{"collection":"myth-cosmogony","full_text_available":true,"graph_url":"https://unchartedknowledge.5gfusion.net/v2/api/page/gutenberg_22656/graph","html_url":"https://unchartedknowledge.5gfusion.net/v2/page/gutenberg_22656","id":"gutenberg_22656","license":"Public Domain (US)","rights_basis":"gutenberg_metadata_copyright_false","source":"gutenberg","source_url":"https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/22656","summary":null,"tags":["Category: Adventure","Category: British Literature","Category: Children & Young Adult Reading","Category: Historical Novels","Category: Mythology, Legends & Folklore","Children's Myths, Fairy Tales, etc.","Scott, Walter, 1771-1832 -- Adaptations"],"text":"Produced by Suzanne Lybarger, Emille and the Booksmiths\nat http://www.eBookForge.net\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\nRED CAP TALES\n\n\n[Illustration: Red Cap among the Wizard's Treasures.]\n\n\nRED CAP TALES\n\nSTOLEN FROM THE TREASURE CHEST OF THE WIZARD OF THE NORTH\n\nWHICH THEFT IS HUMBLY ACKNOWLEDGED BY\n\nS. R. CROCKETT\n\n=New York= THE MACMILLAN COMPANY\n\nLONDON: ADAM AND CHARLES BLACK 1904\n\n\nCOPYRIGHT, 1904, BY THE MACMILLAN COMPANY.\n\nSet up and electrotyped. Published September, 1904.\n\n=Norwood Press=\nJ. S. Cushing & Co.--Berwick & Smith Co.\nNorwood, Mass., U.S.A.\n\n\n\n\n\nTHE WHY!\n\nFOUR CHILDREN WOULD NOT READ SCOTT\n\n\nSO I told them these stories--and others--to lure them to the printed\nbook, much as carrots are dangled before the nose of the reluctant\ndonkey. They are four average intelligent children enough, but they hold\nseverely modern views upon storybooks. _Waverley_, in especial, they\ncould not away with. They found themselves stuck upon the very\nthreshold.\n\nNow, since the first telling of these Red Cap Tales, the Scott shelf in\nthe library has been taken by storm and escalade. It is permanently\ngap-toothed all along the line. Also there are nightly skirmishes, even\nto the laying on of hands, as to who shall sleep with _Waverley_ under\nhis pillow.\n\nIt struck me that there must be many oldsters in the world who, for the\nsake of their own youth, would like the various Sweethearts who now\ninhabit their nurseries, to read Sir Walter with the same breathless\neagerness as they used to do--how many years agone? It is chiefly for\ntheir sakes that I have added several interludes, telling how\nSweetheart, Hugh John, Sir Toady Lion, and Maid Margaret received my\npetty larcenies from the full chest of the Wizard.\n\nAt any rate, Red Cap succeeded in one case--why should he not in\nanother? I claim no merit in the telling of the tales, save that, like\nmedicines well sugar-coated, the patients mistook them for candies\nand--asked for more.\n\nThe books are open. Any one can tell Scott's stories over again in his\nown way. This is mine.\n\n S. R. CROCKETT.\n\n\n\n\nCONTENTS\n\n\n CERTAIN SMALL PHARAOHS THAT KNEW NOT JOSEPH 1\n\nRED CAP TALES FROM \"WAVERLEY\"\n\n THE FIRST TALE:\n I. GOOD-BYE TO WAVERLEY-HONOUR 11\n II. THE ENCHANTED CASTLE 16\n III. THE BARON AND THE BEAR 21\n _THE FIRST INTERLUDE OF ACTION_ 28\n\n THE SECOND TALE:\n I. THE CATTLE-LIFTING 31\n II. THE ROBBER'S CAVE 35\n _THE SECOND INTERLUDE_ 41\n\n THE THIRD TALE:\n I. THE CHIEF OF THE MAC-IVORS AND THE CHIEF'S SISTER 46\n II. MISFORTUNES NEVER COME SINGLE 55\n _THE THIRD INTERLUDE--BEING MAINLY A FEW WORDS\n UPON HEROES_ 62\n\n THE FOURTH TALE:\n HERE AND THERE AMONG THE HEATHER 64\n _INTERLUDE OF STICKING-PLASTER_ 78\n\n THE FIFTH TALE:\n THE WHITE COCKADE 81\n\n THE SIXTH TALE:\n BLACK LOOKS AND BRIGHT SWORDS 94\n _INTERLUDE OF BREVITY_ 104\n\n THE LAST TALE:\n THE BARON'S SURPRISE 105\n\n\nRED CAP TALES FROM \"GUY MANNERING\"\n\n _WHERE WE TOLD THE SECOND TALE_ 123\n\n THE FIRST TALE:\n I. WITCHCRAFT AND WIZARDRY 124\n _INTERLUDE OF INTERROGATION_ 140\n\n THE SECOND TALE:\n I. HAPPY DOMINIE SAMPSON 143\n II. DANDIE DINMONT 150\n III. IN THE LION'S MOUTH 158\n _INTERLUDE OF LOCALITY_ 162\n\n THE THIRD TALE:\n THE RETURN OF DIRK HATTERAICK 166\n\n THE FOURTH TALE:\n THE FIGHT IN THE CAVE 185\n _INTERLUDE OF CONSULTATION_ 204\n\n\n RED CAP TALES FROM \"ROB ROY\"\n\n THE FIRST TALE:\n FRANK THE HIGHWAYMAN 211\n _INTERLUDE OF DISCUSSION_ 236\n\n THE SECOND TALE:\n I. IN THE TOILS OF RASHLEIGH 241\n II. ROB ROY AT LAST 254\n III. THE BAILIE FIGHTS WITH FIRE 267\n IV. THE DROWNING OF THE SPY 276\n _INTERLUDE OF EXPOSTULATION_ 284\n\n THE THIRD TALE:\n I. IN THE HANDS OF THE PHILISTINES 288\n II. THE ESCAPE 294\n III. THE DEATH OF RASHLEIGH 307\n\n\nRED CAP TALES FROM \"THE ANTIQUARY\"\n THE FIRST TALE:\n I. THE MYSTERIOUS MR. LOVEL 326\n II. THE NIGHT OF STORM 337\n _INTERLUDE OF WARNING_ 352\n\n THE SECOND TALE:\n I. LOVEL FIGHTS A DUEL 354\n II. THE SEEKERS OF TREASURE 370\n III. MISTICOT'S GRAVE 377\n _A QUITE SUPERFLUOUS INTERLUDE_ 389\n\n THE THIRD TALE:\n I. THE EARL'S SECRET 396\n II. THE MOTHER'S VENGEANCE 400\n III. THE HEIR OF GLENALLAN 408\n\n\n\n\nLIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS\n\nBY SIMON HARMON VEDDER\n\n 1 Red Cap among the Wizard's treasures _Frontispiece_\n\nWAVERLEY\n _Facing page_\n 2 In an instant his red cap was off and he was\n bowing and saluting . . . with . . . extravagant gestures 20\n 3 So fierce was the attack . . . made on Edward, that the\n young man was compelled to draw his pistol 66\n 4 Rose Bradwardine . . . watched him with a sigh on her lip\n and colour on her cheek 84\n 5 \"Vich Ian Vohr,\" it said in a dreadful voice, \"beware of\n to-morrow\" 102\n\nGUY MANNERING\n\n 6 \"Ride your ways, Laird of Ellangowan,\" she cried 136\n 7 He would stand there transfixed . . . till a serving-maid\n pulled his skirts to tell him dinner was waiting 150\n 8 He saw his late companion . . . engaged in deadly combat\n with a couple of rascals 154\n 9 Hazlewood snatched the gun from the servant and haughtily\n ordered Brown to stand back and not to alarm the lady 170\n\n\nROB ROY\n\n 10 He took the lantern . . . and holding it up, proceeded to\n examine the stern, set countenance of Frank's guide 256\n 11 The fight between Frank and Rashleigh 266\n 12 \"Stand!\" she cried, . . . \"and tell me what you seek in\n Macgregor's country\" 278\n 13 The girl's face, perhaps not altogether unintentionally,\n touched that of Frank Osbaldistone 300\n\n\nTHE ANTIQUARY\n\n 14 \"Turn back! Turn back!\" he cried 344\n 15 Dousterswivel flung himself on his knees 375\n 16 He lighted his beacon accordingly 410\n\n\n\n\n\nRED CAP TALES\n\n\n\n\nCERTAIN SMALL PHARAOHS THAT KNEW NOT JOSEPH\n\n\nIT was all Sweetheart's fault, and this is how it came about.\n\nShe and I were at Dryburgh Abbey, sitting quietly on a rustic seat, and\nlooking toward the aisle in which slept the Great Dead. The long\nexpected had happened, and we had made pilgrimage to our Mecca. Yet, in\nspite of the still beauty of the June day, I could see that a shadow lay\nupon our Sweetheart's brow.\n\n\"Oh, I know he was great,\" she burst out at last, \"and what you read me\nout of the _Life_ was nice. I like hearing about Sir Walter--but--\"\n\nI knew what was coming.\n\n\"But what?\" I said, looking severely at the ground, so that I might be\nable to harden my heart against the pathos of Sweetheart's expression.\n\n\"But--I can't read the novels--indeed I can't. I have tried _Waverley_\nat least twenty times. And as for _Rob Roy_--\"\n\nEven the multiplication table failed here, and at this, variously\na-sprawl on the turf beneath, the smaller fry giggled.\n\n\"Course,\" said Hugh John, who was engaged in eating grass like an ox,\n\"we know it is true about _Rob Roy_. She read us one whole volume, and\nthere wasn't no Rob Roy, nor any fighting in it. So we pelted her with\nfir-cones to make her stop and read over _Treasure Island_ to us\ninstead!\"\n\n\"Yes, though we had heard it twenty times already,\" commented Sir Toady\nLion, trying his hardest to pinch his brother's legs on the sly.\n\n\"Books wifout pictures is silly!\" said a certain Maid Margaret, a\ncompanion new to the honourable company, who was weaving daisy-chains,\nher legs crossed beneath her, Turk fashion. In literature she had got as\nfar as words of one syllable, and had a poor opinion even of them.\n\n\"_I_ had read all Scott's novels long before I was your age,\" I said\nreprovingly.\n\nThe children received this announcement with the cautious silence with\nwhich every rising generation listens to the experiences of its elders\nwhen retailed by way of odious comparison.\n\n\"Um-m!\" said Sir Toady, the licensed in speech; \"_we_ know all that. Oh,\nyes; and you didn't like fruit, and you liked medicine in a big spoon,\nand eating porridge and--\"\n\n\"Oh, we know--we know!\" cried all the others in chorus. Whereupon I\ninformed them what would have happened to us thirty years ago if we had\nventured to address our parents in such fashion. But Sweetheart, with\nthe gravity of her age upon her, endeavoured to raise the discussion to\nits proper level.\n\n\"Scott writes such a lot before you get at the story,\" she objected,\nknitting her brows; \"why couldn't he just have begun right away?\"\n\n\"With Squire Trelawney and Dr. Livesey drawing at their pipes in the\noak-pannelled dining room, and Black Dog outside the door, and Pew\ncoming tapping along the road with his stick!\" cried Hugh John, turning\noff a sketchy synopsis of his favourite situations in fiction.\n\n\"Now that's what I call a proper book!\" said Sir Toady, hastily rolling\nhimself out of the way of being kicked. (For with these unusual\nchildren, the smooth ordinary upper surfaces of life covered a constant\nsuccession of private wars and rumours of wars, which went on under the\ntable at meals, in the schoolroom, and even, it is whispered, in\nchurch.)\n\nAs for blithe Maid Margaret, she said nothing, for she was engaged in\ntesting the capacities of a green slope of turf for turning somersaults\nupon.\n\n\"In Sir Walter Scott's time,\" I resumed gravely, \"novels were not\nwritten for little girls--\"\n\n\"Then why did you give us Miss Edgeworth to read?\" said Sweetheart,\nquickly. But I went on without noticing the interruption, \"Now, if you\nlike, I will tell you some of Sir Walter's stories over again, and then\nI will mark in your own little edition the chapters you can read for\nyourselves.\"\n\nThe last clause quieted the joyous shout which the promise of a\nstory--any sort of a story--had called forth. An uncertain look crept\nover their faces, as if they scented afar off that abomination of\ndesolation--\"lessons in holiday time.\"\n\n\"_Must_ we read the chapters?\" said Hugh John, unhopefully.\n\n\"Tell us the stories, anyway, and leave it to our honour!\" suggested Sir\nToady Lion, with a twinkle in his eye.\n\n\"Is it a story--oh, don't begin wifout me!\" Maid Margaret called from\nbehind the trees, her sturdy five-year-old legs carrying her to the\nscene of action so fast that her hat fell off on the grass and she had\nto turn back for it.\n\n\"Well, I will tell you, if I can, the story of 'Waverley,'\" I said.\n\n\"Was he called after the pens?\" said Toady Lion the irreverent, but\nunder his breath. He was, however, promptly kicked into silence by his\npeers--seriously this time, for he who interferes with the telling of a\nstory is a \"Whelk,\"--which, for the moment, is the family word for\nwhatever is base, mean, unprofitable, and unworthy of being associated\nwith.\n\nBut first I told them about the writing of _Waverley_, and the hand at\nthe Edinburgh back window which wrote and wrote. Only that, but the\nstory as told by Lockhart had affected my imagination as a boy.\n\n\"Did you ever hear of the Unwearied Hand?\" I asked them.\n\n\"It sounds a nice title,\" said Sir Toady; \"had he only one?\"\n\n\"It was in the early summer weather of 1814,\" I began, \"after a dinner\nin a house in George Street, that a young man, sitting at the wine with\nhis companions, looked out of the window, and, turning pale, asked his\nnext neighbour to change seats with him.\n\n\"'There it is--at it again!' he said, with a thump of his fist on\nthetable that made the decanters jump, and clattered the glasses;\n'it has haunted me every night these three weeks. Just when I am\nlifting my glass I look through the window, and there it is at\nit--writing--writing--always writing!'\n\n\"So the young men, pressing about, looked eagerly, and lo! seen through\nthe back window of a house in a street built at right angles, they saw\nthe shape of a man's hand writing swiftly, steadily, on large quarto\npages. As soon as one was finished, it was added to a pile which grew\nand grew, rising, as it were, visibly before their eyes.\n\n\"'It goes on like that all the time, even after the candles are lit,'\nsaid the young man, 'and it makes me ashamed. I get no peace for it when\nI am not at my books. Why cannot the man do his work without making\nothers uncomfortable?'\n\n\"Perhaps some of the company may have thought it was not a man at all,\nbut some prisoned fairy tied to an endless task--Wizard Michael's\nfamiliar spirit, or Lord Soulis's imp Red Cap doing his master's bidding\nwith a goose-quill.\n\n\"But it was something much more wonderful than any of these. It was the\nhand of Walter Scott finishing _Waverley_, at the rate of a volume every\nten days!\"\n\n\"Why did he work so hard?\" demanded Hugh John, whom the appearance of\nfifty hands diligently writing would not have annoyed--no, not if they\nhad all worked like sewing-machines.\n\n\"Because,\" I answered, \"the man who wrote _Waverley_ was beginning to\nhave more need of money. He had bought land. He was involved in other\npeople's misfortunes. Besides, for a long time, he had been a great\npoet, and now of late there had arisen a greater.\"\n\n\"I know,\" cried Sweetheart, \"Lord Byron--but _I_ don't think he was.\"\n\n\"Anyway Fitzjames and Roderick Dhu is ripping!\" announced Hugh John,\nand, rising to his feet, he whistled shrill in imitation of the outlaw.\nIt was the time to take the affairs of children at the fulness of the\ntide.\n\n\"I think,\" I ventured, \"that you would like the story of _Waverley_ if I\nwere to tell it now. I know you will like _Rob Roy_. Which shall it be\nfirst?\"\n\nThen there were counter-cries of \"Waverley\" and \"Rob Roy\"--all the fury\nof a contested election. But Sweetheart, waiting till the brawlers were\nsomewhat breathed, indicated the final sense of the meeting by saying\nquietly, \"_Tell us the one the hand was writing!_\"\n\n\n\n\n\nRED CAP TALES\n\nTOLD FROM\n\nWAVERLEY\n\n\n\n\n\nTHE FIRST TALE FROM \"WAVERLEY\"[1]\n\n\nI. GOOD-BYE TO WAVERLEY-HONOUR\n\nON a certain Sunday evening, toward the middle of the eighteenth\ncentury, a young man stood practising the guards of the broadsword in\nthe library of an old English manor-house. The young man was Captain\nEdward Waverley, recently assigned to the command of a company in\nGardiner's regiment of dragoons, and his uncle was coming in to say a\nfew words to him before he set out to join the colours.\n\nBeing a soldier and a hero, Edward Waverley was naturally tall and\nhandsome, but, owing to the manner of his education, his uncle, an high\nJacobite of the old school, held that he was \"somewhat too bookish\" for\na proper man. He must therefore see a little of the world, asserted old\nSir Everard.\n\nHis Aunt Rachel had another reason for wishing him to leave\nWaverley-Honour. She had actually observed her Edward look too often\nacross at the Squire's pew in church! Now Aunt Rachel held it no wrong\nto look at Squire Stubbs's pew if only that pew had been empty. But it\nwas (oh, wickedness!) just when it contained the dear old-fashioned\nsprigged gown and the fresh pretty face of Miss Cecilia Stubbs, that\nAunt Rachel's nephew looked most often in that direction. In addition to\nwhich the old lady was sure she had observed \"that little Celie Stubbs\"\nglance over at her handsome Edward in a way that--well, when _she_ was\nyoung! And here the old lady bridled and tossed her head, and the words\nwhich her lips formed themselves to utter (though she was too ladylike\nto speak them) were obviously \"The Minx!\" Hence it was clear to the most\nsimple and unprejudiced that a greater distance had better be put\nbetween the Waverley loft and the Squire's pew--and that as soon as\npossible.\n\nEdward's uncle, Sir Everard, had wished him to travel abroad in company\nwith his tutor, a staunch Jacobite clergyman by the name of Mr.\nPembroke. But to this Edward's father, who was a member of the\ngovernment, unexpectedly refused his sanction. Now Sir Everard despised\nhis younger brother as a turncoat (and indeed something little better\nthan a spy), but he could not gainsay a father's authority, even though\nhe himself had brought the boy up to be his heir.\n\n\"I am willing that you should be a soldier,\" he said to Edward; \"your\nancestors have always been of that profession. Be brave like them, but\nnot rash. Remember you are the last of the Waverleys and the hope of\nthe house. Keep no company with gamblers, with rakes, or with Whigs. Do\nyour duty to God, to the Church of England, and--\" He was going to say\n\"to the King,\" when he remembered that by his father's wish Edward was\ngoing to fight the battles of King George. So the old Jacobite finished\noff rather lamely by repeating, \"to the Church of England and all\nconstituted authorities!\"\n\nThen the old man, not trusting himself to say more, broke off abruptly\nand went down to the stables to choose the horses which were to carry\nEdward to the north. Finally, he delivered into the hands of his nephew\nan important letter addressed as follows:--\n\n\"To Cosmo Comyne Bradwardine, Esquire of Bradwardine, at his principal\nmansion of Tully-Veolan in Perthshire, North Britain,--_These._--\"\n\nFor that was the dignified way in which men of rank directed their\nletters in those days.\n\nThe leave-taking of Mr. Pembroke, Edward's tutor, was even longer and\nmore solemn. And had Edward attended in the least to his moralisings, he\nmight have felt somewhat depressed. In conclusion, the good clergyman\npresented him with several pounds of foolscap, closely written over in\na neat hand.\n\n\"These,\" he said, handling the sheets reverently, \"are purposely written\nsmall that they may be convenient to keep by you in your saddle-bags.\nThey are my works--my unpublished works. They will teach you the real\nfundamental principles of the Church, principles concerning which, while\nyou have been my pupil, I have been under obligation never to speak to\nyou. But now as you read them, I doubt not but that the light will come\nupon you! At all events, I have cleared my conscience.\"\n\nEdward, in the quiet of his chamber, glanced at the heading of the\nfirst: _A Dissent from Dissenters or the Comprehension Confuted_. He\nfelt the weight and thickness of the manuscript, and promptly confuted\ntheir author by consigning the package to that particular corner of his\ntravelling trunk where he was least likely to come across it again.\n\nOn the other hand, his Aunt Rachel warned him with many head-shakings\nagainst the forwardness of the ladies whom he would meet with in\nScotland (where she had never been). Then, more practically, she put\ninto his hand a purse of broad gold pieces, and set on his finger a\nnoble diamond ring.\n\nAs for Miss Celie Stubbs, she came to the Waverley church on the last\nday before his departure, arrayed in all her best and newest clothes,\nmighty fine with hoops, patches, and silks everywhere. But Master\nEdward, who had his uniform on for the first time, his gold-laced hat\nbeside him on the cushion, his broadsword by his side, and his spurs on\nhis heels, hardly once looked at the Squire's pew. At which neglect\nlittle Celie pouted somewhat at the time, but since within six months\nshe was married to Jones, the steward's son at Waverley-Honour, with\nwhom she lived happy ever after, we may take it that her heart could not\nhave been very deeply touched by Edward's inconstancy.\n\n * * * * *\n\n[As a suitable first taste of the original I now read to my audience\nfrom a pocket _Waverley_, Chapter the Sixth, \"The Adieus of Waverley.\"\nIt was listened to on the whole with more interest than I had hoped for.\nIt was an encouraging beginning. But Sir Toady, always irrepressible,\ncalled out a little impatiently: \"That's enough about him. Now tell us\nwhat he _did!_\" And this is how I endeavoured to obey.]\n\n\n\nII. THE ENCHANTED CASTLE\n\nEdward Waverley found his regiment quartered at Dundee in Scotland, but,\nthe time being winter and the people of the neighbourhood not very fond\nof the \"red soldiers,\" he did not enjoy the soldiering life so much as\nhe had expected. So, as soon as the summer was fairly come, he asked\npermission to visit the Castle of Bradwardine, in order to pay his\nrespects to his uncle's friend.\n\nIt was noon of the second day after setting out when Edward Waverley\narrived at the village of Tully-Veolan to which he was bound. Never\nbefore had he seen such a place. For, at his uncle's house of\nWaverley-Honour, the houses of villagers, all white and neat, stood\nabout a village green, or lurked ancient and ivy-grown under the shade\nof great old park trees. But the turf-roofed hovels of Tully-Veolan,\nwith their low doors supported on either side by all too intimate piles\nof peat and rubbish, appeared to the young Englishman hardly fit for\nhuman beings to live in. Indeed, from the hordes of wretched curs which\nbarked after the heels of his horse, Edward might have supposed them\nmeant to serve as kennels--save, that is, for the ragged urchins who\nsprawled in the mud of the road and the old women who, distaff in hand,\ndashed out to rescue them from being trampled upon by Edward's charger.