They spoke but little as they walked, for the burden of his thoughts was sufficient for each. The air was now raw and chill, and the light struggling over hill and dale dispelled the tender radiance of the moon and gave an aspect almost wintry to the face of nature. The minister of Inverburn several times shivered and his hacking cough and attenuated appearance indicated that exposure was beginning to tell upon his aged frame. Looking at him, Watty more than once ominously shook his head, and whispered within himself that the minister was not long for this world. Thinking they might with safety venture into the house of Hartrigge for some warm breakfast, Andrew Gray, with his father and brother, turned up the road to the farm, while Adam Hepburn and Watty took their way by a near cut to the glen, which formed the bed of the Douglas Water. Relieved from the slight restraint of the minister’s presence, Watty found his tongue, and launched forth into a very vehement tirade against the oppressors of the land, using terms and expressions which in happier times would not have failed to amuse his companion, but which now he passed unheeded. It was seldom indeed that a smile was seen on the face of Adam Hepburn, and since his wife’s death no man or woman had ever heard him laugh. The keen and pleasant sense of humour which had given such a relish to his company and speech in days gone by, had deserted him now, and he was in every respect an altered man. None was more mournfully conscious of this change than Watty, who had been wont to have many a bantering jest with the farmer of Rowallan, for whom he had a great liking and respect. In the glen the sleepy birds were beginning to stir among the boughs, and already the air was full of twitterings, and of the hum of insects early on the wing. A heavy dew had fallen in the night, and hung sparkling like diamonds in the hedgerows and on every blade of grass, making the footing very wet, especially where it grew long and rank, close to the water’s edge. As they passed the mouth of the Corbie’s Cliff Watty McBean looked mournfully at the now visible entrance, for the dragoons with their swords had shorn away all the branches and the clinging tangles which had so securely hidden it before. So that no man could possibly hide there now and expect to be undisturbed. "Eh, that limmer Martha Miller, if I had her I’d pay her out for her treachery!" muttered Watty. "It’s just as weel she gaed awa’ to her sister in Glesca. She wadna hae been safe muckle longer in the place. It was gettin’ ower hot for her." "Ay, she’ll never prosper, Watty. She may grow rich for a time on the spoiling of the neighbours she betrayed, but her punishment will come by-and-by," said Adam, quietly. "I’m sure I hope sae," returned Watty, fervently. "Weel, here we are. Are ye sure there’s naebody in sicht?"