must be his chief weapon in the contest he was about to wage.

The friar made no comment upon Lamington's respectful arrangement, and taking the opposite side of the horse, strode forward with a rapidity which would scarcely have been expected from him if he had been judged by the gait of his first approach.

The guide presently struck off the road and entered a small glen, through which a burn whimpled with a clear sharp song, and sparkled like crystal as it leapt over the stones lying in its course, worn smooth by its constant flow, or formed into green balls by the moss which clothed them. The fir with its brown cones, the ash, the thorn, and the dwarf oak, flourished in the den, and imparted to it an appearance of luxuriant herbage that contrasted picturesquely with the bare-browed mountains which gazed in frowning grandeur down upon it from all sides.

Following the friar, Gordon crossed the burn and advanced towards the head of the glen. As he was still leading the horse, his progress was interfered with by the thick growth of the trees, and the guide consequently outpaced him. The glen was closed in, at the end they were approaching, by a steep hill, over which the burn leapt in a silvery line of spray, forming a miniature waterfall and a prism through which the sunlight was reflected in bright colours.

At this point the sides of the glen were also scarplike, and Gordon observed at once that it would be impossible to take his horse by that route to the height above.

He was perplexed for an instant, and gazed eagerly around, fancying that he must be near the end of his journey, and that Cochrane's party was probably lurking somewhere near, concealed from him by the intervening foliage.

The guide paused until his companion had reached his side; then pointing to the steepest part of the hill, which was covered with whins, he spoke

"We must ascend there."

He began immediately to make his way up through the brushwood without waiting reply.

"I must leave the horse here, then," said Lamington. "You can tie it to a branch; it will be safe enough," answered the friar, without looking back.

"Are those I seek near?" queried Gordon, subduing his voice, and of necessity following the suggestion made to secure his horse.

66

Very near. You will see them when you have crossed the hill yonder."

Lamington sprang up the brae after him, clearing his way and keeping his footing on the slope with the ease of one accustomed to such feats.

It did not occur to him that the point they were approaching might have been attained by another path, and without the necessity of leaving his horse behind him. Neither did he reflect that should emergency arise it would be almost impossible for him to lead the animal out of the thicket which now enclosed it, without the loss of much time and the expenditure of some trouble. His present object was to reconnoitre, not to attack. He had no reason to doubt the fidelity of his guide, and consequently he could not suspect that he had been purposely conducted in this direction in order to be deprived of the service of the horse, should it become necessary to attempt an escape from unequal foes.

But Stark, the hound, moved by some mysterious instinct, was suspicious of the whole proceeding from the first, and showed by every sign short of speech its anxiety to lead its present master away from the danger on which he was rushing blindfold. His distrust of the friar was marked from the beginning, and several times he caught the edge of Lamington's cloak, attempting to drag him back. But the knight would not attend to these mute signals of peril. He trusted to the man, and he failed to understand the hound, which seemed to be sensible from the moment they quitted the regular road that they were not following the track of the lady, in whose footsteps Stark had been directed by Will to lead the master.

Repeatedly Gordon bade the hound keep down, and the poor brute, submissive to every command, would slink back for a few minutes, and then renew its attempt to attract attention and to alter the course, but only to be again repulsed.

When Lamington quitted the horse and began to climb the steep brae, Stark uttered a low growl that was half a whine, and instantly leapt up to the top of the hill and

planted itself in the knight's path, as if to prevent him proceeding farther.

The friar, who had by this time gained the top, darted a quick angry glance at the dog and paused, after moving a few paces from the brow of the den. He watched with apparent eagerness for the appearance of Lamington, and, when the latter rose out of the glen and thrust the dog aside from his path, the friar's lips twitched, whilst a smile of satisfaction overspread his features.

At the moment an eagle swooped over the heads of the men, seemed to stoop toward them, and again rose into space. The shadow of the broad wings appeared to lower upon Lamington like an omen of coming evil.

But he neither observed the shadow, nor would have heeded it even had he perceived it, so intent was he upon the object of his journey.

The dog embarrassed him by leaping upon him and trying to drag him back, so that he spoke sharply; and Stark, hanging his tail between his legs, fell behind, but continued to watch the guide.

The friar, as soon as he saw his companion ready to follow him, moved westward into the wildest part of the Glenkens, and appeared so eager to push forward that he gave Lamington no time to ask questions.

