Following the downward course of the river Nairn, running at one time, and ducking and diving into bushes, and behind walls at another, to avoid the stragglers who were in pursuit, he by degrees gained some miles of distance from the fatal field, and coming to a little brook, he ventured to halt for a moment, to quench his raging thirst. As he lay gulping down the crystal fluid, he was startled by hearing his own name, and by being addressed in Gaelic. "Donald Murdoch!--Oh, Donald Murdoch, can you tell me is John Smith safe? Oh, those fearful cannons how they thundered!--Oh, tell me, is John Smith safe?--Oh, tell me! tell me!" "Morag!" cried Donald, much surprised, but very much relieved to find that it was no one whom he had any cause to be afraid of,--"Morag!--What brought you so far from home on such a day as this?" "Oh Donald!" replied Morag, "I came to look after John Smith;--oh, grant that he be safe!" "Safe enough, Morag," replied Donald, galled by jealousy. "I'll warrant nothing in this world will harm him now." "What say you?" cried Morag. "Oh, tell me! tell me truly if he be safe?" "I saw John Smith lying dead in a moss hole, his skull cleft by a dragoon's sword," replied Donald with malicious coolness. "What?" cried Morag, wringing her hands, "John Smith dead! But no! it is impossible!--and you are a lying loon, that would try to deceive me, by telling me what I well enough know you would wish to be true. God forgive you, Donald, for such cruel knavery!" "Thanks to ye, Morag, for your civility," replied Donald Murdoch calmly; "but if you wont believe me, believe that bit of ribbon--see, the very bit of blue ribbon you tied round John Smith's neck, the night you last so slighted me at the dance in the barn. See, it is partly died red in his life's blood." "It is the ribbon!" cried Morag, snatching it from his hand with excessive agitation, and kissing it over and over again, and then bursting into tears. "Alas! alas! it must be too true! What will become of poor Morag!--why did I not go with him! What is this world to poor desolate Morag now?--And yet--he may be but wounded after all. It must be so--he cannot be killed. Where did you leave him?--quick, tell me!--oh, tell me, Donald. Why do we tarry here? let us forward and seek him!--there may be life in him yet, and whilst there is life there is hope. Let me pass, Donald; I will fly to seek him!" "I love you too well to let you pass on so foolish and dangerous an errand," said Donald, endeavouring to detain her. "I tell you that John Smith is dead; but you know, Morag, you will always find a friend and a lover in me. So think no more----" "I will pass, Donald," cried Morag, interrupting him, and making a determined attempt to rush past him. "That you shall not," replied Donald, catching her in his arms. "Help, help!" cried Morag, struggling with all her might, and with great vigour too, against his exertions to hold her.