"Farewell to thee, Winifred, pride of thy kind,
Sole ray in my darkness, sole joy in my pain."
He listens for the last sound of her footfall, and catches the last glimpse of her robe at the door, and then all joy and gladness depart out of his life, and he prays alone in his dungeon, thinking of the dreadful dawn that awaits him.
He falls asleep and dreams that he is a frolicsome boy again, playing amongst the bracken on the braes of the Nith, bathing in its waters and treading joyfully the green heather. Or again he is riding to the hunt on his gallant grey steed, with a plume in his bonnet and a star on his breast, chasing the red deer and the wild mountain roe.
The vision changes, and he dreams that he is telling his love to Winifred, and swearing to be faithful to her, watching the red blushes rise on her cheeks at his words of love, and hearing her sweet voice replying.
Again he is riding at the head of his gallant band.
"For the pibroch was heard on the hills far away,
And the clans were all gathered from mountain and glen.
For the darling of Scotland, their exile adored,
They raised the loud slogan—they rushed to the strife;
Unfurl'd was the banner, unsheathed was the sword,
For the cause of their heart, that was dearer than life."
And now the darksome morn has come, the priest is standing by his side, saying the prayers for the dead. He hears the muffled drum and the bells tolling his death knell; the block is prepared, the headsman comes; and the victim is led bare-headed from his cell.
Waking, he turns on his straw pallet, and sees, by the pale, misty light of a taper, the form of his wife.
"'Tis I, 'tis thy Winifred!" softly she said,
"Arouse thee and follow, be bold, never fear,
There was danger ahead, but my errand has sped,
I promised to save thee, and lo! I am here!"
