When Wat Gordon opened his eyes, he looked into a face he knew right well.

"Faith, Will, is it time to get up already?" he said, thinking his cousin and he were off together on some ploy of ancient days—for a morning's fishing on the hills above Knockman, mayhap.

For his cousin Will it was indeed who stood before him, clad in the worn and smoke-begrimed uniform of the Regiment of the Covenant.

"Wat, Wat, how came you here, lad?" cried Will Gordon.

A gleam of his ancient wilfulness beaconed a moment in Wat's eye.

"Why—over the wall there," he said. "I was in somewhat of a hurry and I had not time to go round by the gate and tirl at the pin."

And with that something buzzed drowsily in his ears like a prisoned blue-bottle, and he fainted again.

Lucky it was for Wat Gordon that Sir Robert Hamilton did not command the regiment, and that the dead Cleland had instilled his humane principles into those under him. For the officers merely ordered their prisoner to be carried along with their own wounded to a convenient house in the town, and there to be warded till he should be well enough to be remitted to Edinburgh.

To this hospital Will Gordon came to see him often, and give him what heartening he might; but it was not till the seventh day, when Wat showed some promise of early recovery, that Will, with a mighty serious face, showed him a trinket in the palm of his hand.

"Ken ye that?" he asked.

"'Tis Kate's token that she was to send me if she needed me. Where got ye it, Will?"

And even as he spoke these words Wat was half out of bed in his eagerness; but Will took him in his arms with gentle firmness and pressed him back upon the pillow.

"Bide a wee," he said; "ye will do no good that way. Ye are far too weak to travel, and there is a strong guard at the door. Listen! I got the gold heart from Kate herself, and she bade me tell you that if ye could not come to her by the tenth day of September, ye would never need to come at all."

"What means that message, Will? Tell me truly," said Wat, white to the lips, yet sitting up calmly in spite of his deadly weakness and the curious singing drone in his ears.

"They have worked upon her to weariness, I think," said Will, a little sadly; "worked upon her with tales of your unfaithfulness, which, to do her justice, she would scorn to believe—told her that her father's very life depends upon the marriage, because of the old friendship and succor he had from Claverhouse; wearied her out, till the lass knows not which way to turn. And so she has consented to be wedded to my Lord Barra on the tenth of September. But, as Maisie judges, our Kate will die rather than marry any man she hates."

Wat leaped out of bed and began to dress himself.

"Let me go, Will—let me alone! Hands off! Do not touch me, or I will strike you on the face. Only ten days—and so far to go! But I will fight my way through. I am strong and well, I tell you—" And with that Will Gordon laid him back again upon the bed like a child.

"Wat," he said, "I am with you in this, since Kate loves you and Maisie bids me. (You have never asked of her welfare, but no matter.) I have gotten Jack Scarlett here by me in the town. We will arrange your escape and get you horses. But you must be a deal stronger than you are ere you are ready to travel, and at least you must abide here yet three days."

"Three days, Will; 'tis plainly impossible! I should die stark raving mad of the waiting and anxiety. Better let me go, Will, this very night."

And almost for very weariness and the sense of powerlessness in the grip of fate, Wat could have wept; but a thought and a resolve steadied him.

From that moment he began, as it were obediently, to talk of indifferent things; and Will humored him, well pleased that it should be so. Ere he departed, Will said, "I will bring Scarlett to your window to-night. Do you speak with him for a moment and let him go."

Wat smilingly promised, and went on to tell of his winter adventures among the clans, as if they were all he thought about.

"Good-night, and a sweet sleep to you, Wat, lad!" said Will Gordon. "In three days, I promise you, you shall ride forth, well mounted and equipped."

And so, smiling once more on his cousin, he went down the stair.

Then Wat Gordon laid his head on the pillow as obediently as a child.

But he only kept it there till his cousin was out of the room and he heard his footsteps die down the street. In a trice he was out of bed and trying all the fastenings of the windows of his room. He was alone in his dormitory, but on either side of him were rooms containing wounded men of the Cameronians, to whom night nurses came and went, so that it behooved him to be wary.

One of the windows was barred with iron outside, while the sash of the other was fixed and would not open at all.

Wat threw open the barred window as far as he could and shook the iron lattice. It held firm against his feeble strength, but upon a more minute examination the stanchions seemed only to be set in plaster.

"That's better; but I wish Jack Scarlett would come!" murmured Wat, as he staggered back to his bed. He kissed his hand towards the South with something of his old air of gallant recklessness.

"On the tenth I shall be with you, dear love, to redeem my pledge, or else—"

But before his lips could frame the alternative he had fainted on the floor.

Scarlett came to Lochinvar's window when the night was darkest, a little before midnight.

"Wat," he cried, softly; "Wat Gordon!"

Wat was already at the lattice and promptly reached his hand out to his ancient comrade.

"Jack," he whispered, hoarsely, "for God's sake get me out of this hole! They would shut me up here for three days, till she is married to the devil Barra. And she has sent me the token—the heart of gold. I have it here. You mind it was to be the fiery cross betwixt us two? She is needing me and I must go. Break down the window bars, good Jack, and let me out."

