It was hard to leave so hospitable a home to go where, to say the least of it, one was not wanted. Especially was it so when the sturdy farmer, grasping Brown's hand, said with a certain shamefacedness, "There's a pickle siller that I do not ken what to do wi', after Ailie has gotten her new goon and the bairns their winter duds. But I was thinking, that whiles you army gentlemen can buy yoursel's up a step. If ye wad tak the siller, a bit scrape o' a pen wad be as guid to me. Ye could take your ain time about paying it back. And--and it would be a great convenience to me." Brown was much moved, but he could only thank his kind host heartily and promise that in case of need he would not forget to draw upon his purse. So they parted, Brown leaving his little terrier Wasp to share bed and board with the eldest of the Dinmont boys, who right willingly undertook the task as a kind of security for his master's return. Dinmont conveyed his guest some distance, and afterward, from the first Dumfries-shire town which they entered, Brown took a carriage to carry him part of the way in the direction of Woodbourne, where Julia Mannering was at present residing. III. IN THE LION'S MOUTH Night and mist stopped him after many miles of journeying. The postboy had lost his way, and could offer no suggestions. Brown descended to see if by chance, in this wild place, they were near any farm-house at which he could ask the way. Standing tiptoe upon a bank, it seemed as if he could see in the distance a light feebly glimmering. Brown proceeded toward it, but soon found himself stumbling among ruins of cottages, the side walls of which were lying in shapeless heaps, half covered with snow, while the gables still stood up gaunt and black against the sky. He ascended a bank, steep and difficult, and found himself in front of a small square tower, from the chinks of which a light showed dimly. Listening cautiously, he heard a noise as of stifled groaning. Brown approached softly, and looked through a long arrow-slit upon a dismal scene. Smoke filled a wretched apartment. On a couch a man lay, apparently dying, while beside him, wrapped in a long cloak, a woman sat with bent head, crooning to herself and occasionally moistening the sufferer's lips with some liquid. "It will not do," Brown heard her say at last "he cannot pass away with the crime on his soul. It tethers him here. I must open the door." As she did so she saw Brown standing without. He, on his part, recognised in the woman the gipsy wife whom he had seen on the Waste of Cumberland, when he and Dandie Dinmont had had their fight with the robbers. "Did I not tell you neither to mix nor mingle?" said the woman; "but come in. Here is your only safety!" Even as she spoke, the head of the wounded man fell back. He was dead, and, before Brown could think of seeking safety in flight, they heard in the distance the sound of voices approaching.