we can, if we like, make another shelter; and, if we feel cold, can walk about to warm ourselves. Now, Roger, get half a dozen sticks and lay across the top."

While Roger was away getting the sticks, Oswald helped the girls over the wall, for no entrance had been left.

"Now, Janet, give me those two wet smocks; I see that you have brought them with you."

"What do you want them for, Oswald?"

"I want them for the roof, Janet. It is beginning to freeze hard, and it is of no use having walls, if you have not a roof."

"Won't you take my cloak, instead?"

"Certainly not, Janet, you will want your cloak for a covering. Don't be silly, but hand them over."

By this time, Roger had returned with the sticks. They were laid across the top, and the girls' smocks spread over them.

"Now, go to sleep," Oswald said; "we must be on foot, an hour before dawn."

Oswald then started down the hill for Parton. When he got within a mile of the town, he could see lights moving about on the road; and guessed that the Bairds had got torches, and were making sure that the fugitives had not hidden themselves anywhere close to the road; for they must have felt certain that they could not have reached the town, before being overtaken. When the lights had gone along the road, he descended to the river, took off his doublet and shirt, as before, and swam over; crossed the road, and was not long in finding the trees that marked the spot where he was to turn off to the farmhouse.

He made his way to the stable, raised the latch, and entered. A lamp was burning, and the two men sitting and talking together. They leapt up, with an exclamation of pleasure, as Oswald entered.

"We were afraid that something might have gone wrong; for, as I was waiting for you in the road, I heard a body of horsemen coming along, and hid behind the trees. As they went by, one of them said, 'We must have passed them long ago, if they came by this road. They had not more than a quarter of an hour's start.'

"I heard no more, but it suggested that, maybe, you had managed to escape with the ladies, and that the Bairds were in pursuit of you."

"That was exactly the case. We have got them out of the hold, and methought that we should have got two hours' start, at least, in which case they would not have overtaken us before we had crossed the Liddel, at the ford, six miles above the junction of the Esk with it, and were well on our road towards Longtown; but by some accident, I know not what, the matter was discovered before we have been gone ten minutes. As it was certain that they would overtake us, long before we got to Parton, we swam the Esk, and I have left the ladies on the hill over there, in charge of Roger, while I came here. We know that, by morning, the countryside will be up and searching the hills; and that, with the two lasses, it would be hopeless for us to try and make our way on to Hiniltie.

"Therefore, we decided to hide up for two or three days, then to make our way down here at night, mount, and ride through. By that time the search down in the valley here will have slackened, and we shall get through Parton all right, and our only danger will be at the ford across the Liddel; where, possibly, the Bairds may set a guard, lest we find our way down there. I had intended that we should take the four horses, and that you should make your way to Hiniltie across the hills; but as there will now be no great occasion for speed, one of you had best ride with us, while the other bears the news to Hiniltie that we have carried off the girls.

"You had better settle between yourselves which shall go with us. You may take it that there is about equal danger, both ways, for the one that goes to Hiniltie must travel cautiously, as it will be a week before the Bairds give up the search among the hills."

"We had best decide by lot."

Oswald picked up a piece of straw, and broke off two fragments, one an inch longer than the other; and, closing his hand on them, he held the two ends out.

"Do you draw," he said, holding it out to Fergus. "The longest straw goes to Hiniltie, and shortest with us."

The man drew.

"I have the longest," he said, "and perhaps it were best that it should be so, for I know the way thoroughly, having often been over the hills in search of missing cattle."

"You will both remain here, till we come. Now, what food have you?"

"We bought a supply in Parton, yesterday evening, and have enough for a week; for we thought that some might be needed by the whole party, on our way; and moreover, we care not to go down often to the town, as we might attract attention."

"That is good. Keep enough for tomorrow, for yourselves; I will take the rest."

"There is no need for that. We can get what we want from the house and, tomorrow evening, one of us will go down into Parton again."

"Or better still," Oswald said, "give the money to the hind here. I suppose there is one."

"Yes; he sleeps in the house."

"Give him money, then, and a present for himself, and get him to fetch it for you. Some of the Bairds may remain there, and you may be sure that every stranger will be strictly questioned. I want also the four horse cloths, which please make into a bundle. Is your water skin full?"

"We filled it this afternoon, thinking it possible that we might make a hasty start tonight."

"How much does it hold?"

"About two gallons."

"It would have been better had it been four. However, we must manage with it. Now, do you know of any ford across the river? for I certainly could not swim across, with this load."

