"Where was I?" she continued. "Weel, I was within three miles o’ Dumfries a’ the time. Ye see, when I left Daldowie, I didna ken where tae go. I ran for miles and miles ower the hills, till I could run nae langer; and then the dark fell, and I lay doon among the heather and cried mysel’ to sleep. But when the mornin’ cam’ I sat up and said to mysel’, ’Mary Paterson--you maunna be a fool.’ I spoke it oot lood--and it sounded sae like mither’s voice that I began to greet again, and I went on greetin’ till I could greet nae mair, and then I felt better." She looked at me roguishly. "And after that," she went on, "I set oot for Dumfries. I thocht if I could reach the Solway I micht wade across it to England, but--I’m thinkin’ noo that I’ve seen it, I would ha’e been drooned in the attempt." She laughed, and the gull above us, with its yellow legs apart, and its tail stretched tensely fan-wise, dropped down and touched the sea with its beak, and having seized its prey, wheeled round on wide wings and floated above us again. "Food I got frae kindly cotters, and when at last I reached Dumfries I set oot to mak’ for Glencaple. But when half-way there I sat doon by the road and began to think, and then for the first time I missed my ring, and thinkin’ o’ the day when you put it on my finger and o’ a’ the love you bore me, I fair broke doon and cried like a bairn. I was greetin’ sae sair that I didna notice a lady dressed in black until she was standing beside me. Very gently she asked me what ailed me, and the look in her face made me feel that she had kent sorrow herse?--so I tellt her everything. Before I was finished she was greetin’ as sair as mysel’, and then she slipped her airm through mine and drew me to my feet and kissed me. ’I am but a poor widow,’ she said, ’whose husband and sons have died for the Covenant: but the widow’s cruse never runs dry, and you are welcome to a share of whatever the Lord sends me.’ She led me to her bonnie wee hoose, set in a plantin’ o’ beech trees on the Glencaple road, and she has been a mother to me, and I a daughter to her ever since. Sometimes we would shelter fugitive hill-men--and often I ha’e ta’en them food--and it was for that, for I was caught red-handed, that I was made prisoner and thrown into the Tolbooth." "And that," I said, taking up the tale, "is how you come now to be sitting, my wife, beside me." I kissed her beneath her little shell-like ear. "Behave yoursel’," she said with mock sternness. "The captain will see you!" "And what if he does?" I asked, as I repeated the offence. "Did you see me on the road to the Tolbooth?" she continued. "Yes," I said, "that is where I saw you. Just when hope seemed utterly dead--you came." The woman in her spoke: "Did I look feart?" she asked. "Not a bit; you looked as brave as you are."