"And even she's a Gordon noo, if ye hae as good skill in your welding trade as I hae in mine," replied Ebie Callan, turning away to his smithy bellows. * * * * * It cannot be told at length, in this already over-long chronicle, in what manner Wat and Kate rode into Dumfries far ahead of their pursuers, or how they mounted on the horses prepared for Barra and his countess and went out amid the cheering of the populace. Nor is there room to relate how at each post they found, as Ebie had foretold, horses ever fresh and fresh, innkeepers obsequious, hostlers ready to delay all pursuers for a gold piece in hand as they rode off. Neither does it matter to the conclusion of the tale (which cannot long be delayed, though there would be pleasure in the prolonging of it) how they were assaulted by footpads at Great Salkeld; how Wat's blade played like summer lightning among them to the scatterment of the rascals; how Kate shot off a pistol and harmed nobody; how they rested three hours at Long Marten, and how Wat kept watch while Kate slept on the long, brown heath of the fell betwixt Stainmoor and the Nine Standards at the entering in of Yorkshire. These make a tale by themselves which ought to be told one day--but by a tale-teller unbreathed by a longer race than even that from the house of Balmaghie to the court which King William was holding in the city of York. It is sufficient to say that without once being sighted by their pursuers after they topped the hill beyond Carlinwark, Lochinvar and Kate, with thankful hearts, caught their first glimpse of the towers of York Cathedral, hull down in the broad plain, like the masts of a ship at sea. CHAPTER LIII WITHIN THE KING'S MERCY As they came nearer to the city they began to pass groups of country folk, all hastening in to see the glories of the court. For the king had come so far from his capital to receive the homage of his northern province, before departing to Ireland on the great campaign which was to make him unquestioned monarch of the kingdoms three. Soon Wat and Kate reached the ancient bar which spanned the northern road by which they had ridden. "Whither-away so fast?" cried the sentinel to them. "From Scotland to see the king!" said Wat, confidently, giving the man the salute in a manner only practised by the regiments in Holland. "You are of his Highness's Scot regiments?" cried a much-surprised voice from the low doorway. "Of the Douglas Dragoons," replied Wat, over his shoulder. "Pass--a gallant corps!" returned the officer of the guard, who had been watching, giving Wat back his salute in form, but, notwithstanding, keeping his eyes fixed upon Kate, whose head shone like a flower out of the blue deeps of the cape in which the rest of her beauty was shrouded.