The dragoon turned his horse very leisurely away, to look for some place where he could best quit his saddle, in order to make good his entrance on foot into the thicket. The moment the quick eyes of Morag perceived that he had disappeared from his station on the brow of the bank, she crept forth from her concealment, and keeping her way down through the shallow stream, that her footsteps might leave no prints behind them, she stole off, until she was beyond all hearing of the two dragoons. Then it was that Morag began to ply her utmost speed, and, after following the ravine until it expanded into a small and partially wooded glen, she hurried on through it, until at length she found herself emerging on the lower and more open country. Afraid of being seen, she made a long circuitous sweep through some rough broomy waste ground of considerable extent, towards a distant hummock, with the shape of which she was familiar, and having thus gained a part of the country with which she was acquainted, though it was still very distant from her present home, she hailed the descent of the shades of night with great satisfaction.
Under their protection she proceeded on her way with great alacrity, and without apprehension, though with a torn heart, that made her every now and then stop to give full vent to her grief for John Smith, of whose death she had so little reason to doubt, from all the circumstances she had heard. At length, fatigue came so powerfully upon her, that she was not sorry to perceive, as she was about to descend into a hollow, the light of a cheerful fire, that blazed through the window of a turf-built cottage, and was reflected on the surface of a rushy stream, that ran lazily through the bottom near to it. The door was shut, but Morag descended the path that led towards it, and knocked without scruple.
An old man and woman came immediately to open it, and looked out eagerly, as if for some one whose coming they had expected, and disappointment seemed to cloud their brows, when they found only her who was a stranger to them. Morag, addressing them in Gaelic, entreated for leave to rest herself for half an hour by their fireside. She was admitted, after some hesitation and whispering between them, after which she craved a morsel of oaten cake, and a draught of water. A little girl, of some eight or nine years old, waited not to know her granny’s will, but ran to a cupboard for the cake; and brought it to her, and then hastened to fill a bowl with water from a pitcher that stood in a corner. The old couple would have fain pumped out of Morag something of her history, and they put many questions to her for that purpose. But she was too shrewd for them, and all they could gather from her was, that she had been away seeing her friends a long way off, and that she had first rode, and then walked so far, that she was glad of a little rest, and a morsel to allay her hunger, after which she would be enabled to continue her journey, with many thanks to them for their hospitality.
Morag had not sat there for many minutes, when there came a rap to the door. The old man sprang up to open it, and immediately three Highlanders appeared, full armed with claymores and dirks, but very much jaded and soiled with travel. Morag retired into a corner.
“Och, Ian! Ian!”—“Och, Hamish! Hamish!” cried the old couple, embracing two of them, who appeared to be their sons; and, “Oh, father! father!” cried the little girl, springing into Ian’s arms.
“Tuts, don’t be foolish, Kirstock!” cried Ian, in a surly tone, as he shook off the little girl; “What’s the use of all this nonsense, father?—Better for you to be getting something for us and our comrade MacCallum here to drink. We are almost famished for want;” and with that he threw himself into the old man’s wooden arm-chair.
“Aye, aye, father,” said Hamish, occupying the seat where his mother had sat, and motioning to MacCallum to take that which Morag had just left; “we have had a sad tramp away from the battle. Would we had never gone near it! Aye, and we got such a fright into the bargain.”
“Fright!” cried the old man much excited; “Surely, surely, my sons are not cowards!—Much as I love you, boys, I would rather that you had both died than run away.”
“Oh!” said MacCallum, now joining in the conversation, “we all three fought like lions in the battle. But it requires nerves harder than steel to look upon the Devil, and if ever he was seen on earth, we saw him this precious night.”
“Preserve us all!” said the old woman; “what was he like?”