We had been warned when we retired to rest that it was most likely we should be wakened early in the morning by people coming down the stairs, and advised to take no notice of them, as no one would interfere with us or our belongings.  We were not surprised, therefore, when we were aroused early by heavy footsteps immediately over our heads, which we supposed were those of the landlord as he came down the stairs.  We had slept soundly, and, since there was little chance of any further slumber, we decided to get up and look round, the village before breakfast.  We had to use the parlour as a dressing-room, and not knowing who might be coming down the stairs next, we dressed ourselves as quickly as possible.  We found that the village was called Lilliesleaf, which we thought a pretty name, though we were informed it had been spelt in twenty-seven different ways, while the stream we came to in the night was known by the incongruous name of Ale Water.  The lodge we had gone back to for information as to the means of crossing was the East Gate guarding one of the entrances to Riddell, a very ancient place where Sir Walter Scott had recorded the unearthing of two graves of special interest, one containing an earthen pot filled with ashes and arms, and bearing the legible date of 729, and the other dated 936, filled with the bones of a man of gigantic size.

A local historian wrote of the Ale Water that “it is one thing to see it on a summer day when it can be crossed by the stepping-stones, and another when heavy rains have fallen in the autumn—­then it is a strong, deep current and carries branches and even trees on its surface, the ford at Riddell East Gate being impassable, and it is only then that we can appreciate the scene.”  It seemed a strange coincidence that we should be travelling on the same track but in the opposite direction as that pursued by William Deloraine, and that we should have crossed the Ale Water about a fortnight later in the year, as Sir Walter described him in his “Lay” as riding along the wooded path when “green hazels o’er his basnet nod,” which indicated the month of September.

Unchallenged, thence pass’d Deloraine,
To ancient Riddell’s fair domain,
Where Aill, from mountain freed,
Down from the lakes did raving come;
Each wave was crested with tawny foam,
Like the mane of a chestnut steed. 
In vain! no torrent, deep or broad. 
Might bar the bold moss-trooper’s road.

* * * * *

At the first plunge the horse sunk low,
And the water broke o’er the saddlebow;
Above the foaming tide, I ween,
Scarce half the charger’s neck was seen;
For he was barded from counter to tail,
And the rider was armed complete in mail;
Never heavier man and horse
Stemm’d a midnight torrent’s force. 
The warrior’s very plume, I say
Was daggled by the dashing spray;
Yet, through good heart, and Our Ladye’s grace,
At length he gain’d the landing place.