Isabel sat by her bedside. All her strength was gone, and she lay at the
mercy of the rustle of a leaf, or a shadow across the window. Thus hour
after hour passed, till it was again twilight. "I hear footsteps coming up
the brae," said Agnes, who had for some time appeared to be slumbering;
and in a few moments the voice of Jacob Mayne was heard at the outer
door.

13. Jacob wore a solemn expression of countenance, and he seemed, from his
looks, to bring no comfort. Michael stood up between him and his wife, and
looked into his heart. Something there seemed to be in his face that was
not miserable. "If he has heard nothing of my child," thought Michael,
"this man must care little for his own fireside." "Oh, speak, speak," said
Agnes; "yet why need you speak? All this has been but a vain belief, and
Lucy is in heaven."

14. "Something like a trace of her has been discovered; a woman, with a
child that did not look like a child of hers, was last night at
Clovenford, and left it at the dawning." "Do you hear that, my beloved
Agnes?" said Isabel; "she will have tramped away with Lucy up into Ettrick
or Yarrow; but hundreds of eyes will have been upon her; for these are
quiet but not solitary glens; and the hunt will be over long before she
has crossed down upon Hawick. I knew that country in my young days, What
say you, Mr. Mayne? There is the light of hope in your face." "There is no
reason to doubt, ma'am, that it was Lucy. Everybody is sure of it. If it
was my own Rachel, I should have no fear as to seeing her this blessed
night."

15. Jacob Mayne now took a chair, and sat down, with even a smile upon his
countenance. "I may tell you now, that Watty Oliver knows it was your
child, for he saw her limping along after the gypsy at Galla-Brigg; but,