"Winnocks are no lucky wi' me," was his first reflection when he was in the open air; his next was upon the probable fate of his master. "They'll kill him, the murdering loons, and think they're doing a gude turn; but I'se tak the road back for Hamilton, and see if I canna get some o' our ain folk to bring help in time of needcessity."
So saying, Cuddie hastened to the stable, and, taking the best horse he could find instead of his own tired animal, he galloped off in the direction he proposed. The noise of his horse's tread alarmed for an instant the devotion of the fanatics. As it died in the distance, Macbriar brought his exercise to a conclusion, and his audience raised themselves from the stooping posture, and louring downward look with which they had listened to it, and all fixed their eyes sternly on Henry Morton.
"You bend strange countenances on me, gentlemen," said he, addressing them.