"There is one half a mile farther up. We were asking the hind about it, the other day, thinking that it might be useful should we have to fly suddenly. I will go down with you; and indeed, I shall be glad to go the whole way with you, for the provisions and those blankets and the skin will be no light weight; and, as I am going to Hiniltie, it will cheer Armstrong if I could tell him that I saw his daughters."

"It would be a good plan, Fergus, though in truth the weight would be no great burden; but certainly, Armstrong would be pleased to know that you had seen his daughters."

A few minutes later they set out, forded the river breast high, carrying the loads on their heads; and then, climbing the hill, made their way to the shelter, whose exact position Oswald had marked, on starting, by a huge boulder that stood on the crest of the hill, some fifty feet above it.

Roger was on the lookout. Seeing two figures approaching, when he expected but one, he grasped his staff firmly.

"Who comes there?" he asked.

"It is I, Roger. I have brought one of the men with me, to help carry the things. He is going to Hiniltie, and thought that Armstrong would be pleased to know he had seen his daughters. I have got plenty of food, and a skin of water."

"That is capital," Roger said cheerfully. "I was fearing that, having so many things to think of, you might forget water."

Oswald went to the shelter.

"Are you awake, Janet?"

"Yes," she replied. "I have been anxious, while you were away."

"Are you cold?"

"I am not very warm," she answered; "but do not trouble about it, we shall do very well."

"I have two blankets here," he said, as he removed the covering. "One of these I will put over you both, and tuck it well in, each side, to keep out the wind that comes in between the stones. Then I will lay your smocks over that. I wrung them well, before putting them on the sticks; and although I cannot say they are dry, yet they are not damp enough to matter, and will help keep you warm. The other blanket I will put over the sticks."

"Thank you indeed, Oswald," the girl said, gratefully. "That feels very much more comfortable."

"Now, Roger, there is a blanket for you, and one for me, to wrap round us, plaid fashion."

"I do not need one, master. In faith, I have more respect for this gown than I ever had before—it is wondrously warm and, with the hood over my head, I want nothing more."

"That is all very well, Roger. If you don't need it for your shoulders, you need it for your legs; for being without hose, and with nought but those sandals, you must be freezing. We will walk up and down here, for a bit, and do you wrap it round your legs, like a Highlander's petticoat. When we have tired ourselves, we will lie down and try to get a sleep, for an hour or two."

As they walked, they talked over their plans; and Oswald decided that, before daybreak, he would set out on the search for a place of concealment.

"I will leave my helmet and breast and back piece behind me," he said, "and will take your staff. Then, if I am caught sight of by any party in the distance, I shall look like a shepherd; while, had I on my iron harness, they would at once suspect me of being of the party, even though I were alone. As for you, your monk's robe would be detected, miles off."

"I could leave it behind me," Roger said.

"You have not much on underneath, Roger; and your bareness, in such weather as this, would be as noticeable as your gown. Mind, before it gets light, get the ladies up, and carry our bag of victuals and the water skin over the crest. You may be sure that, as soon as it is light, there will be many sharp eyes watching the hillside, all along here."

The man who had come up with them had already wrapped himself in the blanket he had brought with him, had crawled in among the bushes, and was, as they could hear by his heavy breathing, already sound asleep. After a time Oswald said that, as they had nothing more to settle, he would try and get a few hours' rest. There was not the slightest fear of surprise, and Roger and he were not long before they were both sound asleep. Oswald woke two or three times and, at first sign of dawn, shook Roger.

"You had better wake the ladies, in a few minutes, Roger, and get them over the crest. Let their man, as soon as he has seen them, start at once, keeping along behind the ridge, and warn him not to go down into the valley until he is fully a mile beyond Parton. Tell him to look carefully along the road, before he begins to descend, and to see that it is clear. Even then, let him hide as much as may be, behind brushwood and rock, until he gets down. When he has swum the river, let him make a wide detour round Parton, so as to come down to the stables without being noticed.

"I shall not be very long away. 'Tis scarce likely, among these hills, that I shall find any place that we can crawl into; and I think we shall have to content ourselves with lying down among the heather. I must find a spot where no one, on any hill above, can look down on us. We shall be quite safe from any party moving along on the same level as ourselves."

Oswald had gone but a little distance, when he determined that no better place could be found than the plateau itself. This extended, for two or three hundred yards from the edge, looking down into the valley. Beyond, the ground sloped sharply down again into a deep hollow; and beyond, it was broken into rounded swells, rising one above another. A party lying among the heather, where he was standing, could not be seen by watchers from any other point. Moreover, it was most important that all should be in shelter before it was fairly daylight. He therefore, as soon as it was light enough to take in the principal features of the scene, hurried back to his companions.

