Between his apprehension and his trial no friend or kinsman had been allowed to visit him; but now that his death was assured, greater license had been granted. But, anxious to deprive his enemies of a chance to accuse his sons, he had sent them his earnest entreaties and commands that they should abstain from using this permission until the night before his execution. They had obeyed; but obedience of this sort did not satisfy the conscience of his daughter Grizel. On the very night of his condemnation he heard the key turn in his door; thinking it could only be the gaoler, he scarcely lifted his eyes. But the next moment a pair of soft arms were flung round his neck, and his daughter was weeping on his breast. From that day she had continued to visit him; and now as she sat beside him, staring at the light already fading in the narrow pane, both father and daughter knew that it was almost the last time. Presently she spoke-- "And this message--tell me truly, have you any hope from it?" It was an appeal made by Sir John's father, the Earl of Dundonald, to Father Peters, the king's confessor, who often dictated to him, as was well known, on matters of state. But in the short time left, would there be time to press this appeal, and exert that influence in London which alone could stay the death-warrant? "There is no hope in that quarter," said Sir John. Grizel knew that he spoke only what was her own conviction, and her despair. "Argyle is dead these three days," pursued her father, "and with him men of less consequence than I. Are they likely to spare me--a head of the rising? Would they spare any man now, in the heat of their revenge?" "Father," said Grizel suddenly, "could you spare me from your side for a few days?" Sir John looked up. He knew by her manner that she had formed some plan in her mind; he knew, too, from her heart, that nothing but chance of winning his safety could take her from him now, of all times. "My child," he said, "you are going to attempt something." She nodded, with a brighter face than she had worn for many days. "And what you would attempt," he went on, "is an impossibility." "Nothing is impossible to a true heart," she said. "And who will help you?" "No one." She was standing before him now, and in the twilight he could see her eyes lit up with hope, her figure upright, and as if full of a man's strength. "My girl, you will run into danger--into blame. They will not spare you, and--do you know the characters of those men whom you would have to sue?" She bent and kissed him. "I am a Cochrane, my father." Early next morning, before the world was up, Grizel Cochrane was mounted on horseback and riding towards the border. She had dressed herself--this girl of eighteen--as a young serving-woman, and when she drew rein at a wayside cottage for food and drink, professed herself journeying on a borrowed horse to visit her mother's house across the Tweed.