was opened, but a rushing wind swept through the room. Her fire had
burned away, and she had neither lamp nor taper by her, but as she
started up in an agony of terror, the heavy logs in her wide chimney
fell of themselves, and lighting by the fall, sent forth a blaze into
the chamber. Almost frantic with fear, she seized with one hand the
curtains of her bed, and darting a look of horror, she saw, seated by
the hearth, a figure in martial array, without a head; it held its arms
out towards her, and slowly rose. The scream she tried to utter was
suffocated in her throat--she fell motionless; the last sight she saw
was an eagle's plume steeped in blood, cast at her feet by the advancing
spectre--the last sound she heard was the loud crash of every door in
the castle. When her maidens came to her in the morning, she was
extended in a swoon upon the floor. She lay for hours cold and
insensible, and they thought that she was gone for ever. After many
trials she came at last to herself, but she recovered only to hear the
true tale of the battle of Sheriff-muir.

The Chevalier de St. George and the Earl of Marr had fled the country;
many of their noble adherents had been fortunate enough to secure a
retreat with them to France; some had been pardoned; a few had been
taken in arms, and these few were executed; amongst them was the young
heir of M'Alister--_Inspector._

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SPIRIT OF THE PUBLIC JOURNALS