The vision changes, and he dreams that he is telling his love to Winifred, and swearing to be faithful to her, watching the red blushes rise on her cheeks at his words of love, and hearing her sweet voice replying. Again he is riding at the head of his gallant band. "For the pibroch was heard on the hills far away, And the clans were all gathered from mountain and glen. For the darling of Scotland, their exile adored, They raised the loud slogan—they rushed to the strife; Unfurl’d was the banner, unsheathed was the sword, For the cause of their heart, that was dearer than life." And now the darksome morn has come, the priest is standing by his side, saying the prayers for the dead. He hears the muffled drum and the bells tolling his death knell; the block is prepared, the headsman comes; and the victim is led bare-headed from his cell. Waking, he turns on his straw pallet, and sees, by the pale, misty light of a taper, the form of his wife. "’Tis I, ’tis thy Winifred!" softly she said, "Arouse thee and follow, be bold, never fear, There was danger ahead, but my errand has sped, I promised to save thee, and lo! I am here!" [Illustration: "_’Tis I, ’tis thy Winifred!_"] Then she puts woman’s garb upon him, and together they pass the unsuspecting guards and weary sentinels. * * * * * When the peasantry on the Nithsdale estates heard of their Lord’s escape their joy was unbounded. One of the songs published and sung everywhere at the time, begins:— "What news to me, carlin’? What news to me?" "What news!" quo’ the carlin’, The best that God can gie." The speaker asks if the true king has come to his own, and the carlin’ answers. "Our ain Lord Nithsdale Will soon be ’mang us here. Then the speaker says:— "Brush me my coat, carlin’, Brush me my shoon; I’ll awa and meet Lord Nithsdale, When he comes to our town." "Alack-a-day," says the carlin’. "He has escaped to France, with scarce a penny." "Then," says the first speaker, "we’ll sell our corn and everything we have and send the money to our lord, and we’ll make the pipers blow and lads and maidens dance, and we’ll all be glad and joyful and play ’The Stuarts back again,’ and make the Whigs go mad." * * * * * Lord Derwentwater’s fate was not so happy as that of Lord Nithsdale, though Lady Derwentwater made a desperate effort to save him. It was she indeed who had urged him to throw in his lot with the Stuarts, saying that it was not good that he should hide his head when other gentlemen were mustering for the cause. The peasantry still think that Lady Derwentwater sits on her ruined tower lamenting the evil counsel she gave her husband, and they hasten by in fear when they see her lamp-light flickering.