The soldier, who had listened to this anecdote with deep interest, said,—
"You did more, MacGregor; you gave some money to the poor harmless lassie that lay at the foot of the tree—money to comfort her ere you went away."
"Yes, perhaps I did; but how know you that?"
"She was my sister, and I am the half-hanged gipsy lad whom you saved, MacGregor."
"You!" exclaimed the other, with astonishment in his tone.
"Yes," said the soldier, giving his hand to the outlaw; "I enlisted in Polwarth's Light Horse after that, and have smelt powder at Ramillies, at Oudenarde, and Malplacquet. Then I became a Horse Grenadier. Oh! MacGregor, what can I do to serve and thank you for the brave deed of that doleful summer evening?"
"Get me a messenger," said MacGregor, huskily; "one who will take this letter to my poor forlorn wife."
"I shall," replied the soldier, in a whisper, as he glanced uneasily at his sleeping comrades; "and I shall do more; the best horse in the troop shall be at your service before the day dawns if another cannot be had!"
"Say you so?" exclaimed MacGregor, whose heart leaped with joy.
"Yes, so sure as my name is Willie Gemmil, even if I should be shot for it at the drumhead."