"But your cousin says that you are not fit to travel, that you will never reach Galloway unless you have some rest before you go. Besides, it will take some time to purchase horses for the long journey—"

"I cannot wait, Jack," interrupted Wat, fiercely; "I shall die here in three days if I stay. How can I wait with the greedy talons of the monster drawing nearer to my lass? See, Jack, I have thirty guineas in my belt. I will leave twenty of them in any horse's stall in the stables. And, God knows! it is not the officers of the Cameronian regiment who have horses worth half so much. Try the bars, good Jack, and let me out."

Scarlett endeavored to reason with him, to dissuade him from the venture for that night at least.

"To-morrow, Lochinvar; only one night—we shall wait but to see what to-morrow brings."

"Scarlett, look you here," Wat said, earnestly, his face gleaming ghastly through the lattice in the steely glint of stars. "You know whether or not I am a man of my word. I have a dagger here—hid in the leather of my boot. Now if you do not help me to escape to-night, 'fore the Lord, Jack, I will let out my soul or the morning—and my blood will be on your head."

He leaned out till his agony-wet brow touched the bars. His fingers clutched and shook them in his desperation.

"Well," said Scarlett, half to himself, "I will e'en do it, since it must be so. But it will prove a sorry job for us all. 'Tis but taking the poor laddie's life in another way."

So, vanishing for a tale of minutes, which seemed hours to the pale, wounded, half-frenzied figure at the window, he returned with a "geleck" or iron crow-bar, with which he promptly started work on the lime and plaster of the stanchions. It was not long before he loosened one and then another. Once or twice he had to cower down in order to escape the lanterns of the patrol—for, unlike the clans, the Cameronians kept excellent watch; but in half an hour his task was completed.

"The Lord forgie me, laddie, for this!" he said, as he helped Wat out, and felt the palms of his hands burning hot, while his body was shaking with feverish cold. "Now help me to get a horse!" said Wat, as soon as they stood in safety under the ruined walls of the cathedral. "There are the stables of the officers' horses. Come, let us go over yonder."

"It's a rope's end at ony rate," said Scarlett; "old Jack has been at mony ploys, but he never was a horse-thief before!"

"How did we get away from the city of Amersfort, tell me, Jack?" said Wat, with a touch of his ancient humor, being pleased at getting his will.

"Ah, but then a woman did the stealing for love, as you do now. It is different with me, that have no love to steal for—or to die for, either," he added, sadly.

Wat put his hand affectionately on the shoulder of the old free-lance.

"Even so do you steal, old bear," he said, gently patting him; "you do it for love of me."

"I declare," quoth Scarlett, with relief in his voice, "I believe I do. Guid kens what there is aboot ye, laddie, that makes both lassies and auld grizzle-pates run their heads into holes and their necks into tow-ropes for the love o' ye!"

The stables had been left completely unguarded, for it was the officers' boast that they desired not any greater safety than their men. Cleland, indeed, had once ordered all the officers' horses to be brought out and shot, just because some of the soldiers complained that the officers had a greater chance of escape than they.

Since that time the horses had been permitted to remain in the not too zealous care of the grooms, who fulfilled their duty by sleeping in the town at a distance from their charges.

Even the very stable door was unlocked, and as they opened it the horses were heard restlessly moving within.

"Any of Keppoch's gay lads might make a haul very easily this nicht," said Scarlett, as they entered. "I saw Keppoch and many another pretty fighter get his bellyful over there by the walls the other day," said Wat, grimly, as he proceeded coolly to make his selection by the sense of touch alone.

When he had done this, Scarlett and he saddled the chosen beast and led him out, having previously tied stable rags over his iron-shod feet to keep them from clanking on the pavement. Making a detour, they soon gained the river, which they skirted cautiously till they were a mile from the town. Then Wat mounted without the assistance of his companion.

"God help ye, laddie; ye will never win near your lass, I fear me. But ye can try. And that is aye the best o't in this world. That it is for us mortals to do the trying, and for God to finish ilka job to His ain liking."

With which sage reflection he gave Wat his sword, his pistols and ammunition, together with some bread for the journey—looking at which last, Wat felt that he could as soon eat his horse's tail.

"Hae!" said the master-at-arms, "ye will be the better o' that or ye come to the end o' the Lang Wood. I have plenty more by me."

Wat laughed.

"You cannot deceive a desperate man," he said, "nor yet lie to him. Well do I know that this is every bite you have in the world."

"Listen, Wat," said the free-lance. "I have found me a decent woman that has ta'en a liking to me, and she has ta'en me in. I'm weel provided for. Tak' them, laddie, tak' them. Ye will need them mair nor me."

Saying which Scarlett started promptly on the back track to the town, crying as he went: "God speed ye, laddie; I'll never set een on ye mair!"

So with a sob in his throat and a feeling as if he were riding on empty air, Wat Gordon turned the head of the officer's charger (by a strange and fitting chance it was his cousin Will's), and set his chest to the current of the river, at the place where the tracks on the shoaling gravel and the chuckling of the shallow river over its pebbles indicated a ford.

So our true hero, ill, fevered, desperate, in the stark grip with death, started on his almost impossible quest—without an idea or a plan save that he must ride into the blank midnight to save his love, or die for her.