"We can do no better, girls, than to lie down together, two hundred yards away. Pick your way through the bushes where they are thinnest, so as not to disturb them. Please be off at once, and choose a spot close to where the ground falls away, on the other side. Roger and I must tumble this shelter down, and scatter the sticks; for if anyone searching the hillside came along, he would guess that we had slept here, and there would be a hue and cry at once."

The man had left, sometime before, for the valley; having gone off as soon as he had spoken to the girls. Oswald and Roger ran down to the shelter, speedily threw the stones into a heap, and scattered the sticks; then, after glancing round to see that nothing had been left, they collected the blankets, provisions, and water skin; and, taking up these and Oswald's armour, ran in the direction that Oswald had pointed out to the girls.

The ground was thickly covered with heather, and they had to step carefully to avoid pressing it down. They reached the edge of the plateau without seeing the girls and, after looking round for a minute or two, Oswald called aloud.

He was answered by a merry laugh, and Jessie's head rose above the heather. They had, indeed, passed within five or six yards of the girls.

"That is good, indeed," Oswald said, as he lay down beside them. "If I could not see you, when I was sure that you were quite near, there is no fear of any searchers lighting upon you.

"The sun has just risen, and a mist still hangs on the top of the hills," he went on; "and I am convinced that we cannot have been seen, for men placed on the watch are sure to be high up on the hills, and it will be some time yet before the sun rises high enough to drive away the mist."

Although it was freezing sharply, they felt by no means cold as they lay, wrapped in their blankets, with the heather rising well above them, and sheltering them from a light breeze that had sprung up at sunrise. After chatting with the girls for a time, Roger and Oswald left them and, crawling along on their stomachs, got to the edge of the descent.

By this time the sun was well above the hills, the mist had cleared off, and they had an extensive view. From time to time they caught sight of groups of three or four mounted men moving about, searching the valleys; while single men, on foot, rambled over the hills.

"They are keeping up an active search, Roger. 'Tis well that we went no farther. They will scarce suspect us of lying close to the valley we left. I expect the main body has gone much farther. I have no doubt the Bairds have a couple of hundred men and boys out. They would call out every man and boy from their holdings, and most likely get a couple of score of men from their village, and perhaps twice as many from Parton. No doubt they will think that, if we came in this direction, we should, last night, have found our way to one of the tracks across the hills, and it is near these that their search will be the keenest. Fortunately, they cannot know that I am here, nor guess that it is to Yardhope that we intend to take them, and not to Hiniltie. Still, they may expect that we shall try to cross the border, and I fancy we shall scarcely get through without a fight."

"All the better," Roger grumbled. "My fingers tingle to bring down this staff on the head of some of the Bairds, after all the trouble they have given us."

They remained watching until it became dusk, except that, twice during the day, they crawled back and partook of a meal with the girls. The last time they joined them, Oswald said:

"Now, in half an hour it will be quite dark, and then we can safely get up and walk about for a bit. I am sure you must feel stiff, lying still so long."

"I have never kept quiet for so long a time, since I can remember," Jessie said, laughing.

"That shows that you have had no illnesses, Jessie. However, I shall be glad to get up and stretch my limbs, myself. Half an hour will be enough, and then we will have a good, long night. Another day of it, and I think it will be safe to start."

The next afternoon they saw a number of parties searching the hills, in all directions.

"I expect they have become convinced that we have not tried to get straight through, Roger, and are hunting back for us. It is as well that it will be dark in another half hour, and they will then have to give up their search, for the night. If there were a couple of hours more light, I should feel very uneasy."

"So should I, master. You and I would have little chance of mercy, if we fell into their hands. It might well be that, in their anger, they might slay the ladies, also."

"That would be like enough, Roger. However, there can be no chance of their coming here, before it is dark."

At nine o'clock they started, and made their way down, with some difficulty and many slips and falls, into the valley. Then they kept along near the river, till Oswald was sure they were close to the ford. He bade them halt here, and went forward alone. Before he had gone fifty yards, he nearly stumbled against a man.

"Is it you, John?"

"Yes, it is I."

"Is all well?"

"It is all well, but I had a fright, yesterday morning. The Bairds searched every cottage and hut over the hills, on this side, and they say their men rode almost as far as Galloway; but they gave up the search before they got here, feeling assured that they must have passed you, very soon after you left the hold, and you could never have got as far down as this."

