which Lord Derwentwater had ridden away to cast in his lot with Forster.

"Mistress! Mistress!" he cried, hurrying into the house, "has his
lordship come in? He's led his grey gelding into the stable the noo, and
niver a word wad he say to me or he gaed oot. An' I'm feared a's no weel
wi' him; he was lookin' sair fashed, an' kind o' white like."

"His lordship i' the inn? Guide us!" cried the landlady, snatching up a
tallow dip and hurrying into the unlit guest-room.

"Ye hae gotten back, my lord? And is a' weel wi' your lordship?
And--e-eh! what ails--?" she gasped, as a tall figure, seated in the
great oak chair by the smouldering fire, turned on her a face wan and
drawn, disfigured by bloody streaks across the cheek. Slowly, like a man
in pain, or one wearied to the extreme of exhaustion, the seated figure
rose, stood for a moment gazing at her, and then, ere the landlady could
collect her scattered wits, it had vanished. Vanished, too, was the grey
horse that the groom had seen brought into the stable; and, what was
more, the bedding in the stall where the animal had stood was entirely
undisturbed, and showed no trace of any beast having been there.

It was long that night ere anybody slept within the walls of the old
inn, and broken was their sleep. None doubted but that the Earl was
killed, or if not killed, at least soon to die; and the news of Preston,
when it came, was to those faithful friends no news, only confirmation
of their fears. None, after that, dared hope; they knew that he must
die. And the 24th of February 1716 saw a countryside plunged in grief,
for that day fell on the scaffold the head of one whom everybody loved,
who was every man's friend, who never turned empty away those who went
to him seeking help.