"But I have heard you say, goodman," replied David Henderson's better-half, who--the former finding some difficulty in thrusting a bar into its place--was still detained in her situation of candle-holder, "that the fight of Flodden was lost by the king's descending from his vantage-ground." "True, goodwife," said David; "but was not his doing so but a means of fulfilling the prognostication? How could it have been brought about else?" The door being now secured, Henderson and his wife returned without further colloquy into the house; and shortly after, it being now late, retired to bed. In the meantime, the storm continued to rage with unabated violence. The rush of the wind amongst the trees was deafening; and at first faintly, but gradually waxing louder, as the stream swelled with the descending deluge of rain, came the hoarse voice of the adjoining river on the blast as it boiled and raged along. Henderson had been in bed about an hour--it was now midnight--but had been kept awake by the tremendous sounds of the tempest, when, gently jogging his slumbering helpmate-- "Goodwife," he said, "listen a moment. Don't you hear the voice of some one shouting without?" They now both listened intently; and loudly as the storm roared, soon distinguished the tramp of horses' feet approaching the house. In the next moment, a rapid succession of thundering strokes on the door, as if from the butt end of a heavy whip, accompanied by the exclamations of--"Ho! within there! house, house!" gave intimation that the rider sought admittance. "Who can this be?" said Henderson, making an attempt to rise; in which, however, he was resisted by his wife, who held him back, saying-- "Never mind them, David; let them just rap on. This is no time to admit visitors. Who can tell who they may be?" "And who cares who they may be?" replied the sturdy farmer, throwing himself out of bed. "I'll just see how they look from the window, Mary;" and he proceeded to the window, threw it up, looked over, and saw beneath him a man of large stature, mounted on a powerful black horse, with a lady seated behind him. "Dreadful night, friend," said the stranger, looking up to the window occupied by Henderson, and to which he had been attracted by the noise made in raising it. "Can you give my fellow-traveller here shelter till the morning? She is so benumbed with cold, so drenched with wet, and so exhausted by the fatigue of a long day's ride, that she can proceed no further; and we have yet a good fifteen miles to make out." "This is no hostel, friend, for the accommodation of travellers," replied the farmer. "I am not in the habit of admitting strangers into my house, especially at so late an hour of the night as this."