CHAPTER XIX.
Craignacoheilg.
Sleep, the gentle sister of that awful power which shrouds man in its cold bosom, and bears him in still repose to the blissful wakefulness of eternal life--she, sweet restorer! wraps him in her balmy embraces, and extracting from his wearied limbs the effects of every toil, safely relinquishes the refreshed slumberer at morn to the new-born vigor that is her gift; to the gladsome breezes which call us forth to labor and enjoyment.
Such was the rest of the youthful Murray, till the shrill notes of a hundred bugles piercing his ear made him start.

He listened; they sounded again.

The morning had fully broke.

He sprung from his couch, hurried on his armor, and snatching up his lance and target, issued from the tower.

Several women were flying past the gate.