\n\nPassing gardens as full of nettles as of pot-herbs, and entering between\na couple of gate-posts, each crowned by the image of a rampant bear, the\nyoung soldier at last saw before him, at the end of an avenue, the steep\nroofs and crow-stepped gable ends of Bradwardine, half dwelling-house,\nhalf castle. Here Waverley dismounted, and, giving his horse to the\nsoldier-servant who had accompanied him, he entered a court in which no\nsound was to be heard save the plashing of a fountain. He saw the door\nof a tall old mansion before him. Going up he raised the knocker, and\ninstantly the echoes resounded through the empty house. But no one came\nto answer. The castle appeared uninhabited, the court a desert. Edward\nglanced about him, half expecting to be hailed by some ogre or giant, as\nadventurers used to be in the fairy tales he had read in childhood. But\ninstead he only saw all sorts of bears, big and little, climbing (as it\nseemed) on the roof, over the windows, and out upon the ends of the\ngables--while over the door at which he had been vainly knocking he read\nin antique lettering the motto, \"BEWAR THE BAR.\" But all these bruins\nwere of stone, and each one of them kept as still and silent as did\neverything else about this strange mansion--except, that is, the\nfountain, which, behind him in the court, kept up its noisy splashing.\n\nFeeling, somehow, vaguely uncomfortable, Edward Waverley crossed the\ncourt into a garden, green and pleasant, but to the full as solitary as\nthe castle court. Here again he found more bears, all sitting up in rows\non their haunches, on parapets and along terraces, as if engaged in\nlooking at the view. He wandered up and down, searching for some one to\nwhom to speak, and had almost made up his mind that he had found a real\nenchanted Castle of Silence, when in the distance he saw a figure\napproaching up one of the green walks. There was something uncouth and\nstrange about the way the newcomer kept waving his hands over his\nhead--then, for no apparent reason, flapping them across his breast like\na groom on a frosty day, hopping all the time first on one foot and then\non the other. Tiring of this way of getting over the ground, he would\nadvance by standing leaps, keeping both feet together. The only thing he\nseemed quite incapable of doing was to use his feet, one after the\nother, as ordinary people do when they are walking. Indeed, this strange\nguardian of the enchanted castle of Bradwardine looked like a gnome or\nfairy dwarf. For he was clad in an old-fashioned dress of grey, slashed\nwith scarlet. On his legs were scarlet stockings and on his head a\nscarlet cap, which in its turn was surmounted by a turkey's feather.\n\nHe came along dancing and singing in jerks and snatches, till, suddenly\nlooking up from the ground, he saw Edward. In an instant his red cap was\noff, and he was bowing and saluting, and again saluting and bowing,\nwith, if possible, still more extravagant gestures than before. Edward\nasked this curious creature if the Baron Bradwardine were at home, and\nwhat was his astonishment to be instantly answered in rhyme:\n\n \"The Knight's to the mountain\n His bugle to wind;\n The Lady's to greenwood\n Her garland to bind.\n The bower of Burd Ellen\n Has moss on the floor,\n That the step of Lord William,\n Be silent and sure.\"\n\nThis was impressive enough, surely; but, after all, it did not tell\nyoung Captain what he wanted to know. So he continued to question the\nstrange wight, and finally, after eliciting many unintelligible sounds,\nwas able to make out the single word \"butler.\"\n\n[Illustration: \"HE came along dancing and singing in jerks and snatches,\ntill, suddenly looking up from the ground, he saw Edward. In an instant\nhis red cap was off, and he was bowing and saluting, and again saluting\nand bowing, with, if possible, still more extravagant gestures than\nbefore.\"]\n\nPouncing upon this, Edward commanded the Unknown to lead him instantly\nto the butler.\n\nNothing loath, the fool danced and capered on in front, and, at a\nturning of the path, they found an old man, who seemed by his dress to\nbe half butler, half gardener, digging diligently among the flower beds.\nUpon seeing Captain Waverley, he let drop his spade, undid his green\napron, frowning all the time at Edward's guide for bringing his master's\nguest upon him without warning, to find him digging up the earth like a\ncommon labourer. But the Bradwardine butler had an explanation ready.\n\nHis Honour was with the folk, getting down the Black Hag (so he confided\nto Edward). The two gardener lads had been ordered to attend his Honour.\nSo in order to amuse himself, he, the majordomo of Bradwardine, had been\namusing himself with dressing Miss Rose's flower beds. It was but seldom\nthat he found time for such like, though personally he was very fond of\ngarden work.\n\n\"He cannot get it wrought in more than two days a week, at no rate\nwhatever!\" put in the scarecrow in the red cap and the turkey feather.\n\n\"Go instantly and find his Honour at the Black Hag,\" cried the majordomo\nof Bradwardine, wrathful at this interference, \"and tell him that there\nis a gentleman come from England waiting him at the Hall.\"\n\n\"Can this poor fellow deliver a letter?\" Edward asked doubtfully.\n\n\"With all fidelity, sir,\" said the butler, \"that is, to any one whom he\nrespects. After all, he is more knave than fool. We call the innocent\nDavie Dolittle, though his proper name is Davie Gellatley. But the truth\nis, that since my young mistress, Miss Rose Bradwardine, took a fancy to\ndress him up in fine clothes, the creature cannot be got to do a single\nhand's turn of work. But here comes Miss Rose herself. Glad will she be\nto welcome one of the name of Waverley to her father's house!\"\n\n\nIII. THE BARON AND THE BEAR\n\nRose Bradwardine was still quite young. Scarce did the tale of her\nyears number seventeen, but already she was noted over all the\ncountryside as a pretty girl, with a skin like snow, and hair that\nglistened like pale gold when the light fell upon it. Living so far from\nsociety, she was naturally not a little shy. But as soon as her first\nfeeling of bashfulness was over, Rose spoke freely and brightly. Edward\nand she, however, had but little time to be alone together. For it was\nnot long before the Baron of Bradwardine appeared, striding toward them\nas if he had possessed himself of the giant's seven-league boots.\nBradwardine was a tall, thin, soldierly man, who in his time had seen\nmuch of the world, and who under a hard and even stern exterior, hid a\nheart naturally warm.\n\nHe was much given to the singing of French songs and to making long and\nlearned Latin quotations. And indeed he quoted Latin, even with the\ntears standing in his eyes, as he first shook Edward by the hand and\nthen embraced him in the foreign fashion on both cheeks--all to express\nthe immense pleasure it was to receive in his house of Tully-Veolan \"a\nworthy scion of the old stock of Waverley-Honour.\"\n\nWhile Miss Rose ran off to make some changes in her dress, the Baron\nconducted Edward into a hall hung about with pikes and armour. Four or\nfive servants, in old-fashioned livery, received them with honour, the\nmajordomo at their head. The butler-gardener was not to be caught\nnapping a second time.\n\nBradwardine took Captain Waverley at once into an old dining room all\npanelled with black oak, round the walls of which hung pictures of\nformer chiefs of the line of Tully-Veolan. Somewhere out-of-doors a bell\nwas ringing to announce the arrival of other guests, and Edward observed\nwith some interest that the table was laid for six people. In such a\ndesolate country it seemed difficult to imagine where they would arrive\nfrom.\n\nUpon this point Edward soon received enlightenment. First, there was the\nLaird of Balmawhapple,--\"a discreet young gentleman,\" said the Baron,\n\"much given to field sports.\" Next came the Laird of Killancureit, who\ncultivated his own fields and cared for his own cattle--thereby (quoth\nthe Baron) showing the commonness of his origin. Added to these were a\n\"non-juring\" Episcopal minister--that is, one who had refused to take\nthe oaths of allegiance to King George's government, and, last of all,\nthe \"Baron-Bailie\" or land-steward of Bradwardine, one Mr. Macwheeble.\n\nThis last, to show his consciousness of his inferior position, seated\nhimself as far as possible from the table, and as often as he wanted to\neat, he bent himself nearly double over his plate, in the shape of a\nclasp-knife about to shut. When dinner was over, Rose and the clergyman\ndiscreetly retired, when, with a sign to the butler, the Baron of\nBradwardine produced out of a locked case a golden cup called the\nBlessed Bear of Bradwardine, in which first the host and then all the\ncompany pledged the health of the young English stranger. After a while,\nthe Baron and Edward set out to see their guests a certain distance on\ntheir way, going with them down the avenue to the village \"change-house\"\nor inn, where Balmawhapple and Killancureit had stabled their horses.\n\nEdward, being weary, would much rather have found himself in bed, but\nthis desertion of good company the Baron would noways allow. So under\nthe low cobwebbed roof of Lucky Macleary's kitchen the four gentlemen\nsat down to \"taste the sweets of the night.\" But it was not long before\nthe wine began to do its work in their heads. Each one of them, Edward\nexcepted, talked or sang without paying any attention to his fellows.\nFrom wine they fell to politics, when Balmawhapple proposed a toast\nwhich was meant to put an affront upon the uniform Edward wore, and the\nKing in whose army he served.\n\n\"To the little gentleman in black velvet,\" cried the young Laird, \"he\nwho did such service in 1702, and may the white horse break his neck\nover a mound of his making!\"\n\nThe \"little gentleman in black velvet\" was the mole over whose hillock\nKing William's horse is said to have stumbled, while the \"white horse\"\nrepresented the house of Hanover.\n\nThough of a Jacobite family, Edward could not help taking offence at the\nobvious insult, but the Baron was before him. The quarrel was not his,\nhe assured him. The guest's quarrel was the host's--so long as he\nremained under his roof.\n\n\"Here,\" quoth the Baron, \"I am _in loco parentis_ to you, Captain\nWaverley. I am bound to see you scatheless. And as for you, Mr. Falconer\nof Balmawhapple, I warn you to let me see no more aberrations from the\npaths of good manners.\"\n\n\"And I tell you, Mr. Cosmo Comyne Bradwardine of Bradwardine and\nTully-Veolan,\" retorted the other, in huge disdain, \"that I will make a\nmuir cock of the man that refuses my toast, whether he be a crop-eared\nEnglish Whig wi' a black ribband at his lug, or ane wha deserts his\nfriends to claw favour wi' the rats of Hanover!\"\n\nIn an instant rapiers were out, and the Baron and Balmawhapple hard at\nit. The younger man was stout and active, but he was no match for the\nBaron at the sword-play. And the encounter would not have lasted long,\nhad not the landlady, Lucky Macleary, hearing the well-known clash of\nswords, come running in on them, crying that surely the gentlemen would\nnot bring dishonour on an honest widow-woman's house, when there was all\nthe lee land in the country to do their fighting upon.\n\nSo saying, she stopped the combat very effectually by flinging her plaid\nover the weapons of the adversaries.\n\n * * * * *\n\nNext morning Edward awoke late, and in no happy frame of mind. It was an\nage of duels, and with his first waking thoughts there came the memory\nof the insult which had been passed upon him by the Laird of\nBalmawhapple. His position as an officer and a Waverley left him no\nalternative but to send that sportsman a challenge. Upon descending, he\nfound Rose Bradwardine presiding at the breakfast table. She was alone,\nbut Edward felt in no mood for conversation, and sat gloomy, silent, and\nill-content with himself and with circumstances. Suddenly he saw the\nBaron and Balmawhapple pass the window arm in arm, and the next moment\nthe butler summoned him to speak with his master in another apartment.\n\nThere he found Balmawhapple, no little sulky and altogether silent, with\nthe Baron by his side. The latter in his capacity of mediator made\nEdward a full and complete apology for the events of the past\nevening--an apology which the young man gladly accepted along with the\nhand of the offender--somewhat stiffly given, it is true, owing to the\nnecessity of carrying his right arm in a sling--the result (as\nBalmawhapple afterwards assured Miss Rose) of a fall from his horse.\n\nIt was not till the morning of the second day that Edward learned the\nwhole history of this reconciliation, which had at first been so welcome\nto him. It was Daft Davie Gellatley, who, by the roguish singing of a\nballad, first roused his suspicions that something underlay\nBalmawhapple's professions of regret for his conduct.\n\n \"The young man will brawl at the evening board\n _Heard ye so merry the little birds sing?_\n But the old man will draw at the dawning the sword,\n _And the throstle-cock's head is under his wing._\"\n\nEdward could see by the sly looks of the Fool that he meant something\npersonal by this, so he plied the butler with questions, and discovered\nthat the Baron had actually fought Balmawhapple on the morning after the\ninsult, and wounded him in the sword-arm!\n\nHere, then, was the secret of the young Laird's unexpected submission\nand apology. As Davie Gellatley put it, Balmawhapple had been \"sent hame\nwi' his boots full o' bluid!\"\n\n\nTHE FIRST INTERLUDE OF ACTION\n\n The tale-telling had at this point to be broken\n off. Clouds began to spin themselves from Eildon\n top. Dinner also was in prospect, and, most of all,\n having heard so much of the tale, the four\n listeners desired to begin to \"play Waverley.\"\n\n Sweetheart made a stately, if skirted,\n Bradwardine. Besides, she was in _Caesar_, and\n had store of Latin quotations--mostly, it is true,\n from the examples in the grammar, such as \"_Illa\n incedit regina!_\" Certainly she walked like a\n queen. Or, as it might be expressed, more fittingly\n with the character of the Baron in the original:\n\n \"Stately stepped she east the wa',\n And stately stepped she west.\"\n\n Hugh John considered the hero's part in any story\n only his due. His only fault with that of Waverley\n was that so far he had done so little. He specially\n resented the terrible combat \"in the dawning\"\n between the Baron and the overbold Balmawhapple\n (played by Maid Margaret). Sir Toady Lion as low\n comedian (\"camelion\" he called it) performed\n numerous antics as Daft Davie Gellatley. He had\n dressed the part to perfection by putting his\n striped jersey on outside his coat, and sticking in\n his cricket cap such feathers as he could find.\n\n \"Lie down, Hugh John,\" he cried, in the middle of\n his dancing and singing round and round the\n combatants; \"why, you are asleep in bed!\"\n\n This, according to the authorities, being obvious,\n the baffled hero had to succumb, with the muttered\n reflection that \"Jim Hawkins wouldn't have had to\n stay asleep, when there was a fight like that going\n on!\"\n\n Still, however, Hugh John could not restrain the\n natural rights of criticism. He continually raised\n his head from his pillow of dried branches to watch\n Sweetheart and Maid Margaret.\n\n \"You fight just like girls,\" he cried indignantly;\n \"keep your left hand behind you, Bradwardine--or\n Balmawhapple will hack it off! I say--girls _are_\n silly things. You two are afraid of hurting each\n other. Now me and Toady Lion--\"\n\n And he gave details of a late fraternal combat much\n in the manner of Froissart.\n\n It is to be noted that thus far both Sweetheart and\n Maid Margaret disdained the female parts, the\n latter even going the length of saying that she\n preferred Celie Stubbs, the Squire's daughter at\n Waverley-Honour, to Rose Bradwardine. On being\n asked for an explanation of this heresy, she said,\n \"Well, at any rate, Celie Stubbs got a new hat to\n come to church in!\"\n\n * * * * *\n\n And though I read the \"Repentance and a\n Reconciliation\" chapter, which makes number Twelve\n of _Waverley_, to the combatants, I was conscious\n that I must hasten on to scenes more exciting if I\n meant to retain the attention of my small but\n exacting audience. Furthermore, it was beginning to\n rain. So, hurriedly breaking off the tale, we drove\n back to Melrose across the green holms of St.\n Boswells.\n\n It was after the hour of tea, and the crowd of\n visitors had ebbed away from the precincts of the\n Abbey before the tale was resumed. A flat \"throuch\"\n stone sustained the narrator, while the four\n disposed themselves on the sunny grass, in the\n various attitudes of severe inattention which youth\n assumes when listening to a story. Sweetheart pored\n into the depths of a buttercup. Hugh John scratched\n the freestone of a half-buried tomb with a nail\n till told to stop. Sir Toady Lion, having a\n \"pinch-bug\" coralled in his palms, sat regarding it\n cautiously between his thumbs. Only Maid Margaret,\n her dimpled chin on her knuckles, sat looking\n upward in rapt attention. For her there was no joy\n like that of a story. Only, she was too young to\n mind letting the tale-teller know it. That made the\n difference.\n\n Above our heads the beautiful ruin mounted, now all\n red gold in the lights, and purple in the shadows,\n while round and round, and through and through,\n from highest tower to lowest arch, the swifts\n shrieked and swooped.\n\n\nTHE SECOND TALE FROM \"WAVERLEY\"\n\n\nI. THE CATTLE-LIFTING\n\nNEXT morning (I continued, looking up for inspiration to the pinnacles\nof Melrose, cut against the clear sky of evening, as sharply as when\n\"John Morow, master mason,\" looked upon his finished work and found it\nvery good)--next morning, as Captain Edward Waverley was setting out for\nhis morning walk, he found the castle of Bradwardine by no means the\nenchanted palace of silence he had first discovered. Milkmaids,\nbare-legged and wild-haired, ran about distractedly with pails and\nthree-legged stools in their hands, crying, \"Lord, guide us!\" and \"Eh,\nsirs!\"\n\nBailie Macwheeble, mounted on his dumpy, round-barrelled pony, rode\nhither and thither with half the ragged rascals of the neighbourhood\nclattering after him. The Baron paced the terrace, every moment glancing\nangrily up at the Highland hills from under his bushy grey eyebrows.\n\nFrom the byre-lasses and the Bailie, Edward could obtain no satisfactory\nexplanation of the disturbance. He judged it wiser not to seek it from\nthe angry Baron.\n\nWithin-doors, however, he found Rose, who, though troubled and anxious,\nreplied to his questions readily enough.\n\n\"There has been a 'creach,' that is, a raid of cattle-stealers from out\nof the Highland hills,\" she told him, hardly able to keep back her\ntears--not, she explained, because of the lost cattle, but because she\nfeared that the anger of her father might end in the slaying of some of\nthe Caterans, and in a blood-feud which would last as long as they or\nany of their family lived.\n\n\"And all because my father is too proud to pay blackmail to Vich Ian\nVohr!\" she added.\n\n\"Is the gentleman with that curious name,\" said Edward, \"a local robber\nor a thief-taker?\"\n\n\"Oh, no,\" Rose laughed outright at his southern ignorance, \"he is a\ngreat Highland chief and a very handsome man. Ah, if only my father\nwould be friends with Fergus Mac-Ivor, then Tully-Veolan would once\nagain be a safe and happy home. He and my father quarrelled at a county\nmeeting about who should take the first place. In his heat he told my\nfather that he was under his banner and paid him tribute. But it was\nBailie Macwheeble who had paid the money without my father's knowledge.\nAnd since then he and Vich Ian Vohr have not been friends.\"\n\n\"But what is blackmail?\" Edward asked in astonishment. For he thought\nthat such things had been done away with long ago. All this was just\nlike reading an old black-letter book in his uncle's library.\n\n\"It is money,\" Rose explained, \"which, if you live near the Highland\nborder, you must pay to the nearest powerful chief--such as Vich Ian\nVohr. And then, if your cattle are driven away, all you have to do is\njust to send him word and he will have them sent back, or others as good\nin their places. Oh, you do not know how dreadful to be at feud with a\nman like Fergus Mac-Ivor. I was only a girl of ten when my father and\nhis servants had a skirmish with a party of them, near our home-farm--so\nnear, indeed, that some of the windows of the house were broken by the\nbullets, and three of the Highland raiders were killed. I remember\nseeing them brought in and laid on the floor in the hall, each wrapped\nin his plaid. And next morning their wives and daughters came, clapping\ntheir hands and crying the _coronach_ and shrieking--and they carried\naway the dead bodies, with the pipes playing before them. Oh, I could\nnot sleep for weeks afterward, without starting up, thinking that I\nheard again these terrible cries.\"\n\nAll this seemed like a dream to Waverley--to hear this young gentle girl\nof seventeen talk familiarly of dark and bloody deeds, such as even he,\na grown man and a soldier, had only imagined--yet which she had seen\nwith her own eyes!\n\nBy dinner-time the Baron's mood had grown somewhat less stormy. He\nseemed for the moment to forget his wounded honour, and was even\noffering, as soon as the quarrel was made up, to provide Edward with\nintroductions to many powerful northern chiefs, when the door opened,\nand a Highlander in full costume was shown in by the butler.\n\n\"Welcome, Evan Dhu Maccombich!\" said the Baron, without rising, and\nspeaking in the manner of a prince receiving an embassy; \"what news from\nFergus Mac-Ivor Vich Ian Vohr?\"\n\nThe ambassador delivered a courteous greeting from the Highland chief.