This was too much for poor Morag. Her heart was too full for her to command words to reply. She rushed forward, and threw her arms around John. She fixed her hands into the folds of that breachcan, in which, in their days of herding, when she was but a lassie, and he but a boy, she had been so often wrapped by her lover as a shelter from the stormy elements, and she gave way to a burst of grief that at length enabled her to find utterance for her feelings. She implored him, in all the anguish of despair, not to leave her. John's heart was softened by her words, and her tears, and he blubbered like a child. M'Taggart, fearing that the martial influence in John's soul might be overpowered and extinguished by that of love, and setting a much greater value on him as a recruit, than on the capture of the Pensassenach, he thought it advisable to put an end to this tender interview as speedily as might be. He ordered the piper to play up therefore, and the men, abandoning their fruitless search after the English wife, were speedily gathered around him. The train of carts and horses, with the plunder, were driven on--the order of march was formed. John, after a severe struggle with his heart, rent himself away from the arms of Morag, and followed M'Taggart, without daring to speak, or to look behind him; whilst the poor girl, bereft of her support, fell upon the green--where she lay beating her breast and tearing her hair in utter despair, till the sound of the distant pipe died away, and the presence of some of her fellow-servants brought her back to her reason. Morag was no sooner sufficiently calm and collected, than she hastened to execute John Smith's last injunctions. The poor Pensassenach was taken from the killogie more dead than alive. Morag would have had her to go to bed, but, having recovered herself a little, she became too much excited to rest; and, having arranged her dress, she began to bustle about her affairs, and to take a full note of her loss. It was, indeed, severe. But she felt that she endured it for a glorious cause, and that reflection made her bear it with wonderful philosophy. She was grieved, and even angry to learn that John Smith had enlisted with the Prince's men, but she felt deeply grateful to him for having saved her life; and especially so, when she heard from Morag the story of the packman's treachery, and John's ingenuity in defeating it, as well as of the whole of his exertions for her preservation. "Where has John bestowed the villain?" demanded the Pensassenach. "Toon in ta lint pot, memm," replied Morag; "I maun gang toon an get him oot o' ta holl noo." "I'll go with you, Morag," said the Pensassenach; and so mistress and maid proceeded together towards the pond. "What noise is that?" cried the Pensassenach, as they drew near to it. "Aw--yaw!--yaw--aw!" cried the packman from the pool. "Where are you, wretched man?" cried the Pensassenach. "Yaw--aw!--yaw--aw!" replied Mr. Dallas.