It must have been a strange thing for the people of Lanark to see me on that day, as they ran hither and thither to tell the good tidings. For, in all my savage finery, I dashed up the narrow street, scattering folk to the right and left like ducks from a pond, and paying no heed to a hundred angry threats which rang out behind me. In a little I had gained the moor, and set my face for Douglasdale and my lady. Smitwood was but ten miles away and the path to it easy. In a short hour I should be there, and then—ah, then, it could not be otherwise, it must be, that Marjory should be there to greet me, and be the first to hear my brave news. I passed over the road I had come, and had no time to reflect on the difference in my condition from two hours agone, when abject and miserable I had plodded along it. Now all my head was in a whirl, and my heart in a storm of throbbing. The horse’s motion was too slow to keep pace with my thoughts and my desires; and I found me posting on ahead of myself, eager to be at my goal. In such wild fashion I rode over the low haughlands of Clyde, and forded the river at a deep place where it flowed still and treacherous among reeds, never heeding, but swimming my horse across, though I had enough to do to land on the other side. Then on through the benty moorlands of Douglas-side and past the great wood of the Douglas Castle. My whole nature was centred in one great desire of meeting, and yet even in my longing I had a deadly suspicion that all might not be well—that I had come too late. Then I saw the trees and the old house of Smitwood lying solemn among its meadows. I quickened my horse to fresh exertion. Like a whirlwind he went up the avenue, making the soft turf fly beneath his heels. Then with a start I drew him up at the door and cried loudly for admittance. Master Veitch came out with a startled face and looked upon me with surprise. "Is Marjory within?" I cried, "Marjory! Quick, tell me!" "Marjory," he replied, and fell back with a white face. "Do you seek Marjory? She left here two day’s agone to go to you, when you sent for her. Your servant Nicol went after her." "O my God," I cried, "I am too late;" and I leaned against my horse in despair. BOOK IV—THE WESTLANDS CHAPTER I I HEAR NO GOOD IN THE INN AT THE FORDS O’ CLYDE For a second I was so filled with despair at Master Veitch’s news that my mind was the veriest blank and I could get no thought save that bitterest of all—that my lady was gone. But with a great effort I braced myself to action. "And what of my servant Nicol?" I asked, and waited breathlessly for the answer.