\n\"Fergus Mac-Ivor (he said) was sorry for the cloud that hung between him\nand his ancient friend. He hoped that the Baron would be sorry too--and\nthat he should say so. More than this he did not ask.\"\n\nThis the Baron readily did, drinking to the health of the chief of the\nMac-Ivors, while Evan Maccombich in turn drank prosperity to the house\nof Bradwardine.\n\n\nII. THE ROBBER'S CAVE\n\nThen these high matters being finished, the Highlander retired with\nBailie Macwheeble, doubtless to arrange with him concerning the arrears\nof blackmail. But of that the Baron was supposed to know nothing. This\ndone, the Highlander began to ask all about the party which had driven\noff the cattle, their appearance, whence they had come, and in what\nplace they had last been seen. Edward was much interested by the man's\nshrewd questions and the quickness with which he arrived at his\nconclusions. While on his part Evan Dhu was so flattered by the evident\ninterest of the young Englishman, that he invited him to \"take a walk\nwith him into the mountains in search of the cattle,\" promising him that\nif the matter turned out as he expected, he would take Edward to such a\nplace as he had never seen before and might never have a chance of\nseeing again.\n\nWaverley accepted with eager joy, and though Rose Bradwardine turned\npale at the idea, the Baron, who loved boldness in the young, encouraged\nthe adventure. He gave Edward a young gamekeeper to carry his pack and\nto be his attendant, so that he might make the journey with fitting\ndignity.\n\nThrough a great pass, full of rugged rocks and seamed with roaring\ntorrents--indeed, the very pass of Bally-Brough in which the reivers had\nlast been spied--across weary and dangerous morasses, where Edward had\nperforce to spring from tuft to tussock of coarse grass, Evan Dhu led\nour hero into the depths of the wild Highland country,--where no Saxon\nfoot trod or dared to tread without the leave of Vich Ian Vohr, as the\nchief's foster-brother took occasion to inform Edward more than once.\n\nBy this time night was coming on, and Edward's attendant was sent off\nwith one of Evan Dhu's men, that they might find a place to sleep in,\nwhile Evan himself pushed forward to warn the supposed cattle-stealer,\none Donald Bean Lean, of the party's near approach. For, as Evan Dhu\nsaid, the Cateran might very naturally be startled by the sudden\nappearance of a _sidier roy_--or red soldier--in the very place of his\nmost secret retreat.\n\nEdward was thus left alone with the single remaining Highlander, from\nwhom, however, he could obtain no further information as to his\njourney's end--save that, as the Sassenach was somewhat tired, Donald\nBean might possibly send the _currach_ for him.\n\nEdward wished much to know whether the _currach_ was a horse, a cart, or\na chaise. But in spite of all his efforts, he could get no more out of\nthe man with the Lochaber axe than the words repeated over and over\nagain, \"_Aich aye, ta currach! Aich aye, ta currach!_\"\n\nHowever, after stumbling on a little farther, they came out on the\nshores of a loch, and the guide, pointing through the darkness in the\ndirection of a little spark of light far away across the water, said,\n\"Yon's ta cove!\" Almost at the same moment the dash of oars was heard,\nand a shrill whistle came to their ears out of the darkness. This the\nHighlander answered, and a boat appeared in which Edward was soon\nseated, and on his way to the robber's cave.\n\nThe light, which at first had been no bigger than a rush-light, grew\nrapidly larger, glowing red (as it seemed) upon the very bosom of the\nlake. Cliffs began to rise above their heads, hiding the moon. And, as\nthe boat rapidly advanced, Edward could make out a great fire kindled on\nthe shore, into which dark mysterious figures were busily flinging pine\nbranches. The fire had been built on a narrow ledge at the opening of a\ngreat black cavern, into which an inlet of the loch seemed to advance.\nThe men rowed straight for this black entrance. Then, letting the boat\nrun on with shipped oars, the fire was soon passed and left behind, and\nthe cavern entered through a great rocky arch. At the foot of some\nnatural steps the boat stopped. The beacon brands which had served to\nguide them were thrown hissing into the water, and Edward found himself\nlifted out of the boat by brawny arms and carried almost bodily into the\ndepths of the cavern. Presently, however, he was allowed to walk, though\nstill guided on either side, when suddenly at a turn of the rock\npassage, the cave opened out, and Edward found the famous Cateran,\nDonald Bean Lean, and his whole establishment plain before his eyes.\n\nThe cavern was lit with pine torches, and about a charcoal fire five or\nsix Highlanders were seated, while in the dusk behind several others\nslumbered, wrapped in their plaids. In a large recess to one side were\nseen the carcasses of both sheep and cattle, hung by the heels as in a\nbutcher's shop, some of them all too evidently the spoils of the Baron\nof Bradwardine's flocks and herds.\n\nThe master of this strange dwelling came forward to welcome Edward,\nwhile Evan Dhu stood by his side to make the necessary introductions.\nEdward had expected to meet with a huge savage warrior in the captain of\nsuch banditti, but to his surprise he found Donald Bean Lean to be a\nlittle man, pale and insignificant in appearance, and not even Highland\nin dress. For at one time Donald had served in the French army. So now,\ninstead of receiving Edward in his national costume, he had put on an\nold blue-and-red foreign uniform, in which he made so strange a figure\nthat, though it was donned in his honour, his visitor had hard work to\nkeep from laughing. Nor was the freebooter's conversation more in accord\nwith his surroundings. He talked much of Edward's family and\nconnections, and especially of his uncle's Jacobite politics--on which\nlast account, he seemed inclined to welcome the young man with more\ncordiality than, as a soldier of King George, Edward felt to be his due.\nThe scene which followed was, however, better fitted to the time and\nplace.\n\nAt a half-savage feast Edward had the opportunity of tasting steaks\nfresh cut from some of the Baron's cattle, broiled on the coals before\nhis eyes, and washed down with draughts of Highland whiskey.\n\nYet in spite of the warmth of his welcome, there was something very\nsecret and unpleasant about the shifty cunning glance of this little\nrobber-chief, who seemed to know so much about the royal garrisons, and\neven about the men of Edward's own troop whom he had brought with him\nfrom Waverley-Honour.\n\nWhen at last they were left alone together, Evan Dhu having lain down in\nhis plaid, the little captain of cattle-lifters asked Captain Waverley\nin a very significant manner, \"if he had nothing particular to say to\nhim.\"\n\nEdward, a little startled at the tone in which the question was put,\nanswered that he had no other reason for coming to the cave but a desire\nto see so strange a dwelling-place.\n\nFor a moment Donald Bean Lean looked him full in the face, as if waiting\nfor something more, and then, with a nod full of meaning, he muttered:\n\"You might as well have confided in me. I am as worthy of trust as\neither the Baron of Bradwardine or Vich Ian Vohr! But you are equally\nwelcome to my house!\"\n\nHis heather bed, the flickering of the fire, the smoking torches, and\nthe movement of the wild outlaws going and coming about the cave, soon,\nhowever, diverted Waverley's thoughts from the mysterious words of his\nhost. His eyelids drew together, nor did he reopen them till the morning\nsun, reflected from the lake, was filling all the cave with a glimmering\ntwilight.\n\n\nTHE SECOND INTERLUDE\n\n As soon as this part of the tale was finished, the\n audience showed much greater eagerness to enter\n immediately upon the acting of Donald Bean Lean's\n cattle-raid, and its consequences, than it had\n previously displayed as to the doings of Edward\n Waverley.\n\n As Hugh John admitted, this was \"something like!\"\n The Abbey precincts were instantly filled with the\n mingled sounds characteristic of all well-conducted\n forays, and it was well indeed that the place was\n wholly deserted. For the lowings of the driven\n cattle, the shouts of the triumphant Highlanders,\n the deep rage of the Baron, stalking to and fro\n wrapped in his cloak on the Castle terrace, might\n well have astonished the crowd which in these\n summer days comes from the four corners of the\n world \"to view fair Melrose aright.\"\n\n It was not till the edge had worn off their first\n enthusiasm, that it became possible to collect them\n again in order to read \"The Hold of a Highland\n Robber,\" which makes Chapter Seventeenth of\n _Waverley_ itself. And the reading so fired the\n enthusiasm of Sweetheart that she asked for the\n book to take to bed with her. The boys were more\n practical, though equally enthusiastic.\n\n \"Wait till we get home,\" cried Hugh John, cracking\n his fingers and thumbs. \"I know a proper place for\n Donald Bean Lean's cave.\"\n\n \"And I,\" said Sir Toady Lion, \"will light a fire by\n the pond and toss the embers into the water. It\n will be jolly to hear 'em hiss, I tell you!\"\n\n \"But what,\" asked Maid Margaret, \"shall we do for\n the cattle and sheep that were hanging by the\n heels, when Edward went into Donald Bean Lean's\n cave?\"\n\n \"Why, we will hang _you_ up by the heels and cut\n slices off you!\" said Sir Toady, with frowning\n truculence.\n\n Whereat the little girl, a little solemnised, began\n to edge away from the dangerous neighbourhood of\n such a pair of young cannibals. Sweetheart\n reproached her brothers for inventing calumnies\n against their countrymen.\n\n \"Even the Highlanders were never so wicked,\" she\n objected; \"they did not eat one another.\"\n\n \"Well, anyway,\" retorted Sir Toady Lion, unabashed,\n \"Sawney Bean did. Perhaps he was a cousin of\n Donald's, though in the history it says that he\n came from East Lothian.\"\n\n \"Yes,\" cried Hugh John, \"and in an old book written\n in Latin it says (father read it to us) that one of\n his little girls was too young to be executed with\n the rest on the sands of Leith. So the King sent\n her to be brought up by kind people, where she was\n brought up without knowing anything of her father,\n the cannibal, and her mother, the cannibaless--\"\n\n \"Oh,\" cried Sweetheart, who knew what was coming,\n putting up her hands over her ears, \"please don't\n tell that dreadful story all over again.\"\n\n \"Father read it out of a book--so there!\" cried Sir\n Toady, implacably, \"go on, Hugh John!\"\n\n \"And so when this girl was about as big as\n Sweetheart, and, of course, could not remember her\n grandfather's nice cave or the larder where the\n arms and legs were hung up to dry in the smoke--\"\n\n \"Oh, you horrid boy!\" cried Sweetheart, not,\n however, removing herself out of ear-shot--because,\n after all, it was nice to shiver just a little.\n\n \"Oh, yes, and I have seen the cave,\" cried Sir\n Toady, \"it is on the shore near Ballantrae--a\n horrid place. Go on, Hugh John, tell about Sawney\n Bean's grandchild!\"\n\n \"Well, she grew up and up, playing with dolls just\n like other girls, till she was old enough to be\n sent out to service. And after she had been a while\n about the house to which she went, it was noticed\n that some of the babies in the neighbourhood began\n to go a-missing, and they found--\"\n\n \"I think she was a nursemaid!\" interrupted Sir\n Toady, dispassionately. \"That must have been it.\n The little wretches cried--_so she ate them!_\"\n\n \"Oh,\" cried Sweetheart, stopping her ears with her\n fingers, \"don't tell us what they found--I believe\n you made it all up, anyway.\"\n\n \"No, I didn't,\" cried Hugh John, shouting in her\n ear as if to a very deaf person, \"it was father who\n read it to us, out of a big book with fat black\n letters. So it must be true!\"\n\n Sir Toady was trying to drag away his sister's arms\n that she might have the benefit of details, when I\n appeared in the distance. Whereupon Hugh John, who\n felt his time growing limited, concluded thus, \"And\n when they were taking the girl away to hang her,\n the minister asked her why she had killed the\n babies, and she answered him, 'If people only knew\n how good babies were--especially little\n girls--_there would not be one left between Forth\n and Solway!_'\"\n\n Then quite unexpectedly Maid Margaret began to sob\n bitterly.\n\n \"They _shan't_ hang me up and eat me,\" she cried,\n running as hard as she could and flinging herself\n into my arms; \"Hugh John and Sir Toady say they\n will, as soon as we get home.\"\n\n Happily I had a light cane of a good vintage in my\n hand, and it did not take long to convince the pair\n of young scamps of the inconvenience of frightening\n their little sister. Sweetheart looked on\n approvingly as two forlorn young men were walked\n off to a supper, healthfully composed of plain\n bread and butter, and washed down by some nice cool\n water from the pump.\n\n \"I told you!\" she said, \"you wouldn't believe me.\"\n\n All the same she was tender-hearted enough to\n convey a platter of broken meats secretly up to\n their \"condemned cell,\" as I knew from finding the\n empty plate under their washstand in the morning.\n And as Maid Margaret was being carried off to be\n bathed and comforted, a Voice, passing their door,\n threatened additional pains and penalties to little\n boys who frightened their sisters.\n\n \"It was all in a book,\" said Hugh John, defending\n himself from under the bedclothes, \"father read it\n to us!\"\n\n \"We did it for her good,\" suggested Sir Toady.\n\n \"If I hear another word out of you--\" broke in the\n Voice; and then added, \"go to sleep this instant!\"\n\n The incident of the cave had long been forgotten\n and forgiven, before I could continue the story of\n Waverley in the cave of Donald Bean Lean. We sat\n once more \"in oor ain hoose at hame,\" or rather\n outside it, near a certain pleasant chalet in a\n wood, from which place you can see a brown and\n turbulent river running downward to the sea.\n\n\n\n\n\nTHE THIRD TALE FROM \"WAVERLEY\"\n\n\nI. THE CHIEF OF THE MAC-IVORS AND THE CHIEF'S SISTER\n\nWHEN Edward awoke next morning, he could not for a moment remember where\nhe was. The cave was deserted. Only the grey ashes of the fire, a few\ngnawed bones, and an empty keg remained to prove that he was still on\nthe scene of last night's feast. He went out into the sunlight. In a\nlittle natural harbour the boat was lying snugly moored. Farther out, on\na rocky spit, was the mark of last night's beacon-fire. Here Waverley\nhad to turn back. Cliffs shut him in on every side, and Edward was at a\nloss what to do, till he discovered, climbing perilously out in the rock\nabove the cave mouth, some slight steps or ledges. These he mounted with\ndifficulty, and, passing over the shoulder of the cliff, found himself\npresently on the shores of a loch about four miles long, surrounded on\nevery side by wild heathery mountains.\n\nIn the distance he could see a man fishing and a companion watching him.\nBy the Lochaber axe which the latter carried Edward recognised the\nfisher as Evan Dhu. On a stretch of sand under a birch tree, a girl was\nlaying out a breakfast of milk, eggs, barley bread, fresh butter, and\nhoneycomb. She was singing blithely, yet she must have had to travel far\nthat morning to collect such dainties in so desolate a region.\n\nThis proved to be Alice, the daughter of Donald Bean Lean, and it is\nnothing to her discredit that she had made herself as pretty as she\ncould, that she might attend upon the handsome young Englishman. All\ncommunication, however, had to be by smiles and signs, for Alice spoke\nno English. Nevertheless she set out her dainties with right good-will,\nand then seated herself on a stone a little distance away to watch for\nan opportunity of serving the young soldier.\n\nPresently Evan Dhu came up with his catch, a fine salmon-trout, and soon\nslices of the fish were broiling on the wood embers. After breakfast,\nAlice gathered what was left into a wicker basket, and, flinging her\nplaid about her, presented her cheek to Edward for \"the stranger's\nkiss.\" Evan Dhu made haste to secure a similar privilege, but Alice\nsprang lightly up the bank out of his reach, and with an arch wave of\nher hand to Edward she disappeared.\n\nThen Evan Dhu led Edward back to the boat. The three men embarked, and\nafter emerging from the mouth of the cavern, a clumsy sail was hoisted,\nand they bore away up the lake--Evan Dhu all the time loud in the\npraises of Alice Bean Lean.\n\nEdward said that it was a pity that such a maiden should be the daughter\nof a common thief. But this Evan hotly denied. According to Evan, Donald\nBean Lean, though indeed no reputable character, was far from being a\nthief. A thief was one who stole a cow from a poor cotter, but he who\nlifted a drove from a Sassenach laird was \"a gentleman drover.\"\n\n\"But he would be hanged, all the same, if he were caught!\" objected\nEdward. \"I do not see the difference.\"\n\n\"To be sure, he would _die for the law_, as many a pretty man has done\nbefore him,\" cried Evan. \"And a better death than to die, lying on damp\nstraw in yonder cave like a mangy tyke!\"\n\n\"And what,\" Edward suggested, \"would become of pretty Alice then?\"\n\n\"Alice is both canny and fendy,\" said the bold Evan Dhu, with a cock of\nhis bonnet, \"and I ken nocht to hinder me to marry her mysel'!\"\n\nEdward laughed and applauded the Highlander's spirit, but asked also as\nto the fate of the Baron of Bradwardine's cattle.\n\n\"By this time,\" said Evan, \"I warrant they are safe in the pass of\nBally-Brough and on their road back to Tully-Veolan. And that is more\nthan a regiment of King George's red soldiers could have brought about!\"\n\nEvan Dhu had indeed some reason to be proud.\n\nReassured as to this, Edward accompanied his guide with more confidence\ntoward the castle of Vich Ian Vohr. The \"five miles Scots\" seemed to\nstretch themselves out indefinitely, but at last the figure of a hunter,\nequipped with gun, dogs, and a single attendant, was seen far across the\nheath.\n\n\"_Shogh_,\" said the man with the Lochaber axe, \"tat's the Chief!\"\n\nEvan Dhu, who had boasted of his master's great retinue, denied it\nfiercely.\n\n\"The Chief,\" he said, \"would not come out with never a soul with him but\nCallum Beg, to meet with an English gentleman.\"\n\nBut in spite of this prophecy, the Chief of Clan Ivor it was. Fergus\nMac-Ivor, whom his people called Vich Ian Vohr, was a young man of much\ngrace and dignity, educated in France, and of a strong, secret, and\nturbulent character, which by policy he hid for the most part under an\nappearance of courtesy and kindness. He had long been mustering his clan\nin secret, in order once more to take a leading part in another attempt\nto dethrone King George, and to set on the throne of Britain either the\nChevalier St. George or his son Prince Charles.\n\nWhen Waverley and the Chief approached the castle--a stern and rugged\npile, surrounded by walls, they found a large body of armed Highlanders\ndrawn up before the gate.\n\n\"These,\" said Vich Ian Vohr, carelessly, \"are a part of the clan whom I\nordered out, to see that they were in a fit state to defend the country\nin such troublous times. Would Captain Waverley care to see them go\nthrough part of their exercise?\"\n\nThereupon the men, after showing their dexterity at drill, and their\nfine target-shooting, divided into two parties, and went through the\nincidents of a battle--the charge, the combat, the flight, and the\nheadlong pursuit--all to the sound of the great warpipes.\n\nEdward asked why, with so large a force, the Chief did not at once put\ndown such robber bands as that of Donald Bean Lean.\n\n\"Because,\" said the Chief, bitterly, \"if I did, I should at once be\nsummoned to Stirling Castle to deliver up the few broadswords the\ngovernment has left us. I should gain little by that. But there is\ndinner,\" he added, as if anxious to change the subject, \"let me show you\nthe inside of my rude mansion.\"\n\nThe long and crowded dinner-table to which Edward sat down, told of the\nChief's immense hospitality. After the meal, healths were drunk, and the\nbard of the clan recited a wild and thrilling poem in Gaelic--of which,\nof course, Edward could not understand so much as one word, though it\nexcited the clansmen so that they sprang up in ecstasy, many of them\nwaving their arms about in sympathy with the warlike verses. The Chief,\nexactly in the ancient manner, presented a silver cup full of wine to\nthe minstrel. He was to drink the one and keep the other for himself.\n\nAfter a few more toasts, Vich Ian Vohr offered to take Waverley up to be\npresented to his sister. They found Flora Mac-Ivor in her parlour, a\nplain and bare chamber with a wide prospect from the windows. She had\nher brother's dark curling hair, dark eyes, and lofty expression, but\nher expression seemed sweeter, though not, perhaps, softer. She was,\nhowever, even more fiercely Jacobite than her brother, and her devotion\nto \"the King over the Water\" (as they called King James) was far more\nunselfish than that of Vich Ian Vohr. Flora Mac-Ivor had been educated\nin a French convent, yet now she gave herself heart and soul to the good\nof her wild Highland clan and to the service of him whom she looked on\nas the true King.\n\nShe was gracious to Edward, and at the request of Fergus, told him the\nmeaning of the war-song he had been listening to in the hall. She was,\nher brother said, famed for her translations from Gaelic into English,\nbut for the present she could not be persuaded to recite any of these to\nEdward.