"To take Polwarth at Redbraes," they said.

"Is it so?" said Home. "Then I'll go with you myself and be your guide.
But come your ways into the house and rest you a little, till I get
ready for the road."

Nothing loth, the troopers followed him, and were still contentedly
testing the quality of the contents of his big case-bottles when a groom
galloped off to Redbraes. Halyburton's message to Lady Home of Polwarth
was a brief one, for when she opened his envelope there was nothing
there to read--only a little feather fluttered out, giving as plainly
the advice to instant flight as pages of words might have done.

There was nothing for it but to take another into their secret. John
Allen, the grieve, was sent for, and fainted dead away when he heard
that his master was in the house instead of being in safety in foreign
lands, and that the dragoons were even then on his tracks. He, too, had
visions of a figure dangling from a gibbet, and of a head on the Nether
Bow--and small blame to him, worthy man.

It was then the darkening, and Allen's instructions were at once to tell
his fellow-servants that he had received orders to sell three horses at
Morpeth Fair, and to be off on the road without further delay.

Sir Patrick took farewell of his wife and of Grisell, climbed out of a
window, met the grieve near the stables, and was off in the darkness,
with as little noise as might be. It was a sorrowful parting, but when,
not long after he was gone, the dragoons rode up to Redbraes, Lady Home
and her daughter were glad indeed that he was away.