The route they traversed was wild and picturesque; its solitudes were evidently rarely disturbed by human footsteps. Wild-fowl sprang from their nests, the fox scoured across their path, and the eagle, lord of the bird tribe, was startled from his eyry by the intrusion of man. Around them lay the dark dens and the wooded gullies of the Glenkens, with rivulets like threads of silver marking the hill-sides. Above them were the dark peaks of the mountains tipped with the sunlight, but still wearing a sombre brow, and rising like dumb giants keeping watch and ward over the romantic and solitary passes beneath.

"The course is longer than I bargained for," said Gordon, as he stalked beside his silent conductor.

The latter raised his hand, pointing to a narrow pass which they were approaching.

"The end of your journey lies yonder," he answered in a low tone, which seemed to obtain a peculiar significanc from the place and the speaker's manner.

The pass was formed by two jutting boulders of rock which seemed to have burst out of the hill-sides, and to have been abruptly arrested in their career toward each other by some sudden freak of nature. The space between them would barely have permitted three men to walk abreast, and the pass might have been kept by one stout man against fifty.

This narrow cleft made a natural portal to a scene of solemn grandeur. The pass opened upon an amphitheatre of hills, which formed the colossal frame of a plain of considerable extent. In the centre of the plain were seven huge boulders of rock, placed at regular intervals, and marking a perfect circle. The stones were so large that it was difficult to imagine how they could have been placed there by human effort-how they could have been carried across the mountains and placed in their respective positions with such mathematical accuracy.

That they could not have been placed thus by any eruption of nature was evident from the character of the foundation, and the fact that they were clearly not linked to the soil in any way. The regularity of their arrangement was also an argument that they had been placed there by artificial means. More marvellous still, a large centre rock was so nicely balanced on a partially rounded base that it could be moved to and fro by the touch of a man's hand, although the united strength of twenty men could not have shifted it from its position. This was known as the "rocking-stone," and several similar stones have been found in the Glenkens, to this day bearing testimony to the strange powers possessed by the ancient Druids.

The seven stones marking the ring was called the Druids' Circle; and their grim forms studding the plain combined with the grand silence of the hills to impart an atmosphere of mystery to the place.

Another peculiarity must be noted; outside the Druids' Circle, and indicating the cardinal points of the compass, four pits had been dug. A fifth pit had been made within the circle, near the rocking-stone; this one was half full of water when Lamington was led to the place.

The pits were of the kind which have become known as murder-holes, for the reason already explained that they were used by the barons, who had power of pit and gallows,

to punish malefactors summarily. The number of these holes spread over the district, and still visible, suggest that at one period there must have been a good deal of prompt justice or vengeance executed.

The place was known to Lamington, but at this moment its weird aspect affected him with an unaccountable sense of depression, and the total absence of any sign of Cochrane's party perplexed him exceedingly. He had expected to have been brought within view of those he sought the instant he emerged from the pass, and here was nothing but a solitary space with its silent guardians looking grimly on.

The friar advanced straight to the rocking-stone and there halted, wheeling round and facing his companion.

"We are at the end of our journey," he said, morosely. Lamington looked round hastily to assure himself again that there were none save themselves within the range of the Druids' Circle. Then, turning to his guide, sternly.

"How, sir? You promised to conduct me to the haltingplace of a party of Borderers, into whose hands an unhappy lady had been betrayed. If this be a trick to delay me in my course, it is one for which your hood will barely save you a whipping."

The friar deliberately removed his hood, and revealed the person of Richard Janfarie.

Lamington for a second was confounded by this transformation. The trick, of which he had been made so readily the dupe, was plain to him now; and the vain efforts of Stark to warn him of the deception recurred to him with bitter regret that he had been so blind-so obstinately blind -as to have refused all heed to the warning, when there might have been time to take advantage of it.

But regret was of no service, and he roused himself immediately to action.

"By the saints, Janfarie," he cried, angrily, "any other than you would have paid dearly for having duped me in

this fashion."

"I am ready to pay the forfeit-readier perhaps than any other might have been," Janfarie responded dourly; "therefore be at ease; your rage shall not lack a butt to strike at.'

"I cannot find that butt in you," said Gordon, troubled