"Eh no--I wadna stand it; I aye made up my mind to be a ploughman like my father before me; sae my uncle spoke for me to the grieve at Fantasie and I'm hired to gang hame at the term. So I cam the noo to see my mother." "Have you had a long walk?" said Anne. "It's twal mile--it was eleven o'clock when I started--I didna ken what hour it is noo. It should be three by the sun." Anne consulted her watch; it was just three; the respect of her guide visibly increased--gold watches were notable things in Aberford. "I thought yince of starting at night. Eh! if I had been passing in the dark, wadna I hae been frighted to see a leddy thonder." "Why yonder?" said Anne, "is there anything particular about that place?" "Eh!" exclaimed the lad, "do ye no ken? there was a man killed at the fit of thon tree." Anne started. "Who was he?" she asked. "I dinna mind his name--it's lang, lang ago--but he was a gentleman, and my father was yin 'o the witnesses. Maybe ye'll have seen a muckle house, ower there, a' disjasket and broken down. George Brock, the grieve lives near the gate o't--it's no far off." "Yes, I have seen it," said Anne. "Weel, the gentleman that killed him lived there--at least a'body said it was him that did it--I have heard my father speak about him mony a time." "And what was your father a witness of?" said Anne. "Oh, he met Redheugh coming out of the wood--only my father aye thought that he bid to be innocent, for he was singing, and smiling, and as blythe as could be." "And your father thought him innocent?" said Anne eagerly. "Ay--at least he thought it was awfu' funny, if he had killed the man, that he should be looking sae blythe. A' the folk say there was nae doubt about it, and sae does my mother, but my father was aye in a swither; he thought it couldna be. Here's the Milton, and ower yonder, ye see, like a white line--yon's the road--it's just the stour that makes it white; and if ye turn to the right, and haud even on, ye'll come to the toun." Anne thanked him, and offered some small acknowledgment, with which the lad, though he took it reluctantly, and with many scruples, went away, whistling more blythely than ever. How little did the youthful rustic imagine the comfort and hope and exhilaration which these thoughtless words of his had revived in his chance companion's heart! There had been one in this little world, who, in the midst of excitement, and in the face of evidence, and the universal opinion of his fellows, held Norman innocent. Anne thanked God, and took courage--there was yet hope. She waited nervously for the evening; when the darkness of the full night came stealing on, she glided along the sands to the gate of Schole.