Chapter 35

And when he came to broken briggs,
He slacked his bow and swam;
And when he came to grass growing,
Set down his feet and ran.
GIL MORRICE.

We return to Halbert Glendinning, who, as our readers may remember,
took the high road to Edinburgh. His intercourse with the preacher,
Henry Warden, from whom he received a letter at the moment of his
deliverance, had been so brief, that he had not even learned the name
of the nobleman to whose care he was recommended. Something like a
name had been spoken indeed, but he had only comprehended that he was
to meet the chief advancing towards the south, at the head of a party
of horse. When day dawned on his journey he was in the same
uncertainty. A better scholar would have been informed by the address
of the letter, but Halbert had not so far profited by Father Eustace's
lessons as to be able to decipher it. His mother-wit taught him that
he must not, in such uncertain times, be too hasty in asking
information of any one; and when, after a long day's journey, night
surprised him near a little village, he began to be dubious and
anxious concerning the issue of his journey.

In a poor country, hospitality is generally exercised freely, and
Halbert, when he requested a night's quarters, did nothing either
degrading or extraordinary. The old woman, to whom he made this
request, granted it the more readily, that she thought she saw some
resemblance between Halbert and her son Saunders, who had been killed
in one of the frays so common in the time. It is true, Saunders was a
short square-made fellow, with red hair and a freckled face, and
somewhat bandy-legged, whereas the stranger was of a brown complexion,
tall, and remarkably well-made. Nevertheless, the widow was clear that
there existed a general resemblance betwixt her guest and Saunders,
and kindly pressed him to share of her evening cheer. A pedlar, a man
of about forty years old, was also her guest, who talked with great
feeling of the misery of pursuing such a profession as his in the time
of war and tumult.

"We think much of knights and soldiers," said he; "but the
pedder-coffe who travels the land has need of more courage than them
all. I am sure he maun face mair risk, God help him. Here have I come
this length, trusting the godly Earl of Murray would be on his march
to the Borders, for he was to have guestened with the Baron of Avenel;
and instead of that comes news that he has gone westlandways about
some tuilzie in Ayrshire. And what to do I wot not; for if I go to
the south without a safeguard, the next bonny rider I meet might ease
me of sack and pack, and maybe of my life to boot; and then, if I try
to strike across the moors, I may be as ill off before