With the first gray peep of dawn, Halbert Glendinning arose and
hastened to dress himself, girded on his weapon, and took a cross-bow
in his hand, as if his usual sport had been his sole object. He groped
his way down the dark and winding staircase, and undid, with as little
noise as possible, the fastenings of the inner door, and of the
exterior iron grate. At length he stood free in the court-yard, and
looking up to the tower, saw a signal made with a handkerchief from
the window. Nothing doubting that it was his antagonist, he paused,
expecting him. But it was Mary Avenel, who glided like a spirit from
under the low and rugged portal.
Halbert was much surprised, and felt, he knew not why, like one caught
in the act of a meditated trespass. The presence of Mary Avenel had till
