It still wanted nearly two hours of sunset when the cavalcade was winding gently up the narrow bottom of a wild pass, that, like a vast rent or cut in the mountains, divided the chain from its very summit to its base. From the close defile below, the eye could hardly ascend the steep and even slope of the rocky precipices to half their height, so closely did they approach on either hand. The pine forest, though still continuous, began to grow thinner as they advanced, and Rory Spears, like an able leader, was carefully scanning every point where he might hope to discover a strong and convenient position for encampment. At length one of the Earl of Buchan’s troopers, well acquainted with these wilds, showed him the upright face of a tall projecting crag, at a great height above, where there was a small natural cavern, and, accordingly, thither it was resolved that they should ascend.
The ascent was long and arduous, but when they did reach the spot, it was discovered to be admirably fitted for their purpose. The rock rose smooth and perpendicular as a wall, and in the centre of it was the mouth of the cavern, opening from a little level spot of ground in front. Rory began to take immediate measures for their security. Broken wood was collected in abundance, and a semi-circular chain of fires kindled, so as [[395]]fully to embrace the level ground, and touch the rock on either side of the cavern. Heather beds were prepared for the lady and her damsel under the dry arch of the cliff; and their hasty meal being despatched, they wrapped themselves up in their mantles, and prepared themselves with good-will to sleep off the stupifying effects of the narcotic. Rory meanwhile drew his cavalry within his defences, and having posted and arranged his watches so as to ensure the keeping up of the fires, he sat down with the rest to recreate himself with what store of provisions they had carried along with them.
The lady’s sleep was so very sound for some hours that it bid defiance to all the merriment, the talking, and the music, that successively prevailed without. But at last it yielded to the continued twanging of the minstrel’s harp, and she awaked to hear him sing, with great enthusiasm, the concluding stanzas of some tale, which he had been rhyming to those around him:
If minstrel inspiration wells
From yonder star-besprinkled sky,
To which my heart so strangely swells,
As if it fain would thither fly;
Then on those mountain tops that rise
Far, far above the fogs of earth,
Thicker and purer from the skies