\n\nHe had better fortune, however, when, finding Flora Mac-Ivor in a wild\nspot by a waterfall, she sang him, to the accompaniment of a harp, a\nsong of great chiefs and their deeds which fired the soul of the young\nman. He could not help admiring--he almost began to love her from that\nmoment.\n\nAfter this reception, Edward continued very willingly at\nGlennaquoich--both because of his growing admiration for Flora, and\nbecause his curiosity increased every day as to this wild race, and the\nlife so different from all that he had hitherto known. Nothing occurred\nfor three weeks to disturb his pleasant dreams, save the chance\ndiscovery, made when he was writing a letter to the Baron, that he had\nsomehow lost his seal with the arms of Waverley, which he wore attached\nto his watch. Flora was inclined to blame Donald Bean Lean for the\ntheft, but the Chief scouted the idea. It was impossible, he said, when\nEdward was his guest, and, besides (he added slyly), Donald would never\nhave taken the seal and left the watch. Whereupon Edward borrowed Vich\nIan Vohr's seal, and, having despatched his letter, thought no more of\nthe matter.\n\nSoon afterwards, whilst Waverley still remained at Glennaquoich, there\nwas a great hunting of the stag, to which Fergus went with three hundred\nof his clan to meet some of the greatest Highland chiefs, his\nneighbours. He took Edward with him, and the numbers present amounted\nalmost to those of a formidable army. While the clansmen drove in the\ndeer, the chiefs sat on the heather in little groups and talked in low\ntones. During the _drive_, the main body of the deer, in their\ndesperation, charged right upon the place where the chief sportsmen\nwere waiting in ambush. The word was given for every one to fling\nhimself down on his face. Edward, not understanding the language,\nremained erect, and his life was only saved by the quickness of Vich Ian\nVohr, who seized him and flung him down, holding him there by main force\ntill the whole herd had rushed over them. When Edward tried to rise, he\nfound that he had severely sprained his ankle.\n\nHowever, among those present at the _drive_, there was found an old man,\nhalf-surgeon, half-conjurer, who applied hot fomentations, muttering all\nthe time of the operation such gibberish as _Gaspar-Melchior-Balthazar-max-prax-fax!_\n\nThus it happened that, to his great disappointment, Edward was unable to\naccompany the clansmen and their chiefs any farther. So Vich Ian Vohr\nhad Edward placed in a litter, woven of birch and hazel, and walked\nbeside this rude couch to the house of an old man, a smaller chieftain,\nwho, with only a few old vassals, lived a retired life at a place called\nTomanrait.\n\nHere he left Edward to recruit, promising to come back in a few days, in\nthe hope that by that time Edward would be able to ride a Highland pony\nin order to return to Glennaquoich.\n\nOn the sixth morning Fergus returned, and Edward gladly mounted to\naccompany him. As they approached the castle, he saw, with pleasure,\nFlora coming to meet them.\n\n\nII. MISFORTUNES NEVER COME SINGLE\n\nThe Chief's beautiful sister appeared very glad to see Edward, and, as\nher brother spoke a few hasty words to her in Gaelic, she suddenly\nclasped her hands, and, looking up to heaven, appeared to ask a blessing\nupon some enterprise. She then gave Edward some letters that had arrived\nfor him during his absence. It was perhaps as well that Edward took\nthese to his room to open, considering the amount of varied ill news\nthat he found in them.\n\nThe first was from his father, who had just been dismissed from his\nposition as King's minister, owing (as he put it) to the ingratitude of\nthe great--but really, as was proved afterwards, on account of some\npolitical plots which he had formed against his chief, the prime\nminister of the day.\n\nThen his generous uncle, Sir Everard, wrote that all differences were\nover between his brother and himself. He had espoused his quarrel, and\nhe directed Edward at once to send in the resignation of his commission\nto the War Office without any preliminaries, forbidding him longer to\nserve a government which had treated his father so badly.\n\nBut the letter which touched Edward most deeply was one from his\ncommanding officer at Dundee, which declared curtly that if he did not\nreport himself at the headquarters of the regiment within three days\nafter the date of writing, he would be obliged to take steps in the\nmatter which would be exceedingly disagreeable to Captain Waverley.\n\nEdward at once sat down and wrote to Colonel Gardiner that, as he had\nthus chosen to efface the remembrance of past civilities, there was\nnothing left to him but to resign his commission, which he did formally,\nand ended his letter by requesting his commanding officer to forward\nthis resignation to the proper quarter.\n\nNo little perplexed as to the meaning of all this, Edward was on his way\nto consult Fergus Mac-Ivor on the subject, when the latter advanced with\nan open newspaper in his hand.\n\n\"Do your letters,\" he asked, \"confirm this unpleasant news?\"\n\nAnd he held out the _Caledonian Mercury_, in which not only did he find\nhis father's disgrace chronicled, but on turning to the _Gazette_ he\nfound the words, \"Edward Waverley, Captain in the --th regiment of\ndragoons, superseded for absence without leave.\" The name of his\nsuccessor, one Captain Butler, followed immediately.\n\nOn looking at the date of Colonel Gardiner's missive as compared with\nthat of the _Gazette_, it was evident that his commanding officer had\ncarried out his threat to the letter. Yet it was not at all like him to\nhave done so. It was still more out of keeping with the constant\nkindness that he had shown to Edward. It was the young man's first idea,\nin accordance with the customs of the time, to send Colonel Gardiner a\nchallenge. But, upon Fergus Mac-Ivor's advice, Edward ultimately\ncontented himself with adding a postscript to his first letter, marking\nthe time at which he had received the first summons, and regretting that\nthe hastiness of his commander's action had prevented his anticipating\nit by sending in his resignation.\n\n\"That, if anything,\" said Fergus, \"will make this Calvinistic colonel\nblush for his injustice.\"\n\nBut it was not long before some part at least of the mystery was made\nplain. Fergus took advantage of Edward's natural anger at his unworthy\ntreatment, to reveal to him that a great rising was about to take place\nin the Highlands in favour of King James, and to urge him to cast in his\nlot with the clans. Flora, on the contrary, urged him to be careful and\ncautious, lest he should involve others to whom he owed everything, in a\ncommon danger with himself.\n\nEdward, whose fancy (if not whose heart) had gradually been turning more\nand more toward the beautiful and patriotic Flora, appeared less\ninterested in rebellion than in obtaining her brother's good-will and\nbespeaking his influence with his sister.\n\n\"Out upon you,\" cried Fergus, with pretended ill-humour, \"can you think\nof nothing but ladies at such a time? Besides, why come to me in such a\nmatter? Flora is up the glen. Go and ask herself. And Cupid go with you!\nBut do not forget that my lovely sister, like her loving brother, is apt\nto have a pretty strong will of her own!\"\n\nEdward's heart beat as he went up the rocky hillside to find Flora. She\nreceived and listened to him with kindness, but steadily refused to\ngrant him the least encouragement. All her thoughts, her hopes, her life\nitself, were set on the success of this one bold stroke for a crown.\nTill the rightful King was on his throne, she could not think of\nanything else. Love and marriage were not for such as Flora Mac-Ivor.\nEdward, in spite of the manifest good-will of the chief, had to be\ncontent with such cold comfort as he could extract from Flora's promise\nthat she would remember him in her prayers!\n\nNext morning Edward was awakened to the familiar sound of Daft Davie\nGellatley's voice singing below his window. For a moment he thought\nhimself back at Tully-Veolan. Davie was declaring loudly that\n\n \"_My heart's in the Highland, my heart is not here._\"\n\nThen, immediately changing to a less sentimental strain, he added with a\ncontemptuous accent:\n\n \"_There's nocht in the Highlands but syboes and leeks,_\n _And lang-leggit callants gaun wanting the breeks;_\n _Wanting the breeks, and without hose or shoon,_\n _But we'll a' win the breeks when King Jamie comes hame._\"\n\nEdward, eager to know what had brought the Bradwardine \"innocent\" so far\nfrom home, dressed hastily and went down. Davie, without stopping his\ndancing for a moment, came whirling past, and, as he went, thrust a\nletter into Waverley's hand. It proved to be from Rose Bradwardine, and\namong other things it contained the news that the Baron had gone away to\nthe north with a body of horsemen, while the red soldiers had been at\nTully-Veolan searching for her father and also asking after Edward\nhimself. Indeed they had carried off his servant prisoner, together with\neverything he had left at Tully-Veolan. Rose also warned him against the\ndanger of returning thither, and at the same time sent her compliments\nto Fergus and Flora. The last words in the letter were, \"_Is she not as\nhandsome and accomplished as I described her to be?_\"\n\nEdward was exceedingly perplexed. Knowing his innocence of all treason,\nhe could not imagine why he should be accused of it. He consulted\nFergus, who told him he would to a certainty be hanged or imprisoned if\nhe went south. Nevertheless, Edward persisted in \"running his hazard.\"\nThe Chief, though wishful to keep him, did not absolutely say him nay.\nFlora, instead of coming down to bid him good-bye, sent only excuses. So\naltogether it was in no happy frame of mind that Edward rode away to the\nsouth upon the Chief's horse, Brown Dermid, and with Callum Beg for an\nattendant in the guise of a Lowland groom.\n\nCallum warned his master against saying anything when they got to the\nfirst little Lowland town, either on the subject of the Highlands, or\nabout his master, Vich Ian Vohr.\n\n\"The people there are bitter Whigs, teil burst them!\" he said fiercely.\nAs they rode on they saw many people about the street, chiefly old women\nin tartan hoods and red cloaks, who seemed to cast up their hands in\nhorror at the sight of Waverley's horse. Edward asked the reason.\n\n\"Oh,\" said Callum Beg, \"it's either the muckle Sunday hersel', or the\nlittle government Sunday that they caa the Fast!\"\n\nIt proved to be the latter, and the innkeeper, a severe sly-looking man,\nreceived them with scanty welcome. Indeed, he only admitted them because\nhe remembered that it was in his power to fine them for the crime of\ntravelling on a Fast Day by an addition to the length of his reckoning\nnext morning.\n\nBut as soon as Edward announced his wish for a horse and guide to Perth,\nthe hypocritical landlord made ready to go with him in person. Callum\nBeg, excited by the golden guinea which Waverley gave him, offered to\nshow his gratitude by waiting a little distance along the road, and\n\"kittlin' the landlord's quarters wi' her skene-occle\"--or, in other\nwords, setting a dagger in his back. Apparently Vich Ian Vohr's page\nthought no more of such a deed than an ordinary English boy would have\nthought of stealing an apple out of an orchard.\n\n\nTHE THIRD INTERLUDE--BEING MAINLY A FEW WORDS UPON HEROES\n\n Among the listeners there was somewhat less\n inclination than before to act this part of the\n story. For one thing, the boys were righteously\n indignant at the idea of any true hero being in\n love--unless, indeed, he could carry off his bride\n from the deck of a pirate vessel, cutlass in hand,\n and noble words of daring on his lips.\n\n As for the girls, well--they knew that the bushes\n were dripping wet, and that if they set their feet\n upon their native heath, they would certainly be\n made to change their stockings as soon as they went\n home. This was a severe discourager of romance.\n There was nothing to prevent any one of them from\n asking questions, however. _That_ was a business in\n which they excelled.\n\n \"But why did the Highland people want to rebel,\n anyway?\" demanded Hugh John. \"If I could have\n hunted like that, and raided, and carried off\n cattle, and had a castle with pipes playing and\n hundreds of clansmen to drill, I shouldn't have\n been such a soft as to rebel and get them all taken\n away from me!\"\n\n \"It was because they were loyal to their rightful\n King,\" said Sweetheart, who is a Cavalier and a\n Jacobite--in the intervals of admiring Cromwell,\n and crying because they shot down the poor\n Covenanters.\n\n \"_I_ think,\" said Sir Toady, who had been sitting\n very thoughtful, \"that they just liked to fight,\n and King George would not let them. So they wanted\n a king who would not mind. Same as us, you know. If\n we are caught fighting in school, we get whipped,\n but father lets us fight outside as much as we want\n to. Besides, what did old Vich Ian Vohr want with\n all these silly Highlanders, eating up everything\n in his castle, if there were never any battles that\n they could fight for him?\"\n\n This was certainly a very strong and practical\n view, and so much impressed the others that they\n sat a long while quiet, turning it over in their\n minds.\n\n \"Well, at any rate,\" said Sweetheart, dropping her\n head with a sigh to go on with her seam, \"I know\n that Flora Mac-Ivor was truly patriotic. See how\n she refused to listen to Waverley, all because she\n wanted to give her life for the cause.\"\n\n \"Humph,\" said Hugh John, disrespectfully turning up\n his nose, \"that's all girls think about--loving,\n an' marrying, an' playing on harps--\"\n\n \"I don't play on harps,\" sighed Sweetheart, \"but I\n do wish I had a banjo!\"\n\n \"I wish I had a targe and a broadsword, and the\n Chief's horse, Brown Dermid, to ride on,\" said Hugh\n John, putting on his \"biggety\" look.\n\n \"And a nice figure you would cut,\" sneered Sir\n Toady Lion, provokingly; \"Highlanders don't fight\n on horseback! You ought to know that!\"\n\n Whereupon the first engagement of the campaign was\n immediately fought out on the carpet. And it was\n not till after the intervention of the Superior\n Power had restored quiet that the next tale from\n _Waverley_ could be proceeded with.\n\n\n\nTHE FOURTH TALE FROM \"WAVERLEY\"\n\n\nHERE AND THERE AMONG THE HEATHER\n\nNOT long after Callum Beg had been left behind, and indeed almost as\nsoon as the innkeeper and Edward were fairly on their way, the former\nsuddenly announced that his horse had fallen lame and that they must\nturn aside to a neighbouring smithy to have the matter attended to.\n\n\"And as it is the Fast Day, and the smith a religious man, it may cost\nyour Honour as muckle as sixpence a shoe!\" suggested the wily innkeeper,\nwatching Edward's face as he spoke.\n\nFor this announcement Edward cared nothing. He would gladly have paid a\nshilling a nail to be allowed to push forward on his journey with all\nspeed. Accordingly to the smithy of Cairnvreckan they went. The village\nwas in an uproar. The smith, a fierce-looking man, was busy hammering\n\"dogs' heads\" for musket-locks, while among the surrounding crowd the\nnames of great Highland chiefs--Clanronald, Glengarry, Lochiel, and that\nof Vich Ian Vohr himself, were being bandied from mouth to mouth.\n\nEdward soon found himself surrounded by an excited mob, in the midst of\nwhich the smith's wife, a wild witchlike woman, was dancing, every now\nand then casting her child up in the air as high as her arms would\nreach, singing all the while, and trying to anger the crowd, and\nespecially to infuriate her husband, by the Jacobite songs which she\nchanted.\n\nAt last the smith could stand this provocation no longer. He snatched a\nred-hot bar of iron from the forge, and rushed at his wife, crying out\nthat he would \"thrust it down her throat.\" Then, finding himself held\nback by the crowd from executing vengeance on the woman, all his anger\nturned upon Edward, whom he took to be a Jacobite emissary. For the news\nwhich had caused all this stir was that Prince Charles had landed and\nthat the whole Highlands was rallying to his banner.\n\nSo fierce and determined was the attack which the angry smith of\nCairnvreckan made on Edward that the young man was compelled to draw his\npistol in self-defence. And as the crowd threatened him and the smith\ncontinued furiously to attack with the red-hot iron, almost\nunconsciously his finger pressed the trigger. The shot went off, and\nimmediately the smith fell to the ground. Then Edward, borne down by the\nmob, was for some time in great danger of his life. He was saved at last\nby the interference of the minister of the parish, a kind and gentle old\nman, who caused Edward's captors to treat him more tenderly. So that\ninstead of executing vengeance upon the spot as they had proposed, they\nbrought him before the nearest magistrate, who was, indeed, an old\nmilitary officer, and, in addition, the Laird of the village of\nCairnvreckan, one Major Melville by name.\n\n[Illustration: \"SO fierce and determined was the attack which the angry\nsmith of Cairnvreckan made on Edward that the young man was compelled to\ndraw his pistol in self-defence.\"]\n\nThe latter proved to be a stern soldier, so severe in manner that he\noften became unintentionally unjust. Major Melville found that though\nthe blacksmith's wound proved to be a mere scratch, and though he had to\nown that the provocation given was a sufficient excuse for Edward's\nhasty action, yet he must detain the young man prisoner upon the warrant\nissued against Edward Waverley, which had been sent out by the Supreme\nCourt of Scotland.\n\nEdward, who at once owned to his name, was astonished beyond words to\nfind that not only was he charged with being in the company of actual\nrebels, such as the Baron of Bradwardine and Vich Ian Vohr, but also\nwith trying to induce his troop of horse to revolt by means of private\nletters addressed to one of them, Sergeant Houghton, in their barracks\nat Dundee. Captain Waverley was asserted to have effected this through\nthe medium of a pedlar named Will Ruthven, or Wily Will--whose very name\nEdward had never heard up to that moment.\n\nAs the magistrate's examination proceeded, Waverley was astonished to\nfind that, instead of clearing himself, everything he said, every\narticle he carried about his person, was set down by Major Melville as\nan additional proof of his complicity with treason. Among these figured\nFlora's verses, his own presence at the great hunting match among the\nmountains, his father's and Sir Everard's letters, even the huge\nmanuscripts written by his tutor (of which he had never read six\npages)--all were brought forward as so many evidences of his guilt.\n\nFinally, the magistrate informed Edward that he would be compelled to\ndetain him a prisoner in his house of Cairnvreckan. But that if he would\nfurnish such information as it was doubtless in his power to give\nconcerning the forces and plans of Vich Ian Vohr and the other Highland\nchiefs, he might, after a brief detention, be allowed to go free. Edward\nfiercely exclaimed that he would die rather than turn informer against\nthose who had been his friends and hosts. Whereupon, having refused all\nhospitality, he was conducted to a small room, there to be guarded till\nthere was a chance of sending him under escort to the Castle of\nStirling.\n\nHere he was visited by Mr. Morton, the minister who had saved him from\nthe clutches of the mob, and so sympathetically and kindly did he speak,\nthat Edward told him his whole story from the moment when he had first\nleft Waverley-Honour. And though the minister's favourable report did\nnot alter the opinion Major Melville had formed of Edward's treason, it\nsoftened his feelings toward the young man so much that he invited him\nto dinner, and afterwards did his best to procure him favourable\ntreatment from the Westland Whig captain, Mr. Gifted Gilfillan, who\ncommanded the party which was to convoy him to Stirling Castle.\n\nThe escort which was to take Edward southward was not so strong as it\nmight have been. Part of Captain Gifted Gilfillan's command had stayed\nbehind to hear a favourite preacher upon the occasion of the afternoon\nFast Day service at Cairnvreckan. Others straggled for purposes of their\nown, while as they went along, their leader lectured Edward upon the\nfewness of those that should be saved. Heaven, he informed Edward, would\nbe peopled exclusively by the members of his own denomination. Captain\nGifted was still engaged in condemning all and sundry belonging to the\nChurches of England and Scotland, when a stray pedlar joined his party\nand asked of \"his Honour\" the favour of his protection as far as\nStirling, urging as a reason the uncertainty of the times and the value\nof the property he carried in his pack.\n\nThe pedlar, by agreeing with all that was said, and desiring further\ninformation upon spiritual matters, soon took the attention of Captain\nGifted Gilfillan from his prisoner. He declared that he had even\nvisited, near Mauchline, the very farm of the Whig leader. He\ncongratulated him upon the fine breed of cattle he possessed. Then he\nwent on to speak of the many evil, popish, and unchristian things he had\nseen in his travels as a pedlar over the benighted countries of Europe.\nWhereupon Gifted Gilfillan became so pleased with his companion and so\nenraptured with his subject, that he allowed his party to string itself\nout along the route without an attempt at discipline, or even the power\nof supporting each other in case of attack.