The Laird's dead! aweel, death pays a' scores; he was a kind man ance.

The Sheriff's flitted, and I can keep canny in the bush; so there's no muckle hazard o' scouring the cramp-ring.

I would like to see bonny Ellangowan again or I die.' Brown meanwhile proceeded northward at a round pace along the moorish tract called the Waste of Cumberland.

He passed a solitary house, towards which the horseman who preceded him had apparently turned up, for his horse's tread was evident in that direction.

A little farther, he seemed to have returned again into the road.