afore, but my salve has painted the lily." How long he might have rambled on I know not. Our conversation was suddenly interrupted by the clatter of horses approaching at a trot. To our right I could see dimly the waters of a loch behind a fringe of trees. The sound came from the road which bordered the water. In a moment there swept round the corner of the loch and bore down upon us a little company of grey-coated troopers mounted on grey horses. So this is the end, I thought, and braced myself for the ordeal well content. At the head of the cavalcade rode a man with a long beard that reached below his belt. I noticed that he wore no boots, but that his feet, thrust through his stirrups, were covered with coarse grey stockings. As he drew abreast of us, the packman, with wonderful alacrity, sprang up and, bonnet in hand, advanced to the edge of the road. "A very good day to you, Sir Thomas, a very good day," he said. The horseman drew rein. "Well, Hector," he said, "turning up again like a bad penny! What news have you?" "Nane but the best, sir, nane but the best. I’m juist makin’ for hame frae the Rhinns o’ Gallowa’, and a’ through the country-side there is but ae opinion--that the iron hand o’ Lag is crushing the heart oot o’ the Whigs." "That is good news, Hector, but juist what I expected. Rebels understand only one argument, and that is the strong hand. It is the only thing I put faith in, as mony a Whig kens to his cost." "Ye’re richt, ye’re richt, they ken ye weel. May I mak’ sae bold as to offer you a truss o’ Virginia weed, Sir Thomas," and returning to his pack he picked up a little bundle of tobacco and offered it to the horseman, who took it and slipped it into his pocket. "A welcome gift, Hector, and I thank you for it. I hope it has paid duty?" "Sir," said the packman deprecatingly, "and me a King’s man!" The rider smiled, and turning his fierce eyes upon me, said, "Who is your companion, Hector?" The fateful moment had come, and at that instant my life hung on the thread of a spider’s web. But my heart was glad within me. I should find my Mary on the other side. The packman turned towards me: "Oh, Joseph," he said, "he’s a gangrel body like masel’. I ha’e been takin’ him roond the country wi’ me to teach him the packman’s job, so that when I retire to devote masel’ to the writin’ o’ books I can hand ower the pack to him." The quick lie took my breath away. "Umph!" grunted the horseman, "and what’s he readin’ there?" Suddenly I remembered that I still held the packman’s Horace in my hand. "I hope he’s a King’s man and that he is no’ sittin’ there wi’ some Covenantin’ book in his kneive? Let me have a look at that book, young fellow." I rose and, approaching him, held out the little leather-bound volume. As I did so I noticed his sharp-cut, flinty features, and a pair of thick and surly lips half-hidden by the masses of hair on his face. He turned the book over and found its title page.