\n\nThe leaders were ascending a little hill covered with whin bushes and\ncrowned with low brushwood, when, after looking about him quickly to\nnote some landmarks, the pedlar put his fingers to his mouth and\nwhistled. He explained that he was whistling on a favourite dog, named\nBawty, which he had lost. The Covenanter reproved him severely for\nthinking of a useless dog in the midst of such precious and improving\nconversation as they were holding together.\n\nBut in spite of his protests the pedlar persisted in his whistling, and\npresently, out of a copse close to the path, six or eight stout\nHighlanders sprang upon them brandishing their claymores.\n\n\"The Sword of the Lord and of Gideon!\" shouted Gifted Gilfillan, nothing\ndaunted. And he was proceeding to lay about him stoutly, when the\npedlar, snatching a musket, felled him to the ground with the butt. The\nscattered Whig party hurried up to support their leader. In the scuffle,\nEdward's horse was shot, and he himself somewhat bruised in falling.\nWhereupon some of the Highlanders took him by the arms, and\nhalf-supported, half-carried him away from the highroad, leaving the\nunconscious Gifted still stretched on the ground. The Westlanders, thus\ndeprived of a leader, did not even attempt a pursuit, but contented\nthemselves with sending a few dropping shots after the Highlanders,\nwhich, of course, did nobody any harm.\n\nThey carried Edward fully two miles, and it was not till they reached\nthe deep covert of a distant glen that they stopped with their burden.\nEdward spoke to them repeatedly, but the only answer he got was that\nthey \"had no English.\" Even the mention of the name of Vich Ian Vohr,\nwhich he had hitherto regarded as a talisman, produced no response.\n\nMoreover, Edward could see from the tartans of his captors that they\nwere not of the Clan Ivor. Nor did the hut, into which they presently\nconveyed our hero, reveal any more. Edward was placed in a large bed,\nplanked all round, and after his bruises were attended to by an old\nwoman, the sliding panel was shut upon him. A kind of fever set his\nideas wandering, and sometimes he fancied that he heard the voice of\nFlora Mac-Ivor speaking in the hut without. He tried to push back the\npanel, but the inmates had secured it on the outside with a large nail.\n\nWaverley remained some time in these narrow quarters, ministered to by\nthe old woman and at intervals hearing the same gentle girlish voice\nspeaking outside, without, however, ever being able to see its owner. At\nlast, after several days, two of the Highlanders who had first captured\nhim returned, and by signs informed him that he must get ready to follow\nthem immediately.\n\nAt this news Edward, thoroughly tired of his confinement, rejoiced, and,\nupon rising, found himself sufficiently well to travel. He was seated in\nthe smoky cottage quietly waiting the signal for departure, when he felt\na touch on his arm, and, turning, he found himself face to face with\nAlice, the daughter of Donald Bean Lean. With a quick movement she\nshowed him the edges of a bundle of papers which she as swiftly\nconcealed. She then laid her finger on her lips, and glided away to\nassist old Janet, his nurse, in packing his saddle-bags. With the tail\nof his eye, however, Edward saw the girl fold the papers among his linen\nwithout being observed by the others. This being done, she took no\nfurther notice of him whatever, except that just at the last, as she was\nleaving the cottage, she turned round and gave him a smile and nod of\nfarewell.\n\nThe tall Highlander who was to lead the party now made Edward understand\nthat there was considerable danger on the way. He must follow without\nnoise, and do exactly as he was bidden. A steel pistol and a broadsword\nwere given him for use in case of attack. The party had not been long\nupon its night journeying, moving silently along through the woods and\ncopses in Indian file, before Edward found that there was good reason\nfor this precaution.\n\nAt no great distance he heard the cry of an English sentinel, \"All's\nwell!\" Again and again the cry was taken up by other sentries till the\nsound was lost in the distance. The enemy was very near, but the trained\nsenses of the Highlanders in their own rugged country were more than a\nmatch for the discipline of the regulars.\n\nA little farther on they passed a large building, with lights still\ntwinkling in the windows. Presently the tall Highlander stood up and\nsniffed. Then motioning Waverley to do as he did, he began to crawl on\nall fours toward a low and ruinous sheep-fold. With some difficulty\nEdward obeyed, and with so much care was the stalk conducted, that\npresently, looking over a stone wall, he could see an outpost of five or\nsix soldiers lying round their camp-fire, while in front a sentinel\npaced backward and forward, regarding the heavens and whistling _Nancy\nDawson_ as placidly as if he were a hundred miles from any wild rebel\nHighlandmen.\n\nAt that moment the moon, which up to this time had been hidden behind\nclouds, shone out clear and bright. So Edward and his Highland guide had\nperforce to remain where they were, stuck up against the dike, not\ndaring to continue their journey in the full glare of light, while the\nHighlander muttered curses on \"MacFarlane's lanthorn,\" as he called the\nmoon.\n\nAt last the Highlander, motioning Edward to stay where he was, began\nwith infinite pains to worm his way backward on all fours, taking\nadvantage of every bit of cover, lying stock-still behind a boulder\nwhile the sentry was looking in his direction, and again crawling\nswiftly to a more distant bush as often as he turned his back or marched\nthe other way. Presently Edward lost sight of the Highlander, but before\nlong he came out again at an altogether different part of the thicket,\nin full view of the sentinel, at whom he immediately fired a shot--the\nbullet wounding the soldier on the arm, stopping once and for all the\nwhistling of _Nancy Dawson_.\n\nThen all the soldiers, awakened by the shot and their comrade's cry,\nadvanced alertly toward the spot where the tall man had been seen. He\nhad, however, retired, but continued to give them occasionally such a\nview of his figure in the open moonlight, as to lead them yet farther\nfrom the path.\n\nMeanwhile, taking advantage of their leader's ruse, Waverley and his\nattendants made good speed over the heather till they got behind a\nrising ground, from which, however, they could still hear the shouts of\nthe pursuers, and the more distant roll of the royal drums beating to\narms. They had not gone far before they came upon an encampment in a\nhollow. Here several Highlanders, with a horse or two, lay concealed.\nThey had not arrived very long before the tall Highlander, who had led\nthe soldiers such a dance, made his appearance quite out of breath, but\nlaughing gayly at the ease with which he had tricked his pursuers.\n\nEdward was now mounted on a stout pony, and the whole party set forward\nat a good round pace, accompanied by the Highlanders as an escort. They\ncontinued without molestation all the night, till, in the morning light,\nthey saw a tall old castle on the opposite bank of the river, upon the\nbattlements of which they could see the plaid and targe of a Highland\nsentry, and over which floated the white banner of the exiled Stuarts.\n\nThey passed through a small town, and presently were admitted into the\ncourtyard of the ancient fortress, where Edward was courteously\nreceived by a chief in full dress and wearing a white cockade. He showed\nWaverley directly to a half-ruinous apartment where, however, there was\na small camp bed. Here he was about to leave him, after asking him what\nrefreshment he would take, when Edward, who had had enough of mysteries,\nrequested that he might be told where he was.\n\n\"You are in the castle of Doune, in the district of Menteith,\" said the\ngovernor of the castle, \"and you are in no danger whatever. I command\nhere for his Royal Highness Prince Charles.\"\n\nAt last it seemed to Waverley as if he had reached a place of rest and\nsafety. But it was not to be. On the very next day he was put in charge\nof a detachment of irregular horsemen who were making their way eastward\nto join the forces of the Prince. The leader of this band was no other\nthan the Laird of Balmawhapple, who, backing words by deeds, had\nmustered his grooms and huntsmen in the cause of the Stuarts. Edward\nattempted to speak civilly to him, but found himself brutally repulsed.\nCaptain Falconer of Balmawhapple had noways forgotten the shrewd pinch\nin the sword-arm which he had received from the Baron of Bradwardine in\nWaverley's quarrel.\n\nAt first Edward had better luck with his Lieutenant, a certain\nhorse-coper or dealer. This man had sold Balmawhapple the chargers upon\nwhich to mount his motley array, and seeing no chance of getting his\nmoney except by \"going out\" himself, he had accepted the post of\nLieutenant in the Chevalier's army. So far good. But just at the moment\nwhen it seemed that our hero was about to get some information of a\nuseful sort, Balmawhapple rode up, and demanded of his Lieutenant if he\nhad not heard his orders that no one should speak to the prisoner.\n\nAfter that they marched in silence, till, as the little company of\nadventurers was passing Stirling Castle, Balmawhapple must needs sound\nhis trumpet and display his white banner. This bravado, considerably to\nthat gentleman's discomfiture, was answered at once by a burst of smoke\nfrom the Castle, and the next moment a cannon-ball knocked up the earth\na few feet from the Captain's charger, and covered Balmawhapple himself\nwith dirt and stones. An immediate retreat of the command took place\nwithout having been specially ordered.\n\nAs they approached Edinburgh, they could see that white wreaths of smoke\ncircled the Castle. The cannonade rolled continuously. Balmawhapple,\nhowever, warned by what had happened at Stirling, gave the Castle a wide\nberth, and finally, without having entered the city, he delivered up\nhis prisoner at the door of the ancient palace of Holyrood.\n\nAnd so, for the time being, Edward's adventures in the wild Highlands\nwere ended.\n\n\nINTERLUDE OF STICKING-PLASTER\n\n This time the children were frankly delighted.\n\n \"It's just like _Kidnapped_, father,\" cried Hugh\n John, more truly than he dreamed of, \"there's the\n Flight through the Heather, you remember, and the\n tall man is Allan Breck, heading off the soldiers\n after the Red Fox was shot. There was a sentinel\n that whistled, too--Allan heard him when he was\n fishing, and learned the tune--oh, and a lot of\n things the same!\"\n\n \"I like the part best where Alice Bean gives him\n the papers,\" said Sweetheart; \"perhaps she was in\n love with him, too.\"\n\n \"Pshaw!\" cried Toady Lion; \"much good that did him.\n He never even got them looked at. But it was a pity\n that he did not get a chance at a King George\n soldier with that lovely sword and steel pistol.\n The Highlanders had all the luck.\"\n\n \"I would have banged it off anyway,\" declared Hugh\n John; \"fancy carrying a pistol like that all the\n way, scouting and going Indian file, and never\n getting a shot at anybody!\"\n\n \"What I want to know,\" said Sweetheart, dreamily,\n \"is why they all thought Edward a traitor. I\n believe the papers that Alice Bean Lean put in his\n bag would reveal the secret, if Waverley only had\n time to read them.\"\n\n \"Him,\" said Sir Toady, naturally suspicious of all\n girls' heroes, \"why, he's always falling down and\n getting put to bed. Then somebody has to nurse\n him. Why doesn't he go out and fight, like Fergus\n Mac-Ivor? Then perhaps Flora would have him; though\n what he wanted her for--a girl--I don't know. She\n could only play harps and--make poetry.\"\n\n So with this bitter scorn for the liberal arts,\n they all rushed off to enact the whole story, the\n tale-teller consenting, as occasion required, to\n take the parts of the wounded smith, the stern\n judge, or the Cameronian Captain. Hugh John\n hectored insufferably as Waverley. Sir Toady\n scouted and stalked as the tall Highlander, whom he\n refused to regard as anybody but Allan Breck.\n Sweetheart moved gently about as Alice\n Bean--preparing breakfast was quite in her\n line--while Maid Margaret, wildly excited, ran\n hither and thither as a sort of impartial chorus,\n warning all and sundry of the movements of the\n enemy.\n\n I saw her last, seated on a knoll and calling out\n \"Bang\" at the pitch of her voice. She was, she\n explained, nothing less imposing than the castle of\n Edinburgh itself, cannonading the ranks of the\n Pretender. While far away, upon wooden chargers,\n Balmawhapple's cavalry curvetted on the slopes of\n Arthur's Seat and cracked vain pistols at the\n frowning fortress. There was, in fact, all through\n the afternoon, a great deal of imagination loose in\n our neighbourhood. And even far into the gloaming\n sounds of battle, boastful recriminations, the\n clash of swords, the trample and rally of the heavy\n charge, even the cries of the genuinely wounded,\n came fitfully from this corner and that of the wide\n shrubberies.\n\n And when all was over, as they sat reunited, Black\n Hanoverian and White Cockade, victor and\n vanquished, in the kindly truce of the\n supper-table, Hugh John delivered his verdict.\n\n \"That's the best tale you have told us yet. Every\n man of us needed to have sticking-plaster put on\n when we came in--even Sweetheart!\"\n\n Than which, of course, nothing _could_ have been\n more satisfactory.\n\n\n\n\nTHE FIFTH TALE FROM \"WAVERLEY\"\n\n\nTHE WHITE COCKADE\n\nIT was Fergus Mac-Ivor himself who welcomed Edward within the palace of\nHolyrood, where the adventurous Prince now kept his court.\n\nHardly would he allow Edward even to ask news of Flora, before carrying\nhim off into the presence-chamber to be presented. Edward was deeply\nmoved by the Chevalier's grace and dignity, as well as moved by the\nreception he received. The Prince praised the deeds of his ancestors,\nand called upon him to emulate them. He also showed him a proclamation\nin which his name was mentioned along with those of the other rebels as\nguilty of high treason. Edward's heart was melted. This princely\nkindness, so different from the treatment which he had received at the\nhands of the English government, the direct appeal of the handsome and\ngallant young Chevalier, perhaps also the thought of pleasing Flora in\nthe only way open to him, all overwhelmed the young man, so that, with a\nsudden burst of resolve, he knelt down and devoted his life and his\nsword to the cause of King James.\n\nThe Prince raised and embraced Waverley, and in a few words confided to\nhim that the English general, having declined battle and gone north to\nAberdeen, had brought his forces back to Dunbar by sea. Here it was the\nPrince's instant intention to attack him.\n\nBefore taking leave he presented Edward with the splendid silver-hilted\nsword which he wore, itself an heirloom of the Stuarts. Then he gave him\nover into the hands of Fergus Mac-Ivor, who forthwith proceeded to make\nWaverley into a true son of Ivor by arraying him in the tartan of the\nclan, with plaid floating over his shoulder and buckler glancing upon\nhis arm.\n\nSoon after came the Baron of Bradwardine, anxious about the honour of\nhis young friend Edward. He said that he desired to know the truth as\nto the manner in which Captain Waverley had lost his commission in\nColonel Gardiner's dragoons,--so that, if he should hear his honour\ncalled in question, he might be able to defend it,--which, no doubt, he\nwould have performed as stoutly and loyally as he had previously done\nupon the sulky person of the Laird of Balmawhapple.\n\nThe morrow was to be a day of battle. But it was quite in keeping with\nthe gay character of the adventurer-prince, that the evening should be\nspent in a hall in the ancient palace of Holyrood. Here Edward, in his\nnew full dress as a Highlander and a son of Ivor, shone as the\nhandsomest and the boldest of all. And this, too, in spite of the marked\ncoldness with which Flora treated him. But to make amends, Rose\nBradwardine, close by her friend's side, watched him with a sigh on her\nlip, and colour on her cheek--yet with a sort of pride, too, that she\nshould have been the first to discover what a gallant and soldierly\nyouth he was. Jacobite or Hanoverian, she cared not. At Tully-Veolan or\nat a court ball, she was equally proud of Edward Waverley.\n\n\nNext morning our hero was awakened by the screaming of the warpipes\noutside his bedroom, and Callum Beg, his attendant, informed him that\nhe would have to hurry if he wished to come up with Fergus and the Clan\nIvor, who had marched out with the Prince when the morning was yet grey.\n\nThus spurred, Edward proved himself no laggard. On they went, threading\ntheir way through the ranks of the Highland army, now getting mixed up\nwith Balmawhapple's horsemen, who, careless of discipline, went spurring\nthrough the throng amid the curses of the Highlanders. For the first\ntime Edward saw with astonishment that more than half the clansmen were\npoorly armed, many with only a scythe on a pole or a sword without a\nscabbard, while some for a weapon had nothing better than their dirks,\nor even a stake pulled out of the hedge. Then it was that Edward, who\nhitherto had only seen the finest and best armed men whom Fergus could\nplace in the field, began to harbour doubts as to whether this\nunmilitary array could defeat a British army, and win the crown of three\nkingdoms for the young Prince with whom he had rashly cast in his lot.\n\n[Illustration: \"ROSE BRADWARDINE, close by her friend's side, watched\nhim with a sigh on her lip, and colour on her cheek--yet with a sort of\npride, too, that she should have been the first to discover what a\ngallant and soldierly youth he was.\"]\n\nBut his dismal and foreboding thoughts were quickly changed to pride\nwhen whole Clan Ivor received him with a unanimous shout and the braying\nof their many warpipes.\n\n\"Why,\" said one of a neighbouring clan, \"you greet the young Sassenach\nas if he were the Chief himself!\"\n\n\"If he be not Bran, he is Bran's brother!\" replied Evan Dhu, who was now\nvery grand under the name of Ensign Maccombich.\n\n\"Oh, then,\" replied the other, \"that will doubtless be the young English\nduinhe-wassel who is to be married to the Lady Flora?\"\n\n\"That may be or that may not be,\" retorted Evan, grimly; \"it is no\nmatter of yours or mine, Gregor.\"\n\nThe march continued--first by the shore toward Musselburgh and then\nalong the top of a little hill which looked out seaward. While marching\nthus, news came that Bradwardine's horse had had a skirmish with the\nenemy, and had sent in some prisoners.\n\nAlmost at the same moment from a sort of stone shed (called a sheep\nsmearing-house) Edward heard a voice which, as if in agony, tried to\nrepeat snatches of the Lord's Prayer. He stopped. It seemed as if he\nknew that voice.\n\nHe entered, and found in the corner a wounded man lying very near to\ndeath. It was no other than Houghton, the sergeant of his own troop, to\nwhom he had written to send him the books. At first he did not recognise\nEdward in his Highland dress. But as soon as he was assured that it\nreally was his master who stood beside him, he moaned out, \"Oh, why did\nyou leave us, Squire?\" Then in broken accents he told how a certain\npedlar called Ruffin had shown them letters from Edward, advising them\nto rise in mutiny.\n\n\"Ruffin!\" said Edward, \"I know nothing of any such man. You have been\nvilely imposed upon, Houghton.\"\n\n\"Indeed,\" said the dying man, \"I often thought so since. And we did not\nbelieve till he showed us your very seal. So Tims was shot, and I was\nreduced to the ranks.\"\n\nNot long after uttering these words, poor Houghton breathed his last,\npraying his young master to be kind to his old father and mother at\nWaverley-Honour, and not to fight with these wild petticoat men against\nold England.\n\nThe words cut Edward to the heart, but there was no time for sentiment\nor regret. The army of the Prince was fast approaching the foe. The\nEnglish regiments came marching out to meet them along the open shore,\nwhile the Highlanders took their station on the higher ground to the\nsouth. But a morass separated the combatants, and though several\nskirmishes took place on the flanks, the main fighting had to be put off\ntill another day. That night both sides slept on their arms, Fergus and\nWaverley joining their plaids to make a couch, on which they lay, with\nCallum Beg watching at their heads.\n\nBefore three, they were summoned to the presence of the Prince. They\nfound him giving his final directions to the chiefs. A guide had been\nfound who would guide the army across the morass. They would then turn\nthe enemy's flank, and after that the Highland yell and the Highland\nclaymore must do the rest.\n\nThe mist of the morning was still rolling thick through the hollow\nbetween the armies when Clan Ivor got the word to charge. Prestonpans\nwas no midnight surprise. The English army, regularly ranked, stood\nready, waiting. But their cavalry, suddenly giving way, proved\nthemselves quite unable to withstand the furious onslaught of the\nHighlanders. Edward charged with the others, and was soon in the\nthickest of the fray. It happened that while fighting on the battle\nline, he was able to save the life of a distinguished English officer,\nwho, with the hilt of his broken sword yet in his hand, stood by the\nartillery from which the gunners had run away, disdaining flight and\nwaiting for death. The victory of the Highlanders was complete. Edward\neven saw his old commander, Colonel Gardiner, struck down, yet was\npowerless to save him. But long after, the reproach in the eyes of the\ndying soldier haunted him. Yet it expressed more sorrow than\nanger--sorrow to see him in such a place and in such a dress.