The mossy turf on which they rested was not more clammy than the pale forehead in its damps of death; he was bleeding inwardly, and every breath he drew exhausted more and more the shallow stream of vitality that was left.
‘Ride you on,’ he whispered, ‘ride you on! leave Ralph wi’ me, I’ll no keep him lang. Ye’ll win to the Court the morn, lad, an’ ye’ll see bonny Mistress Seton, an’ ye’ll tell her frae me——’
He was getting very weak now; twice or thrice he strove to speak, but no sound came. Maxwell bent over him, and held his breath to catch the sacred accents of the dying man.
He raised himself a little with an effort, and his voice was stronger now.
‘Tell her,’ said he, ‘that if ever she can win to Liddesdale, she maun walk afoot through the bonny glens, and hearken to the lilt of the lavrock, an’ pu’ a sprig o’ the red heather, just to mind her o’ “Dick-o’-the-Cleugh”—rough, rantin’ Dick, that wadna ha’ evened himself to kiss the very ground beneath her feet. Eh! lad, an’ she hadna been a born leddy, I wad hae lo’ed yon lassie weel!’
Then Dick’s head sank lower and lower; nor, although he lived for a short space afterwards, was he heard to speak again. Maxwell was forced to leave him, however loth, in charge of his comrade; his own duty would admit of no delay. Sadly and slowly he mounted ‘Wanton Willie’ once more; sadly and slowly he loitered away at a foot’s pace, turning his head often to gaze wistfully back where Ralph Armstrong was stooping in the moonlight over the long prostrate figure of the henchman. At last he saw Ralph lay the head gently down upon the sward, and walk a few paces away. Then he knew that it was over, and galloped on towards Perth with wet eyes and a heavy heart.
CHAPTER XXXVIII.
‘For though her smiles were sad and faint,