Many were the schemes devised by the anxious wife—many the suggestions of her husband, and honest Jamie proposed numerous plans—but each was, in its turn, rejected as being unsafe. More than an hour had passed in these anxious deliberations; within three hours more, and the king's troops would be at his gate. Grizel had, till now, remained silent, and dashing away the first tear that rolled down her cheek, she flung her arms around her father's neck, and exclaimed, in an eager and breathless whisper—
"I ken a place, faither—I ken a place that the king's troopers and his spies will never find out; and I'll stop beside ye, to bear ye company."
"Bless the bairn!" said Sir Patrick, pressing her to his breast; "and where's the place, dearest?"
"The aisle below Polwarth Kirk, faither," returned Grizel. "Nae trooper will find out such a hiding-place; for the mouth's a bit wee hole, and the long grass, and the docks, and the nettles grow owre it, and I could slip out and in without trampling them down; and naebody would think o' seeking ye there, faither."
Lady Polwarth shuddered, and Sir Patrick pressed the cheek of his lovely daughter to his lips.
"Save us a', bairn!" said Jamie, "there's surely something no earthly about yer young laddyship, for ye hae mair sense than us a' put thegither. The aisle is the very place. I'll steal awa, and hae a kind o' bed put up in it, and tak ither twa or three bits o' necessary things; and, Sir Patrick, ye'll slip out o' the house and meet me there as soon as possible."
Within an hour, Sir Patrick had joined Jamie Winter in the dark and dismal aisle. The humble bed was soon and silently fitted up, and the faithful servant, wishing his master "farewell," left him alone in his dreary prison-house. Slow and heavily the hours of darkness moved on. He heard the trampling of the troopers' horses galloping in quest of him. The oaths and the imprecations of the riders fell distinctly on his ears. Amidst such sounds he heard them mention his name. But his heart failed not. He knelt down upon the cold damp floor of his hiding-place—upon the bones of his fathers—and there, in soundless, but earnest prayer, supplicated his father's God to protect his family—to save his country—to forgive his persecutors, and to do with him as seemed good in his sight. He arose; and, laying himself upon his cold and comfortless bed, slept calmly. He awoke shivering and benumbed. Faint streaks of light stole into the place of death through its narrow aperture, dimly revealing the ghastly sights of the charnel-house, and the slow reptiles that crawled along the floor. Again night came on, and the shadows of light, if I may use the expression, which revealed his cell, died away. A second morning had come, and a second time the feeble rays had been lost in utter darkness. It was near midnight, and the slender stock of provisions which he had brought with him were nigh exhausted. He started from his lowly couch—he heard a rustling among the weeds at the mouth of the aisle—he heard some one endeavouring to remove the fragment of an old gravestone that covered it.
"Faither!" whispered an eager voice—"faither—it is me—yer ain Grizel!"
"My own, devoted, my matchless child!" said Sir Patrick, stretching his hands towards the aperture, and receiving her in his arms.
She sat down beside him on the bed—she detailed the search of the troopers—she stated that they were watched in their own house—that a spy was set over the very victuals that came from their table, lest he should be concealed near, and fed by his family.