\n\nBut this was soon forgotten when the prisoner he had taken, and whom the\npolicy of the Prince committed to his care and custody, declared himself\nas none other than Colonel Talbot, his uncle's dearest and most intimate\nfriend. He informed Waverley that on his return from abroad he had found\nboth Sir Everard and his brother in custody on account of Edward's\nreported treason. He had, therefore, immediately started for Scotland to\nendeavour to bring back the truant. He had seen Colonel Gardiner, and\nhad found him, after having made a less hasty inquiry into the mutiny\nof Edward's troop, much softened toward the young man. All would have\ncome right, concluded Colonel Talbot, had it not been for our hero's\njoining openly with the rebels in their mad venture.\n\nEdward was smitten to the heart when he heard of his uncle's sufferings,\nbelieving that they were on his account. But he was somewhat comforted\nwhen Colonel Talbot told him that through his influence Sir Everard had\nbeen allowed out under heavy bail, and that Mr. Richard Waverley was\nwith him at Waverley-Honour.\n\nYet more torn with remorse was Edward when, having once more arrived in\nEdinburgh, he found at last the leather valise which contained the\npacket of letters Alice Bean Lean had placed among his linen. From these\nhe learned that Colonel Gardiner had thrice written to him, once indeed\nsending the letter by one of the men of Edward's own troop, who had been\ninstructed by the pedlar to go back and tell the Colonel that his\nofficer had received them in person. Instead of being delivered to\nWaverley, the letters had been given to a certain Mr. William Ruffin, or\nRiven, or Ruthven, whom Waverley saw at once could be none other than\nDonald Bean Lean himself. Then all at once remembering the business of\nthe robber cave, he understood the loss of his seal, and poor Houghton's\ndying reproach that he should not have left the lads of his troop so\nlong by themselves.\n\nEdward now saw clearly how in a moment of weakness he had made a great\nand fatal mistake by joining with the Jacobites. But his sense of honour\nwas such that in spite of all Colonel Talbot could say, he would not go\nback on his word. His own hastiness, the clever wiles of Fergus\nMac-Ivor, Flora's beauty, and most of all the rascality of Donald Bean\nLean had indeed brought his neck, as old Major Melville had prophesied,\nwithin the compass of the hangman's rope.\n\nThe best Edward could now do was to send a young soldier of his troop,\nwho had been taken at Prestonpans, to his uncle and his father with\nletters explaining all the circumstances. By Colonel Talbot's advice and\nhelp this messenger was sent aboard one of the English vessels cruising\nin the Firth, well furnished with passes which would carry him in safety\nall the way to Waverley-Honour.\n\nStill the days went by, and nothing was done. Still the Prince halted in\nEdinburgh waiting for reinforcements which never came. He was always\nhopeful that more clans would declare for him or that other forces would\nbe raised in the Lowlands or in England. And meanwhile, chiefly because\nin the city there was nothing for them to do, plans and plots were being\nformed. Quarrellings and jealousies became the order of the day among\nthe troops of the White Cockade. One morning Fergus Mac-Ivor came in to\nEdward's lodgings, furious with anger because the Prince had refused him\ntwo requests,--one, to make good his right to be an Earl, and the other,\nto give his consent to his marriage with Rose Bradwardine. Fergus must\nwait for the first, the Prince had told him, because that would offend a\nchief of his own name and of greater power, who was still hesitating\nwhether or not to declare for King James. As for Rose Bradwardine,\nneither must he think of her. Her affections were already engaged. The\nPrince knew this privately, and, indeed, had promised already to favour\nthe match upon which her heart was set.\n\nAs for Edward himself, he began about this time to think less and less\nof the cruelty of Flora Mac-Ivor. He could not have the moon, that was\nclear--and he was not a child to go on crying for it. It was evident,\nalso, that Rose Bradwardine liked him, and her marked favour, and her\ndesire to be with him, had their effect upon a heart still sore from\nFlora's repeated and haughty rejections.\n\nOne of the last things Edward was able to do in Edinburgh, was to obtain\nfrom the Prince the release of Colonel Talbot, whom he saw safely on his\nway to London from the port of Leith. After that it was with actual\nrelief that Edward found the period of waiting in Edinburgh at last at\nan end, and the Prince's army to the number of six thousand men marching\nsouthward into England. All was now to be hazarded on the success of a\nbold push for London.\n\nThe Highlanders easily escaped a superior army encamped on the borders.\nThey attacked and took Carlisle on their way, and at first it seemed as\nif they had a clear path to the capital before them. Fergus, who marched\nwith his clan in the van of the Prince's army, never questioned their\nsuccess for a moment. But Edward's clearer eye and greater knowledge of\nthe odds made no such mistake.\n\nHe saw that few joined them, and those men of no great weight, while all\nthe time the forces of King George were daily increasing. Difficulties\nof every kind arose about them the farther they marched from their\nnative land. Added to which there were quarrels and dissensions among\nthe Prince's followers, those between his Irish officers and such\nHighland chiefs as Fergus being especially bitter.\n\nEven to Edward, Fergus became fierce and sullen, quite unlike his former\ngay and confident self. It was about Flora that the quarrel, long\nsmouldering, finally broke into flame. As they passed this and that\ncountry-seat, Fergus would always ask if the house were as large as\nWaverley-Honour, and whether the estate or the deer park were of equal\nsize. Edward had usually to reply that they were not nearly so great.\nWhereupon Fergus would remark that in that case Flora would be a happy\nwoman.\n\n\"But,\" said Waverley, who tired of the implied obligation, \"you forget\nMiss Flora has refused me, not once, but many times. I am therefore\nreluctantly compelled to resign all claims upon her hand.\"\n\nAt this, Fergus thought fit to take offence, saying that having once\nmade application for Flora's hand, Waverley had no right to withdraw\nfrom his offer without the consent of her guardian. Edward replied that\nso far as he was concerned, the matter was at an end. He would never\npress himself upon any lady who had repeatedly refused him.\n\nWhereupon, Fergus turned away furiously, and the quarrel was made.\nEdward betook himself to the camp of his old friend, the Baron, and, as\nhe remembered the instruction he had received in the dragoons, he became\neasily a leader and a great favourite among the Lowland cavalry which\nfollowed the old soldier Bradwardine.\n\nBut he had left seeds of bitter anger behind him in the camp of the\nproud clan he had quitted.\n\nSome of the Lowland officers warned him of his danger, and Evan Dhu, the\nChief's foster-brother--who, ever since the visit to the cave had taken\na liking to Edward--waited for him secretly in a shady place and bade\nhim beware. The truth was that the Clan Mac-Ivor had taken it into their\nheads that Edward had somehow slighted their Lady Flora. They saw that\nthe Chief's brow was dark against Edward, and therefore he became all at\nonce fair game for a bullet or a stab in the dark.\n\nAnd the first of these was not long in arriving.\n\n * * * * *\n\n And here (I concluded) is the end of the fifth\n tale.\n\n \"Go on--oh--go on!\" shouted all the four listeners\n in chorus; \"we don't want to play or to talk, just\n now. We want to know what happened.\"\n\n \"Very well, then,\" said I, \"then the next story\n shall be called 'Black Looks and Bright Swords.'\"\n\n Carrying out which resolve we proceeded at once to\n the telling of\n\n\n\n\nTHE SIXTH TALE FROM \"WAVERLEY\"\n\n\nBLACK LOOKS AND BRIGHT SWORDS\n\nIT was in the dusk of an avenue that Evan Dhu had warned Waverley to\nbeware, and ere he had reached the end of the long double line of trees,\na pistol cracked in the covert, and a bullet whistled close past his\near.\n\n\"There he is,\" cried Edward's attendant, a stout Merseman of the\nBaron's troop; \"it's that devil's brat, Callum Beg.\"\n\nAnd Edward, looking through the trees, could make out a figure running\nhastily in the direction of the camp of the Mac-Ivors.\n\nInstantly Waverley turned his horse, and rode straight up to Fergus.\n\n\"Colonel Mac-Ivor,\" he said, without any attempt at salutation, \"I have\nto inform you that one of your followers has just attempted to murder me\nby firing upon me from a lurking-place.\"\n\n\"Indeed!\" said the Chief, haughtily; \"well, as that, save in the matter\nof the lurking-place, is a pleasure I presently propose for myself, I\nshould be glad to know which of my clansmen has dared to anticipate me.\"\n\n\"I am at your service when you will, sir,\" said Edward, with equal\npride, \"but in the meantime the culprit was your page, Callum Beg.\"\n\n\"Stand forth, Callum Beg,\" cried Vich Ian Vohr; \"did you fire at Mr.\nWaverley?\"\n\n\"No,\" said the unblushing Callum.\n\n\"You did,\" broke in Edward's attendant, \"I saw you as plain as ever I\nsaw Coudingham kirk!\"\n\n\"You lie!\" returned Callum, not at all put out by the accusation. But\nhis Chief demanded Callum's pistol. The hammer was down. The pan and\nmuzzle were black with smoke, the barrel yet warm. It had that moment\nbeen fired.\n\n\"Take that!\" cried the Chief, striking the boy full on the head with the\nmetal butt; \"take that, for daring to act without orders and then lying\nto disguise it.\"\n\nCallum made not the slightest attempt to escape the blow, and fell as if\nhe had been slain on the spot.\n\n\"And now, Mr. Waverley,\" said the Chief, \"be good enough to turn your\nhorse twenty yards with me out upon the common. I have a word to say to\nyou.\"\n\nEdward did so, and as soon as they were alone, Fergus fiercely charged\nhim with having thrown aside his sister Flora in order to pay his court\nto Rose Bradwardine, whom, as he knew, Fergus had chosen for his own\nbride.\n\n\"It was the Prince--the Prince himself who told me!\" added Fergus,\nnoticing the astonishment on Edward's face.\n\n\"Did the Prince tell you that I was engaged to Miss Rose Bradwardine?\"\ncried Edward.\n\n\"He did--this very morning,\" shouted Fergus; \"he gave it as a reason for\na second time refusing my request. So draw and defend yourself, or\nresign once and forever all claims to the lady.\"\n\n\"In such a matter I will not be dictated to by you or any man living!\"\nretorted Waverley, growing angry in his turn.\n\nIn a moment swords were out and a fierce combat was beginning, when a\nnumber of Bradwardine's cavalry, who being Lowlanders were always at\nfeud with the Highlandmen, rode hastily up, calling on their companions\nto follow. They had heard that there was a chance of a fight between\ntheir corps and the Highlanders. Nothing would have pleased them\nbetter. The Baron himself threatened that unless the Mac-Ivors returned\nto their ranks, he would charge them, while they on their side pointed\ntheir guns at him and his Lowland cavalry.\n\nA cry that the Prince was approaching alone prevented bloodshed. The\nHighlanders returned to their places. The cavalry dressed its ranks. It\nwas indeed the Chevalier who arrived. His first act was to get one of\nhis French officers, the Count of Beaujeu, to set the regiment of\nMac-Ivors and the Lowland cavalry again upon the road. He knew that the\nCount's broken English would put them all in better humour, while he\nhimself remained to make the peace between Fergus and Waverley.\n\nOutwardly the quarrel was soon made up. Edward explained that he had no\nclaims whatever to be considered as engaged to Rose Bradwardine or any\none else, while Fergus sulkily agreed that it was possible he had made a\nmistake. The Prince made them shake hands, which they did with the air\nof two dogs whom only the presence of the master kept from flying at\neach other's throats. Then after calming the Clan Mac-Ivor and riding\nawhile with the Baron's Lowland cavalry, the Prince returned to the\nCount of Beaujeu, saying with a sigh, as he reined his charger beside\nhim, \"Ah, my friend, believe me this business of prince-errant is no bed\nof roses!\"\n\n * * * * *\n\nIt was not long before the poor Prince had a further proof of this fact.\n\nOn the 5th of December, after a council at Derby, the Highland chiefs,\ndisappointed that the country did not rally about them, and that the\ngovernment forces were steadily increasing on all sides, compelled the\nPrince to fall back toward Scotland. Fergus Mac-Ivor fiercely led the\nopposition to any retreat. He would win the throne for his Prince, or if\nhe could not, then he and every son of Ivor would lay down their lives.\nThat was his clear and simple plan of campaign. But he was easily\noverborne by numbers, and when he found himself defeated in council, he\nshed actual tears of grief and mortification. From that moment Vich Ian\nVohr was an altered man.\n\nSince the day of the quarrel Edward had seen nothing of him. It was,\ntherefore, with great surprise that he saw Fergus one evening enter his\nlodgings and invite him to take a walk with him. The Chieftain smiled\nsadly as he saw his old friend take down his sword and buckle it on.\nThere was a great change in the appearance of Vich Ian Vohr. His cheek\nwas hollow. His eye burned as if with fever.\n\nAs soon as the two young men had reached a beautiful and solitary glen,\nFergus began to tell Edward that he had found out how wrongheaded and\nrash he had been in the matter of their quarrel. \"Flora writes me,\"\ncontinued Fergus, \"that she never had, and never could have, the least\nintention of giving you any encouragement. I acted hastily--like a\nmadman!\"\n\nWaverley hastily entreated him to let all be forgotten, and the two\ncomrades-in-arms shook hands, this time heartily and sincerely.\n\nNotwithstanding, the gloom on the Chief's brow was scarcely lightened.\nHe even besought Waverley to betake himself at once out of the kingdom\nby an eastern port, to marry Rose Bradwardine, and to take Flora with\nhim as a companion to Rose, and also for her own protection.\n\nEdward was astonished at this complete change in Fergus.\n\n\"What!\" he cried, \"abandon the expedition on which we have all\nembarked?\"\n\n\"Embarked,\" answered the Chief, bitterly; \"why, man, the expedition is\ngoing to pieces! It is time for all those who can, to get ashore in the\nlongboat!\"\n\n\"And what,\" said Edward, \"are the other Highland chiefs going to do?\"\n\n\"Oh, the chiefs,\" said Fergus, contemptuously, \"they think that all the\nheading and hanging will, as before, fall to the lot of the Lowlands,\nand that they will be left alone in their poor and barren Highlands, to\n'listen to the wind on the hill till the waters abate.' But they will be\ndisappointed. The government will make sure work this time, and leave\nnot a clan in all the Highlands able to do them hurt. As for me, it will\nnot matter. I shall either be dead or taken by this time to-morrow. I\nhave seen the _Bodach Glas_--the Grey Spectre.\"\n\nEdward looked the surprise he did not speak.\n\n\"Why!\" continued Fergus, in a low voice, \"were you so long about\nGlennaquoich and yet never heard of the Bodach Glas? The story is well\nknown to every son of Ivor. I will tell it you in a word. My forefather,\nIan nan Chaistel, wasted part of England along with a Lowland chief\nnamed Halbert Hall. After passing the Cheviots on their way back, they\nquarrelled about the dividing of the spoil, and from words came speedily\nto blows. In the fight, the Lowlanders were cut off to the last man, and\ntheir leader fell to my ancestor's sword. But ever since that day the\ndead man's spirit has crossed the Chief of Clan Ivor on the eve of any\ngreat disaster. My father saw him twice, once before he was taken\nprisoner at Sheriff-Muir, and once again on the morning of the day on\nwhich he died.\"\n\nEdward cried out against such superstition.\n\n\"How can you,\" he said, \"you who have seen the world, believe such\nchild's nonsense as that?\"\n\n\"Listen,\" said the Chief, \"here are the facts, and you can judge for\nyourself. Last night I could not sleep for thinking on the downfall of\nall my hopes for the cause, for the Prince, for the clan--so, after\nlying long awake, I stepped out into the frosty air. I had crossed a\nsmall foot-bridge, and was walking backward and forward, when I saw,\nclear before me in the moonlight, a tall man wrapped in a grey plaid,\nsuch as the shepherds wear. The figure kept regularly about four yards\nfrom me.\"\n\n\"That is an easy riddle,\" exclaimed Edward; \"why, my dear Fergus, what\nyou saw was no more than a Cumberland peasant in his ordinary dress!\"\n\n\"So I thought at first,\" answered Fergus, \"and I was astonished at the\nman's audacity in daring to dog me. I called to him, but got no answer.\nI felt my heart beating quickly, and to find out what I was afraid of, I\nturned and faced first north, and then south, east, and west. Each way I\nturned, I saw the grey figure before my eyes at precisely the same\ndistance! Then I knew I had seen the Bodach Glas. My hair stood up, and\nso strong an impression of awe came upon me that I resolved to return to\nmy quarters. As I went, the spirit glided steadily before me, till we\ncame to the narrow bridge, where it turned and stood waiting for me. I\ncould not wade the stream. I could not bring myself to turn back. So,\nmaking the sign of the cross, I drew my sword and cried aloud, 'In the\nname of God, Evil Spirit, give place!'\n\n\"'_Vich Ian Vohr_,' it said in a dreadful voice, '_beware of\nto-morrow!_'\n\n\"It was then within half a yard of my sword's point, but as the words\nwere uttered it was gone. There was nothing either on the bridge or on\nthe way home. All is over. I am doomed. I have seen the Bodach Glas,\nthe curse of my house.\"\n\n[Illustration: \"THE spirit glided steadily before me, till we came to\nthe narrow bridge, where it turned and stood waiting for me. I could not\nwade the stream. I could not bring myself to turn back. So, making the\nsign of the cross, I drew my sword and cried aloud, 'In the name of God,\nEvil Spirit, give place!'\n\n\"'_Vich Ian Vohr_,' it said in a dreadful voice, '_beware of\nto-morrow!_'\"]\n\nEdward could think of nothing to say in reply. His friend's belief in\nthe reality of the vision was too strong. He could only ask to be\nallowed to march once more with the sons of Ivor, who occupied the post\nof danger in the rear. Edward easily obtained the Baron's leave to do\nso, and when the Clan Mac-Ivor entered the village, he joined them, once\nmore arm in arm with their Chieftain. At the sight, all the Mac-Ivors'\nill feeling was blown away in a moment. Evan Dhu received him with a\ngrin of pleasure. And the imp Callum, with a great patch on his head,\nappeared particularly delighted to see him.\n\nBut Waverley's stay with the Clan Ivor was not to be long. The enemy was\ncontinually harassing their flanks, and the rear-guard had to keep\nlining hedges and dikes in order to beat them off. Night was already\nfalling on the day which Fergus had foretold would be his last, when in\na chance skirmish of outposts the Chief with a few followers found\nhimself surrounded by a strong attacking force of dragoons. A swift eddy\nof the battle threw Edward out to one side. The cloud of night lifted,\nand he saw Evan Dhu and a few others, with the Chieftain in their midst,\ndesperately defending themselves against a large number of dragoons who\nwere hewing at them with their swords. It was quite impossible for\nWaverley to break through to their assistance. Night shut down\nimmediately, and he found it was equally impossible for him to rejoin\nthe retreating Highlanders, whose warpipes he could still hear in the\ndistance.\n\n\nINTERLUDE OF BREVITY\n\n The _Bodach Glas_ held the children. The brilliant\n sunshine of the High Garden in which they had\n listened to the tale became instantly palest\n moonlight, and between them and the strawberry bed\n they saw the filmy plaid of the Grey Spectre of the\n House of Ivor. It had been helpful and even\n laudable to play-act the chief scenes when the\n story was beginning, but now they had no time. It\n would have been an insult to the interest of the\n narrative.\n\n Doubtless, if they had had the book, they would\n have _skipped_, to know \"how it all ended.\" But it\n was time for the evening walk. So, instead of\n stringing themselves out along the way as was their\n custom, seeing if the raspberry bushes had grown\n any taller since the morning, the four collected in\n a close swarm about the tale-teller, like bees\n about an emigrant queen.\n\n \"You must tell us the rest--you _must!_\" they said,\n linking arms about my waist to prevent any attempt\n at an evasion of such just demands.\n\n So, being secretly no little pleased with their\n eagerness, I launched out upon the conclusion of\n the whole matter--which showed, among other things,\n how Waverley-Honour was more honoured than ever and\n the Blessed Bear of Bradwardine threefold blessed.\n\n\n\n\nTHE LAST TALE FROM \"WAVERLEY\"\n\n\nTHE BARON'S SURPRISE\n\nAFTER wandering about for some time Edward came unexpectedly upon a\nhamlet. Lights gleamed down the street, and Edward could hear loud\nvoices and the tramp of horses. The sound of shouted orders and\nsoldiers' oaths soon told him that he was in great danger. For these\nwere English troops, and if they caught him in his Mac-Ivor tartan,\nwould assuredly give him short shrift and a swift bullet.\n\nLingering a moment uncertainly near the gate of a small garden\nenclosure, he felt himself caught by gentle hands and drawn toward a\nhouse.