CHAPTER VII.
Now, Billy Berwick, keep good heart, And of they talking let me be; But if thou art a man, as I am sure thou art, Come over the dike and fight with me.
Old Ballad.
THE Master of Ravenswood had mounted the ambling hackney which he before rode, on finding the accident which had happened to his led horse, and, for the animal's ease, was proceeding at a slow pace from the Tod's Den towards his old tower of Wolf's Crag, when he heard the galloping of a horse behind him, and, looking back, perceived that he was pursued by young Bucklaw, who had been delayed a few minutes in the pursuit by the irresistable temptation of giving the hostler at the Tod's Den some recipe for treating the lame horse.

This brief delay he had made up by hard galloping, and now overtook the Master where the road traversed a waste moor.

"Halt, sir," cried Bucklaw; "I am no political agent--no Captain Craigengelt, whose life is too important to be hazarded in defence of his honour.

I am Frank Hayston of Bucklaw, and no man injures me by word, deed, sign, or look, but he must render me an account of it." "This is all very well, Mr.Hayston of Bucklaw," replied the Master of Ravenswood, in a tone the most calm and indifferent; "but I have no quarrel with you, and desire to have none.

Our roads homeward, as well as our roads through life, lie in different directions; there is no occasion for us crossing each other." "Is there not ?" said Bucklaw, impetuously.