"'Tis well they did not search, indeed," Oswald said. "Your story about the horses might do well enough, for those who have no interest in the matter, but it would never have done for the Bairds. All has been quiet today?"

"They seem to have given up searching on this side. I hear that they feel sure, now, the ladies have made for Hiniltie; and they have had great forces out among the hills, and feel confident that they must catch them soon."

"Have you got the horses saddled?"

"They are saddled, and brought down close to the road. Fergus is with them."

"Then bring them across, at once. The sooner we are off now, the better. Are there any of the Bairds' men in the town?"

"There are a few of them, but as no one has any idea that you are like to pass through there, they will not be on the lookout. Besides, all will have been among the hills, from daybreak this morning; and I expect, by this time, there is scarce a soul awake in Parton."

Oswald returned to the girls, and they went out together to the ford. In a couple of minutes the men were seen making their way across, riding two horses, and leading the others.

"We thank you heartily," Janet said, "for having so risked your lives for us; for, had you been caught with the four horses, they would at once have connected you with us, and it would have gone hard with you."

"We have been keeping away from the horses, yesterday and today, just going to a distance and lying down where, without being seen ourselves, we could watch anyone who went up to the farm. We could have done no good, and thought that it was better that we should be able to warn you, if they had come and taken the horses away."

After crossing the river, Fergus at once started, on foot, for Hiniltie.

They had already discussed how they should ride, and it had been settled that, at starting, Janet should ride the fourth horse; and that Jessie should ride behind the others, by turns. If an attack was threatened, Jessie was to mount behind her sister, and they were to take their place between Oswald and Roger, while their own man rode close behind them.

It was just ten o'clock as they rode through Parton. Not a light was to be seen. The whole place appeared wrapt in sleep. They went through at a walk, so that, if any heard them, they would suppose that it was a belated party of the searchers, and would give the matter no further thought.

After riding for a short distance, they put the horses into a trot. Four hours later they halted, at the point where the road down the Esk valley divided, one going to the ferry a few hundred yards farther on, while the other turned to the left, and followed the bank of the Liddel.

John had inquired about the ferry, and learned that the ferryboat no longer plied, as, since the troubles began, there was so little traffic that it did not pay the ferryman to remain there. As they had already decided to cross by the ford, four miles higher up, this did not matter. As none of them was aware of its exact position, they decided to wait where they were, until daylight.

Searching about, they found a deserted hut, with a shed adjoining it. The horses were led into this, and the party then gathered in the hut, and John struck a light, while Oswald and Roger broke up a fallen gate, and the fire was soon blazing. Although there was not the slightest chance of anyone travelling the road, at this hour, they hung one of the thick blankets across the window, thus keeping out the cold air, as well as preventing the light from being seen. Then the party lay down, the men taking it by turns to stand guard outside, being relieved every two hours.

As soon as day dawned they again mounted. It was about four miles' ride to the point where the road divided, one branch going towards the river, some seventy or eighty yards away. Here stood a square building of some size, used as a refuge by travellers who arrived when the Liddel was swollen, and the ford impracticable.

When the riders had come within a few yards of this building, two men, hearing the sound of horses' hoofs, came out. As their eye fell upon the party they gave a shout, ran out into the road, and drew their swords.

Roger and Oswald rode at them. Parrying a thrust of one of the men, Oswald cut him down; while Roger, with a tremendous blow from his staff, stretched the other man on the road.

"Ride on, girls! We will follow you," Oswald shouted.

Jessie was sitting behind John, and they and Janet dashed forward, and rode into the water. Oswald and Roger followed, as six men, armed with spear and sword, ran out from the house. Seeing that they were too late, the leader shouted to the others: "Fetch out the horses, and chase them!" and, before the party had gained the opposite bank, their pursuers dashed into the water.

"Don't press your horses too hardly," Oswald said, as they galloped along. "They are too close behind us for us to get help from any of the small villages, but they dare not follow us into Longtown, and we have barely a ten miles' ride."

They had some two hundred yards' start, and for the first four miles held their own; then their pursuers began to gain upon them. One of the horses was carrying double, and Roger and Oswald were both heavier than any of the moss troopers.

"We shall have a fight for it, Roger."

"That is just what I was thinking, master. Well, there are three of us; and, as there are only six of them, we ought not to have much trouble. John will be a match for one. Methinks you and I can each make short work of a man when they first come up; and with but three of them against two, it will be mere child's play."