\n\n\"Come, Ned,\" said a low voice, \"the dragoons are down the village, and\nthey will do thee a mischief. Come with me into feyther's!\"\n\nJudging this to be very much to the purpose, Edward followed, but when\nthe girl saw the tall figure in tartans instead of the sweetheart she\nhad expected, she dropped the candle she had lighted, and called out for\nher father.\n\nA stout Westmoreland peasant at once appeared, poker in hand, and\npresently Edward found himself not ill received--by the daughter on\naccount of a likeness to her lover (so she said) and by the father\nbecause of a certain weakness for the losing side. So, in the house of\nFarmer Jopson, Edward slept soundly that night, in spite of the dangers\nwhich surrounded him on every side. In the morning the true Edward,\nwhose name turned out to be Ned Williams, was called in to consult with\nfather and daughter. It seemed impossible for Edward to go north to\nrejoin the Prince's forces. They had evacuated Penrith and marched away\ntoward Carlisle. The whole intervening country was covered by scouting\nparties of government horsemen. Whereupon Ned Williams, who wished above\nall things to rid the house of his handsome namesake, lest his\nsweetheart Cicely should make other mistakes, offered to get Waverley a\nchange of clothes, and to conduct him to his father's farm near\nUlswater. Neither old Jopson nor his daughter would accept a farthing of\nmoney for saving Waverley's life. A hearty handshake paid one; a kiss,\nthe other. And so it was not long before Ned Williams was introducing\nour hero to his family, in the character of a young clergyman who was\ndetained in the north by the unsettled state of the country.\n\nOn their way into Cumberland they passed the field of battle where\nEdward had lost sight of Fergus. Many bodies still lay upon the face of\nthe moorland, but that of Vich Ian Vohr was not among them, and Edward\npassed on with some hope that in spite of the _Bodach Glas_, Fergus\nmight have escaped his doom. They found Callum Beg, however, his tough\nskull cloven at last by a dragoon's sword, but there was no sign either\nof Evan or of his Chieftain.\n\nIn the secure shelter of good Farmer Williams's house among the hills,\nit was Edward's lot to remain somewhat longer than he intended. In the\nfirst place, it was wholly impossible to move for ten days, owing to a\ngreat fall of snow. Then he heard how that the Prince had retreated\nfarther into Scotland, how Carlisle had been besieged and taken by the\nEnglish, and that the whole north was covered by the hosts of the Duke\nof Cumberland and General Wade.\n\nBut in the month of January it happened that the clergyman who came to\nperform the ceremony at the wedding of Ned Williams and Cicely Jopson,\nbrought with him a newspaper which he showed to Edward. In it Waverley\nread with astonishment a notice of his father's death in London, and of\nthe approaching trial of Sir Everard for high treason--unless (said the\nreport) Edward Waverley, son of the late Richard Waverley, and heir to\nthe baronet, should in the meantime surrender himself to justice.\n\nIt was with an aching anxious heart that Waverley set out by the\nnorthern diligence for London. He found himself in the vehicle opposite\nto an officer's wife, one Mrs. Nosebag, who tormented him all the way\nwith questions, on several occasions almost finding him out, and once at\nleast narrowly escaping giving him an introduction to a recruiting\nsergeant of his own regiment.\n\nHowever, in spite of all risks, he arrived safely under Colonel Talbot's\nroof, where he found that, though the news of his father's death was\nindeed true, yet his own conduct certainly had nothing to do with the\nmatter--nor was Sir Everard in the slightest present danger.\n\nWhereupon, much relieved as to his family, Edward proclaimed his\nintention of returning to Scotland as soon as possible--not indeed to\njoin with the rebels again, but for the purpose of seeking out Rose\nBradwardine and conducting her to a place of safety.\n\nIt was not, perhaps, the wisest course he might have pursued. But during\nhis lonely stay at Farmer Williams's farm, Edward's heart had turned\noften and much to Rose. He could not bear to think of her alone and\nwithout protection. By means of a passport (which had been obtained for\none Frank Stanley, Colonel Talbot's nephew), Waverley was able easily to\nreach Edinburgh. Here from the landlady, with whom he and Fergus had\nlodged, Edward first heard the dread news of Culloden, of the slaughter\nof the clans, the flight of the Prince, and, worst of all, how Fergus\nand Evan Dhu, captured the night of the skirmish, were presently on\ntrial for their lives at Carlisle. Flora also was in Carlisle, awaiting\nthe issue of the trial, while with less certainty Rose Bradwardine was\nreported to have gone back to her father's mansion of Tully-Veolan.\nConcerning the brave old Baron himself, Edward could get no news, save\nthat he had fought most stoutly at Culloden, but that the government\nwere particularly bitter against him because he had been '_out_'\ntwice--that is, he had taken part both in the first rising of the year\n1715, and also in that which had just been put down in blood at\nCulloden.\n\nWithout a moment's hesitation, Edward set off for Tully-Veolan, and\nafter one or two adventures he arrived there, only to find the white\ntents of a military encampment whitening the moor above the village. The\nhouse itself had been sacked. Part of the stables had been burned, while\nthe only living being left about the mansion of Tully-Veolan was no\nother than poor Davie Gellatley, who, chanting his foolish songs as\nusual, greeted Edward with the cheering intelligence that \"_A' were dead\nand gane--Baron--Bailie--Saunders Saunderson--and Lady Rose that sang\nsae sweet!_\"\n\nHowever, it was not long before he set off at full speed, motioning\nWaverley to follow him. The innocent took a difficult and dangerous path\nalong the sides of a deep glen, holding on to bushes, rounding perilous\ncorners of rock, till at last the barking of dogs directed them to the\nentrance of a wretched hovel. Here Davie's mother received Edward with a\nsullen fierceness which the young man could not understand--till, from\nbehind the door, holding a pistol in his hand, unwashed, gaunt, and\nwith a three weeks' beard fringing his hollow cheeks, he saw come\nforth--the Baron of Bradwardine himself.\n\nAfter the first gladsome greetings were over, the old man had many a\ntale to tell his young English friend. But his chief grievance was not\nhis danger of the gallows, nor the discomfort of his hiding-place, but\nthe evil-doing of his cousin, to whom, as it now appeared, the Barony of\nBradwardine now belonged. Malcolm of Inch-Grabbit had, it appeared, come\nto uplift the rents of the Barony. But the country people, being\nnaturally indignant that he should have so readily taken advantage of\nthe misfortune of his kinsman, received him but ill. Indeed, a shot was\nfired at the new proprietor by some unknown marksman in the gloaming,\nwhich so frightened the heir that he fled at once to Stirling and had\nthe estate promptly advertised for sale.\n\n\"In addition to which,\" continued the old man, \"though I bred him up\nfrom a boy, he hath spoken much against me to the great folk of the\ntime, so that they have sent a company of soldiers down here to destroy\nall that belongs to me, and to hunt his own blood-kin like a partridge\nupon the mountains.\"\n\n\"Aye,\" cried Janet Gellatley, \"and if it had not been for my poor Davie\nthere, they would have catched the partridge, too!\"\n\nThen with a true mother's pride Janet told the story of how the poor\ninnocent had saved his master. The Baron was compelled by the strictness\nof the watch to hide, all day and most of the nights, in a cave high up\nin a wooded glen.\n\n\"A comfortable place enough,\" the old woman explained; \"for the goodman\nof Corse-Cleugh has filled it with straw. But his Honour tires of it,\nand he comes down here whiles for a warm at the fire, or at times a\nsleep between the blankets. But once, when he was going back in the\ndawn, two of the English soldiers got a glimpse of him as he was\nslipping into the wood and banged off a gun at him. I was out on them\nlike a hawk, crying if they wanted to murder a poor woman's innocent\nbairn! Whereupon they swore down my throat that they had seen 'the auld\nrebel himself,' as they called the Baron. But my Davie, that some folk\ntake for a simpleton, being in the wood, caught up the old grey cloak\nthat his Honour had dropped to run the quicker, and came out from among\nthe trees as we were speaking, majoring and play-acting so like his\nHonour that the soldier-men were clean beguiled, and even gave me\nsixpence to say nothing about their having let off their gun at 'poor\ncrack-brained Sawney,' as they named my Davie!\"\n\nIt was not till this long tale was ended that Waverley heard what he had\ncome so far to find out--that Rose was safe in the house of a Whig\nLaird, an old friend of her father's, and that the Bailie, who had early\nleft the army of the Prince, was trying his best to save something out\nof the wreck for her.\n\nThe next morning Edward went off to call on Bailie Macwheeble. At first\nthe man of law was not very pleased to see him, but when he learned that\nWaverley meant to ask Rose to be his wife, he flung his best wig out of\nthe window and danced the Highland fling for very joy. This rejoicing\nwas a little marred by the fact that Waverley was still under\nproscription. But when a messenger of the Bailie's had returned from the\nnearest post-town with a letter from Colonel Talbot, all fear on this\naccount was at an end. Colonel Talbot had, though with the greatest\ndifficulty, obtained royal Protections for both the Baron of Bradwardine\nand for Edward himself. There was no doubt that full pardons would\nfollow in due course.\n\nRight thankfully the Baron descended from his cave, as soon as Edward\ncarried him the good news, and with Davie Gellatley and his mother, all\nwent down to the house of Bailie Macwheeble, where supper was\nimmediately served.\n\nIt was from old Janet Gellatley, Davie's mother, that Waverley learned\nwhom he had to thank for rescuing him from the hands of Captain Gifted\nGilfillan, and to whom the gentle voice belonged which had cheered him\nduring his illness. It was none other than Rose Bradwardine herself. To\nher, Edward owed all. She had even given up her jewels to Donald Bean\nLean, that he might go scatheless. She it was who had provided a nurse\nfor him in the person of old Janet Gellatley herself, and lastly she had\nseen him safely on his way to Holyrood under the escort of the sulky\nLaird of Balmawhapple.\n\nSo great kindness certainly required very special thanks. And Edward was\nnot backward in asking the Baron for permission to accompany him to the\nhouse of Duchran, where Rose was at present residing. So well did Edward\nexpress his gratitude to Rose, that she consented to give all her life\ninto his hands, that he might go on showing how thankful he was.\n\nOf course the marriage could not take place for some time, because the\nfull pardons of the Baron and Edward took some time to obtain. For\nFergus Mac-Ivor, alas, no pardon was possible. He and Evan Dhu were\ncondemned to be executed for high treason at Carlisle, and all that\nEdward could do was only to promise the condemned Chieftain that he\nwould be kind to the poor clansmen of Vich Ian Vohr, for the sake of his\nfriend.\n\nAs for Evan Dhu, he might have escaped. The Judge went the length of\noffering to show mercy, if Evan would only ask it. But when Evan Dhu was\ncalled upon to plead before the Court, his only request was that he\nmight be permitted to go down to Glennaquoich and bring up six men to be\nhanged in the place of Vich Ian Vohr.\n\n\"And,\" he said, \"ye may begin with me the first man!\"\n\nAt this there was a laugh in the Court. But Evan, looking about him\nsternly, added: \"If the Saxon gentlemen are laughing because a poor man\nsuch as me thinks my life, or the life of any six of my degree, is worth\nthat of Vich Ian Vohr, they may be very right. But if they laugh because\nthey think I would not keep my word, and come back to redeem him, I can\ntell them they ken neither the heart of a Hielandman nor the honour of a\ngentleman!\"\n\nAfter these words, there was no more laughing in that Court.\n\nNothing now could save Fergus Mac-Ivor. The government were resolved on\nhis death as an example, and both he and Evan were accordingly executed,\nalong with many others of the unhappy garrison of Carlisle.\n\n * * * * *\n\nEdward and Rose were married from the house of Duchran, and some days\nafter they started, according to the custom of the time, to spend some\ntime upon an estate which Colonel Talbot had bought, as was reported, a\nvery great bargain. The Baron had been persuaded to accompany them,\ntaking a place of honour in their splendid coach and six, the gift of\nSir Everard. The coach of Mr. Rubrick of Duchran came next, full of\nladies, and many gentlemen on horseback rode with them as an escort to\nsee them well on their way.\n\nAt the turning of the road which led to Tully-Veolan, the Bailie met\nthem. He requested the party to turn aside and accept of his hospitality\nat his house of Little Veolan. The Baron, somewhat put out, replied that\nhe and his son-in-law would ride that way, but that they would not bring\nupon him the whole matrimonial procession. It was clear, however, that\nthe Baron rather dreaded visiting the ancient home of his ancestors,\nwhich had been so lately sold by the unworthy Malcolm of Inch-Grabbit\ninto the hands of a stranger. But as the Bailie insisted, and as the\nparty evidently wished to accept, he could not hold out.\n\nWhen the Baron arrived at the avenue, he fell into a melancholy\nmeditation, thinking doubtless of the days when he had taken such pride\nin the ancient Barony which had passed for ever away from the line of\nthe Bradwardines. From these bitter thoughts he was awakened by the\nsight of the two huge stone bears which had been replaced over the\ngate-posts.\n\nThen down the avenue came the two great deer-hounds, Ban and Buscar,\nwhich had so long kept their master company in his solitude, with Daft\nDavie Gellatley dancing behind them.\n\nThe Baron was then informed that the present owner of the Barony was no\nother than Colonel Talbot himself. But that if he did not care to visit\nthe new owner of Bradwardine, the party would proceed to Little Veolan,\nthe house of Bailie Macwheeble.\n\nThen, indeed, the Baron had need of all his greatness of mind. But he\ndrew a long breath, took snuff abundantly, and remarked that as they had\nbrought him so far, he would not pass the Colonel's gate, and that he\nwould be happy to see the new master of his tenants. When he alighted in\nfront of the Castle, the Baron was astonished to find how swiftly the\nmarks of spoliation had been removed. Even the roots of the felled trees\nhad disappeared. All was fair and new about the house of Tully-Veolan,\neven to the bright colours of the garb of Davie Gellatley, who ran first\nto one and then to the other of the company, passing his hands over his\nnew clothes and crying, \"Braw, braw Davie!\"\n\nThe dogs, Bran and Buscar, leaping upon him, brought tears into the\nBaron's eyes, even more than the kind welcome of Colonel Talbot's wife,\nthe Lady Emily. Still more astonishing appeared the changes in the so\nlately ruined courtyard. The burned stables had been rebuilt upon a\nnewer and better plan. The pigeon-house was restocked, and populous with\nfluttering wings. Even the smallest details of the garden, and the\nmultitude of stone bears on the gables, had all been carefully restored\nas of old.\n\nThe Baron could hardly believe his eyes, and he marvelled aloud that\nColonel Talbot had not thought fit to replace the Bradwardine arms by\nhis own. But here the Colonel, suddenly losing patience, declared that\nhe would not, even to please these foolish boys, Waverley and Frank\nStanley (and his own more foolish wife), continue to impose upon another\nold soldier. So without more ado he told the Baron that he had only\nadvanced the money to buy back the Barony, and that he would leave\nBailie Macwheeble to explain to whom the estate really belonged.\n\nTrembling with eagerness the Bailie advanced, a formidable roll of\npapers in his hand.\n\nHe began triumphantly to explain that Colonel Talbot had indeed bought\nBradwardine, but that he had immediately exchanged it for Brere-wood\nLodge, which had been left to Edward under his father's will.\nBradwardine had therefore returned to its ancient Lord in full and\nundisputed possession, and the Baron was once more master of all his\nhereditary powers, subject only to an easy yearly payment to his\nson-in-law.\n\nTears were actually in the old gentleman's eyes as he went from room to\nroom, so that he could scarce speak a word of welcome either to the\nguests within, or of thanks to the rejoicing farmers and cottars who,\nhearing of his return, had gathered without. The climax of his joy was,\nhowever, reached when the Blessed Bear of Bradwardine itself, the\ngolden cup of his line, mysteriously recovered out of the spoil of the\nEnglish army by Frank Stanley, was brought to the Baron's elbow by old\nSaunders Saunderson.\n\nTruth to tell, the recovery of this heirloom afforded the old man almost\nas much pleasure as the regaining of his Barony, and there is little\ndoubt that a tear mingled with the wine, as, holding the Blessed Bear in\nhis hand, the Baron solemnly proposed the healths of the united families\nof Waverley-Honour and Bradwardine.\n\n\nTHE END OF THE LAST TALE FROM \"WAVERLEY.\"\n\n\n\n\nRED CAP TALES\n\nTOLD FROM\n\nGUY MANNERING\n\n\n\n\nGUY MANNERING\n\n\nWHERE WE TOLD THE SECOND TALE\n\nSUMMER there had been none. Autumn was a mockery. The golden harvest\nfields lay prostrate under drenching floods of rain. Every burn foamed\ncreamy white in the linns and sulked peaty brown in the pools. The\nheather, rich in this our Galloway as an emperor's robe, had scarce\nbloomed at all. The very bees went hungry, for the lashing rain had\nwashed all the honey out of the purple bells.\n\nNevertheless, in spite of all, we were again in Galloway--that is, the\nteller of tales and his little congregation of four. The country of _Guy\nMannering_ spread about us, even though we could scarce see a hundred\nyards of it. The children flattened their noses against the blurred\nwindow-panes to look. Their eyes watered with the keen tang of the peat\nreek, till, tired with watching the squattering of ducks in farm\npuddles, they turned as usual upon the family sagaman, and demanded,\nwith that militant assurance of youth which succeeds so often, that he\nshould forthwith and immediately \"tell them something.\"\n\nThe tales from _Waverley_ had proved so enthralling that there was a\ngeneral demand for \"another,\" and Sir Toady Lion, being of an\narithmetical turn of mind, proclaimed that there was plenty of material,\nin so much as he had counted no fewer than twenty-four \"all the same\"\nupon the shelf before he left home.\n\nThus, encouraged by the dashing rain on the windows and with the low\ncontinual growl of Solway surf in our ears, we bent ourselves to fill a\ngap in a hopeless day by the retelling of\n\n\n\n\nA FIRST TALE FROM \"GUY MANNERING\"\n\n\nI. WITCHCRAFT AND WIZARDRY\n\nTHROUGH storm and darkness a young Oxford scholar came to the New Place\nof Ellangowan. He had been again and again refused shelter along the\nroad for himself and his tired horse, but at last he found himself\nwelcomed by Godfrey Bertram, the Laird of Ellangowan, attended by\nDominie Sampson, his faithful companion, the village schoolmaster, on\nthe threshold of the great house.\n\nThat very night an heir was born to the line of the Bertrams of\nEllangowan, one of the most ancient in Galloway, and as usual the New\nPlace was full of company come from far and near to make merry over the\nevent. Godfrey himself, a soft, good-natured, pliable man, welcomed\nMannering (for that was the name of the young Oxford student), and set\nhim forthwith to calculating the horoscope of the babe from the stars.\nThis, Mannering, to whom astrology seemed no better than child's play,\nwas at first unwilling to do, until the awkward opposition of Dominie\nSampson, as well as some curiosity to see if he could remember the terms\nof the sham-science learned in youth, caused him to consent to make the\ncalculation.\n\nHe was still further pushed on by the appearance of a wild gipsy woman,\na sort of queen among the ragged wandering tribe which camped in a\nlittle hamlet on the Laird's estates. She entered the house singing\nshrilly a kind of ancient spell:\n\n \"Trefoil, vervain, John's wort, dill,\n Hinder witches of their will!\n Weel is them, that weel may\n Fast upon Saint Andrew's day.\n Saint Bride and her brat,\n Saint Colme and his cat,\n Saint Michael and his spear\n Keep the house frae reif and weir.\"\n\nSo sang Meg Merrilies, the gipsy, a great cudgel in her hand, and her\ndress and bearing more like those of a man than of a woman. Elf-locks\nshot up through the holes in her bonnet, and her black eyes rolled with\na kind of madness. Soon, however, Godfrey, who evidently only half\ndisbelieved in her powers as a witch, dismissed her to the kitchen with\nfair words, while Guy Mannering, whom his strange adventure had rendered\nsleepless, walked forth into the night. The vast ruins of the ancient\ncastle of the Bertrams rose high and silent on the cliffs above him, but\nbeneath, in the little sandy cove, lights were still moving briskly,\nthough it was the dead hour of the night. A smuggler brig was disloading\na cargo of brandy, rum, and silks, most likely, brought from the Isle of\nMan.