The road was a narrow one, and little used; and, when they came to the foot of a sharp rise, Oswald called to those ahead to stop.

"Jump down, Jessie, and mount behind Janet, and ride on ahead. We will soon get rid of these fellows. Be quick!"

The moss troopers were now but seventy or eighty yards behind.

"I shall fight on foot," Roger said, as he leapt off his horse. "I want both hands, for this staff."

Turning his horse, and bidding John to do the same, Oswald reined back his animal three or four lengths; and when the Bairds' party were within twenty yards, touched it with his spur and dashed at them, meeting them just abreast of Roger. The first man he met thrust at him with his spear, but Oswald parried with his sword, and with a back-handed blow smote the man just under the chin, and he fell with a crash from his horse. At the same moment he heard a blow like that of a smith's hammer, as Roger's staff fell upon the steel cap of the first who attacked him.

John was less fortunate, for his opponent's spear struck him in the throat, and he fell heavily from his saddle.

"Well stricken, Jock!" one of them shouted. "Ride on after the women. We will settle with these fellows."

But before the moss trooper could obey the order, Oswald, with a touch of the spur and the bridle, caused his horse to curvet round, and smote the man so mighty a blow on the shoulder as well-nigh to sever his arm from his body. As he wheeled his horse again he was nigh unseated, by a spear thrust that struck him on the breast piece; but, upon recovering, he struck his opponent, as he passed, so heavy a blow in the face, with the pommel of his sword, that he sent him senseless to the ground.

The other two men had furiously attacked Roger, but, whirling his staff round his head, he had kept them both at bay; then the staff descended between the ears of one of the horses, which fell headlong; and before the rider could get his foot from the stirrup, the staff struck him below the steel cap, just in front of the ear, and without a cry he fell dead beside his horse. At that the last of the moss troopers turned his horse, and galloped off at full speed.

"We have not taken long over that, master," Roger said, with a grim smile. "Five men in a minute is not so bad."

"I am afraid John is killed, Roger. See to him."

"Ay, he is sped," Roger replied, as he turned the body over. "The spear struck him full in the throat. That is what comes of not learning to use your weapons. What shall we do with him?"

"He was a faithful fellow, Roger, and as there is no need for haste now, we will give him some sort of burial, and not let him lie here in the road."

"We have nought to dig a grave with," Roger remarked.

"No, but there are plenty of stones about."

He dismounted, and with Roger's help carried the dead man a short distance away, laid him down by the side of a great boulder, and then piled stones around and over him.

"That will do, Roger. 'Tis not like that anyone will disturb those stones, for years to come. He will rest as well there as if he lay in a grave. Now, let us look to the others."

The man he had struck across the throat, and the last Roger had hit, were both dead. Two of the others were but stunned, while the one upon whose shoulder Roger's blow had fallen was lying insensible, and evidently was fast bleeding to death.

"We can do naught for him," Oswald said. "Even had we the king's leech here, we could not save him. Now let us be off."

"Shall we take the horses, master?"

"No, they will be but an encumbrance; and now that poor fellow has gone, we have one apiece. Bring his horse along with you."

Mounting, they rode quickly on, and at the top of the hill came up with the girls; who, having seen the result of the combat, had waited for them.

"Now we are safe and free, thanks to you both," Janet said. "Jessie looked back, and saw the fight as we rode. How quickly it was over! But I am grieved, indeed, that John has fallen. We saw you carrying off his body, and covering it. Jessie had noticed him fall, and we feared 'twas all over with him. He was an old retainer of our father's, and a faithful one."

"I am sorry, indeed, that he has been slain, Janet; but we could hardly expect to come out altogether scatheless."

"Are all the others killed?" Jessie asked.

"No. Two of them are but stunned; and will, ere long, be able to mount and ride off again."

"Master Oswald has gained the most honours in the fight. I killed one, and stunned another. He has stunned one also, but has slain two."

"I had a better arm, Roger."

"I know not that," Roger replied. "A quarterstaff, of that weight, is a fine weapon. I say not that it is to be compared to a mace but, when on foot, I would as lief have it as a sword."

"Now, Jessie, do you mount John's horse. We can ride quietly, for Longtown is but some three miles ahead."

They rested there for a couple of hours, then mounted again, and crossed the Pentlands by a horse track between Cristindury and Gele Craigs. Coming down into Tynedale, they put up for the night at the first place they came to. At daybreak they set off northwards, crossed Reddesdale, and came down, in the afternoon, into the valley of the Coquet, within two miles of Yardhope.