\n\nAt sight of his figure moving on the cliffs above, a voice on the shore\nsang out, \"Ware hawk! Douse the glim!\" And in a moment all was darkness\nbeneath him.\n\nWhen Mannering returned to his chamber in the dim light of the morning,\nhe proceeded to carry out his calculations according to the strictest\nrules of astrology, marking carefully the hour of the birth of the babe.\nHe found that young Harry Bertram, for so it had been decided to name\nthe child, was threatened with danger in his _fifth_, his _tenth_, and\nhis _twenty-first_ years.\n\nMore dissatisfied than he cared to own with these results, Mannering\nwalked out again to view the ruins of the old castle of Ellangowan in\nthe morning light. They were, he now saw, of vast extent and much\nbattered on the side toward the sea--so much so, indeed, that he could\nobserve through a gap in the mason-work, the smuggling brig getting\nready to be off with the tide. Guy Mannering penetrated into the\ncourtyard, and was standing there quietly, thinking of the past\ngreatness of the house of Bertram, when suddenly, from a chamber to the\nleft, he heard the voice of the gipsy, Meg Merrilies. A few steps took\nhim to a recess from which, unseen himself, he could observe what she\nwas doing. She continued to twirl her distaff, seemingly unconscious of\nhis presence, and also, after her own fashion, to \"spae\" the fortune of\nyoung Harry Bertram, just as Mannering had so lately been doing himself.\nCuriosity as to whether their results would agree kept him quiet while\nshe wove her spell. At last she gave her verdict: \"A long life, three\nscore and ten years, but thrice broken by trouble or danger. The threads\nthrice broke, three times united. He'll be a lucky lad if he wins\nthrough wi' it!\"\n\nMannering had hardly time to be astonished at the manner in which the\ngipsy's prophecy confirmed his own half-playful calculations, before a\nvoice, loud and hoarse as the waves that roared beneath the castle,\ncalled to the witch-wife, \"Meg, Meg Merrilies--gipsy--hag--tousand\ndeyvils!\"\n\n\"Coming, Captain--I am coming!\" answered Meg, as calmly as if some one\nhad been calling her pet names. Through the broken portion of the wall\nto seaward a man made his appearance. He was hard of feature,\nsavage-looking, and there was a cruel glint in his eyes which told of a\nheart without pity.\n\nThe man's body, powerful and thick-set as an oak, his immense strength,\nhis savage temper made him shunned and disliked. There were few indeed\nwho would have ventured to cross the path of Dirk Hatteraick, whose best\nname was \"black smuggler,\" and whose worst a word it was safest to speak\nin a whisper, lest a bird of the air should carry the matter.\n\nOn the present occasion Dirk had come to the gipsy queen to demand of\nher a charm for a fair wind and a prosperous voyage. For the less\nreligion such a man has, the more superstitious he is apt to be.\n\n\"Where are you, Mother Deyvilson?\" he cried again. \"Donner and blitzen,\nhere we have been staying for you full half an hour! Come, bless the\ngood ship and the voyage--and be cursed to ye for a hag of Satan!\"\n\nAt that moment, catching sight of Mannering, the smuggler stopped with a\nstrange start. He thrust his hand into his pocket as if to draw out a\nhidden weapon, exclaiming: \"What cheer, brother? You seem on the\noutlook, eh?\"\n\nBut with a glance at the intruder Meg Merrilies checked him. In a moment\nHatteraick had altered his tone, and was speaking to Mannering civilly,\nyet still with an undercurrent of sullen suspicion which he tried to\ndisguise under a mask of familiarity.\n\n\"You are, I suppose,\" said Mannering, calmly, \"the master of that vessel\nin the bay?\"\n\n\"Ay, ay, sir,\" answered the sailor, \"I am Captain Dirk Hatteraick of the\n_Yungfrauw Hagenslaapen_, and I am not ashamed of my name or of my\nvessel, either. Right cognac I carry--rum, lace, real Mechlin, and\nSouchong tea--if you will come aboard, I will send you ashore with a\npouchful of that last--Dirk Hatteraick knows how to be civil!\"\n\nMannering got rid of his offers without openly offending the man, and\nwas well content to see the precious pair vanish down the stone stairs\nwhich had formerly served the garrison of the castle in time of siege.\n\nOn his return to the house of Ellangowan, Mannering related his\nadventure, and asked of his host who this villanous-looking Dutchman\nmight be, and why he was allowed to wander at will on his lands.\n\nThis was pulling the trigger, and Mr. Bertram at once exploded into a\nlong catalogue of griefs. According to him, the man was undoubtedly one\nCaptain Dirk Hatteraick, a smuggler or free-trader. As for allowing him\non his lands--well, Dirk was not very canny to meddle with. Besides,\nimpossible as it was to believe, he, Godfrey Bertram of Ellangowan, was\nnot upon his Majesty's commission of the peace for the county. Jealousy\nhad kept him off--among other things the ill-will of the sitting member.\nBesides which--after all a gentleman must have his cognac, and his lady\nher tea and silks. Only smuggled articles came into the country. It was\na pity, of course, but he was not more to blame than others.\n\nThus the Laird maundered on, and Mannering, glad to escape being asked\nabout the doubtful fortune which the stars had predicted for the young\nheir, did not interrupt him. On the next day, however, before he mounted\nhis horse, he put the written horoscope into a sealed envelope, and,\nhaving strictly charged Bertram that it should not be opened till his\nson reached the age of five years, he took his departure with many\nexpressions of regret.\n\nThe next five years were outwardly prosperous ones for Godfrey Bertram\nof Ellangowan. As the result of an election where he had been of much\nservice to the winning candidate, he was again made a Justice of the\nPeace, and immediately he set about proving to his brothers of the bench\nthat he could be both a determined and an active magistrate. But this\napparent good, brought as usual much of evil with it. Many old kindly\ncustoms and courtesies had endeared Godfrey Bertram to his poorer\nneighbours. He was, they said, no man's enemy, and even the gipsies of\nthe little settlement would have cut off their right hands before they\ntouched a pennyworth belonging to the Laird, their patron and protector.\nBut the other landlords twitted him with pretending to be an active\nmagistrate, and yet harbouring a gang of gipsies at his own door-cheek.\nWhereupon the Laird went slowly and somewhat sadly home, revolving\nschemes for getting rid of the colony of Derncleugh, at the head of\nwhich was the old witch-wife Meg Merrilies.\n\nOccasions of quarrel were easy to find. The sloe-eyed gipsy children\nswinging on his gates were whipped down. The rough-coated donkeys\nforbidden to eat their bite of grass in peace by the roadside. The men\nwere imprisoned for poaching, and matters went so far that one stout\nyoung fellow was handed over to the press-gang at Dumfries and sent to\nforeign parts to serve on board a man-of-war.\n\nThe gipsies, on their side, robbed the Ellangowan hen-roosts, stole the\nlinen from my lady's bleaching-green, cut down and barked the young\ntrees--though all the while scarce believing that their ancient friend\nthe Laird of Ellangowan had really turned against them.\n\nDuring these five years the son, so strangely brought into the world on\nthe night of Mannering's visit, had been growing into the boldest and\nbrightest of boys. A wanderer by nature from his youth, he went\nfearlessly into each nook and corner of his father's estates in search\nof berries and flowers. He hunted every bog for rushes to weave\ngrenadiers' caps, and haled the hazelnuts from the lithe coppice boughs.\n\nTo Dominie Sampson, long since released from his village school, the\ndifficult task was committed of accompanying, restraining, and guiding\nthis daring spirit and active body. Shy, uncouth, awkward, with the\nmemory of his failure in the pulpit always upon him, the Dominie was\nindeed quite able to instruct his pupil in the beginnings of learning,\nbut it proved quite out of his power to control the pair of twinkling\nlegs belonging to Master Harry Bertram. Once was the Dominie chased by a\ncross-grained cow. Once he fell into the brook at the stepping-stones,\nand once he was bogged in his middle in trying to gather water-lilies\nfor the young Laird. The village matrons who relieved Dominie Sampson\non this last occasion, declared that the Laird might just as well \"trust\nthe bairn to the care o' a tatie-bogle!\"[2] But the good tutor, nothing\ndaunted, continued grave and calm through all, only exclaiming, after\neach fresh misfortune, the single word \"Prodeegious!\"\n\nOften, too, Harry Bertram sought out Meg Merrilies at Derncleugh, where\nhe played his pranks among the gipsies as fearlessly as within the walls\nof Ellangowan itself. Meanwhile the war between that active magistrate\nGodfrey Bertram and the gipsies grew ever sharper. The Laird was\nresolved to root them out, in order to stand well with his brother\nmagistrates. So the gipsies sullenly watched while the ground officer\nchalked their doors in token that they must \"flit\" at the next term.\n\nAt last the fatal day arrived. A strong force of officers summoned the\ngipsies to quit their houses, and when they did not obey, the sheriff's\nmen broke down the doors and pulled the roofs off the poor huts of\nDerncleugh.\n\nGodfrey Bertram, who was really a kindly man, had gone away for the day\nto avoid the sight, leaving the business to the chief exciseman of the\nneighbourhood,--one Frank Kennedy, a bold, roistering blade, who knew no\nfear, and had no qualms whatever about ridding the neighbourhood of a\ngang of \"sorners and thieves,\" as he called the Derncleugh gipsies.\n\nBut as Godfrey was riding back to Ellangowan with a single servant,\nright in the middle of the King's highway, he met the whole congregation\nof the exiles, evicted from their ruined houses, and sullenly taking\ntheir way in search of a new shelter against the storms of the oncoming\nwinter. His servant rode forward to command every man to stand to his\nbeast's head while the Laird was passing.\n\n\"He shall have his half of the road,\" growled one of the tall thin\ngipsies, his features half-buried in a slouch hat, \"but he shall have no\nmore. The highway is as free to our cuddies as to his horse.\"\n\nNever before had the Laird of Ellangowan received such a discourteous\nreception. Anxious at the last to leave a good impression, he stammered\nout as he passed one of the older men, \"And your son, Gabriel Baillie,\nis he well?\" (He meant the young man who had been sent by means of the\npress-gang to foreign parts.) With a deep scowl the old man replied, \"If\nI had heard otherwise, _you_ would have heard it too!\"\n\nAt last Godfrey Bertram thought that he had escaped. He had passed the\nlast laden donkey of the expelled tribe. He was urging his beast toward\nEllangowan with a saddened spirit, when suddenly at a place where the\nroad was sunk between two high banks, Meg Merrilies appeared above him,\na freshly cut sapling in her hand, her dark eyes flashing anger, and her\nelf-locks straying in wilder confusion than ever.\n\n\"Ride your ways, Laird of Ellangowan,\" she cried, \"ride your ways,\nGodfrey Bertram! This day ye have quenched seven smoking hearths--see if\nthe fire in your own parlour burns the brighter for that? Ye have riven\nthe thatch off seven cottars' houses--look if your roof-tree stands the\nfaster. There are thirty yonder that would have shed their lifeblood for\nyou--thirty, from the child of a week to the auld wife of a hundred,\nthat you have made homeless, that you have sent out to sleep with the\nfox and the blackcock. Our bairns are hanging on our weary backs--look\nto it that your braw cradle at hame is the fairer spread! Now ride your\nways, Godfrey Bertram. These are the last words ye shall ever hear from\nMeg Merrilies, and this the last staff that I shall ever cut in the\nbonny woods of Ellangowan!\"\n\n[Illustration: \"MEG MERRILIES appeared above him, a freshly cut sapling\nin her hand, her dark eyes flashing anger, and her elf-locks straying\nin wilder confusion than ever.\n\n\"'Ride your ways, Laird of Ellangowan,' she cried, 'ride your ways,\nGodfrey Bertram! This day ye have quenched seven smoking hearths--see if\nthe fire in your own parlour burns the brighter for that!'\"]\n\nAnd with the gesture of a queen delivering sentence she broke the\nsapling she had held in her hand, and flung the fragments into the road.\nThe Laird was groping in his pocket for half a crown, and thinking\nmeanwhile what answer to make. But disdaining both his reply and his\npeace-offering, Meg strode defiantly downhill after the caravan.\n\n * * * * *\n\nNot only was there war by land at Ellangowan. There was also war by sea.\nThe Laird, determined for once not to do things by halves, had begun to\nsupport Frank Kennedy, the chief revenue officer, in his campaign\nagainst the smugglers. Armed with Ellangowan's warrant, and guided by\nhis people who knew the country, Kennedy swooped down upon Dirk\nHatteraick as he was in the act of landing a large cargo upon\nEllangowan's ground. After a severe combat he had been able to clap the\ngovernment broad-arrow upon every package and carry them all off to the\nnearest customs' post. Dirk Hatteraick got safely away, but he went,\nvowing in English, Dutch, and German, the direst vengeance against Frank\nKennedy, Godfrey Bertram, and all his enemies.\n\nIt was a day or two after the eviction of the gipsies when the Lady of\nEllangowan, suddenly remembering that it was her son Harry's fifth\nbirthday, demanded of her husband that he should open and read the\nhoroscope written by the wandering student of the stars five years\nbefore. While they were arguing about the matter, it was suddenly\ndiscovered that little Harry was nowhere to be found. His guardian,\nDominie Sampson, having returned without him, was summoned to give an\naccount of his stewardship by the angry mother.\n\n\"Mr. Sampson,\" she cried, \"it is the most extraordinary thing in the\nworld wide, that you have free up-putting in this house,--bed, board,\nwashing, and twelve pounds sterling a year just to look after that\nboy,--and here you have let him out of your sight for three hours at a\ntime!\"\n\nBowing with awkward gratitude at each clause in this statement of his\nadvantages, the poor Dominie was at last able to stammer out that Frank\nKennedy had taken charge of Master Harry, in the face of his protest,\nand had carried him off to Warroch Head to see the taking of Dirk\nHatteraick's ship by the King's sloop-of-war, which he had ridden all\nthe way to Wigton Bay to bring about.\n\n\"And if that be so,\" cried the Lady of Ellangowan, \"I am very little\nobliged to Frank Kennedy. The bairn may fall from his horse, or anything\nmay happen.\"\n\nThe Laird quieted his wife by telling her that he and Frank Kennedy had\ntogether seen the sloop-of-war giving chase to Dirk Hatteraick's ship,\nand that even then the Dutchman, disabled and on fire, was fast drifting\nupon the rocks. Frank Kennedy had ridden off to assist in the capture by\nsignalling to the man-of-war from Warroch Head, and had evidently picked\nup little Harry upon the way. He would doubtless, continued the Laird,\nbe back in a little time. For he had ordered the punch-bowl to be made\nready, that they might drink good luck to the King's service and\nconfusion to all smugglers and free-traders wherever found.\n\nBut hour after hour went by, and neither Frank Kennedy nor the boy Harry\nreturned. The night approached. Parties of searchers anxiously beat the\nwoods and patrolled the cliffs. For long they found nothing, but at last\na boat's crew, landing perilously at the foot of the precipices, came\nupon the body of the excise officer, a sword-cut in his head, lying\nhalf in and half out of the water. He had been flung from the cliffs\nabove. Frank Kennedy was dead--as to that there was no question. But\nwhat had become of the child, Harry Bertram? That--no one could answer.\nNot a trace of him was to be found. The smuggler's ship still burned\nfiercely, but Dirk Hatteraick and his men had completely vanished. Some\none suggested the gipsies, whereupon the Laird mounted the first horse\nhe came across and rode furiously to the huts of Derncleugh. Bursting in\na door, he found on the ruined hearth of the house that had once\nsheltered Meg Merrilies, a fire still smouldering. But there, too,\nGodfrey Bertram discovered nothing and no one.\n\nWhile he remained on the spot, dazed and uncertain, looking at the\nblackened hearthstone, his old servant entered hastily to bid him return\nat once to Ellangowan. His wife had been taken dangerously ill. Godfrey\nspurred as fast as horse would carry him, but Death had gone faster, and\nhad arrived before him. When he reached the gate, the Lady of Ellangowan\nwas dead, leaving him with a little baby girl less than an hour old. The\nshock of Kennedy's murder and her own little Harry's loss had killed\nher.\n\n\n\nINTERLUDE OF INTERROGATION\n\n The melancholy conclusion of the first _Guy\n Mannering_ tale kept the children quieter than\n usual. I think they regretted a little the gallant\n opening of _Waverley_, but as ever they were full\n of questions.\n\n \"And all that happened here, in our Galloway?\"\n began Sweetheart, looking about her at the hills of\n dark heather and the sparkling Solway sands, from\n which the storm-clouds were just beginning to lift.\n\n \"Yes,\" I answered her, \"though it is doubtful if\n Scott ever _was_ in Galloway. But he had seen\n Criffel across from Dumfries-shire, and the castle\n of Ellangowan is certainly described from the ruins\n of Caerlaverock, opposite New Abbey. Besides, had\n he not good old Joseph Train, the Castle Douglas\n exciseman, to tell him everything--than whom no man\n knew Galloway better?\"\n\n \"Did gipsies really steal children?\" said Maid\n Margaret, with some apprehension. She was somewhat\n anxious, for an affirmative answer might interfere\n with certain wide operations in blackberrying which\n she was planning.\n\n \"Sometimes they did,\" I answered, \"but not nearly\n so often as they were blamed for. They had usually\n enough mouths of their own to feed. So, unless they\n were sure of a ransom, or perhaps occasionally for\n the sake of revenge, gipsies very seldom were\n guilty of kidnapping.\"\n\n \"But they always do steal them in books,\" said Hugh\n John; \"well, I would just like to see them cart me\n off! And if they took Sir Toady Lion, they would\n soon send him back. He eats so much!\"\n\n This was Hugh John's idea of a joke, and somewhat\n hastily I interrupted fraternal strife by returning\n to the general subject.\n\n \"Adam Smith, a very learned man, who afterwards\n wrote _The Wealth of Nations_, was stolen by\n gipsies when a child,\" I said.\n\n \"_I_ wish they had just kept him,\" said Hugh John,\n unexpectedly; \"then we wouldn't have had to\n paraphrase the beastly thing at school. It is as\n full of jaw-breakers as a perch is full of bones.\"\n\n \"Was little Harry really stolen by gipsies, or was\n he killed over the cliff?\" queried Maid Margaret.\n\n \"Of course he was stolen, silly,\" broke in Sir\n Toady Lion, sagely; \"look how much more of the book\n there has got to be all about him. Think there\n would be all that, if he got killed right at the\n beginning, eh?\"\n\n \"Do any people smuggle nowadays?\" demanded Hugh\n John.\n\n \"Of course they do--in Spain,\" interjected Sir\n Toady Lion, \"father got put in prison there once.\"\n\n \"That was all owing to a mistake,\" I explained\n hastily (for really this had nothing to do with\n Scott); \"it was only because your parent happened\n to be wearing the same kind of hat as a certain\n well-known smuggler, a very desperate character.\"\n\n \"HUM-M!\" said Sir Toady Lion, suddenly developing a\n cold in the nose.\n\n \"Well, anyway, they do smuggle--though not much in\n this country now,\" said Sweetheart, \"and I'm glad\n father knew a man who smuggled in Spain. It makes\n this book so much more real.\"\n\n \"Getting put in prison instead of him made it\n almost _too_ real,\" said Sir Toady. He is a most\n disconcerting and ironical boy. One often wonders\n where he gets it from.\n\n So to shut off further questioning, I proceeded\n immediately with the telling of the second tale\n from _Guy Mannering_.\n\n\n\n\nTHE SECOND TALE FROM \"GUY MANNERING\"\n\n\nI. HAPPY DOMINIE SAMPSON\n\nIT was seventeen long years after the murder of Frank Kennedy and the\ndisappearance of little Harry Bertram when Guy Mannering, now a soldier\nfamous for his wars in the East, penetrated a second time into Galloway.\nHis object was to visit the family of Ellangowan, and secretly, also, to\nfind out for himself in what way his random prophesies had worked out.\n\nBut he arrived at an unfortunate time. He found that, chiefly by the\nplotting and deceit of a rascally lawyer, one Gilbert Glossin, the\nBertrams were on the point of being sold out of Ellangowan. All their\nmoney had been lost, and the sale of the estate was being forced on by\nthe rascally lawyer Glossin for his own ends.\n\nThe old man Godfrey Bertram also was very near his end. And indeed on\nthe very day of the sale, and while Mannering was paying his respects to\nhis former host, the sight of Glossin so enraged the feeble old man that\nhe was taken with a violent passion, falling back in his chair and dying\nin a few minutes.\n\nMannering, whose heart was greatly touched, was most anxious to do all\nthat he could to assist Lucy Bertram, the old man's daughter, but he was\ncompelled by an urgent summons to return into England. It had been his\nintention to save the estate of Ellangowan from the clutches of the\nscoundrel Glossin by buying it himself, but the drunkenness of a postboy\nwhom he had sent with a letter to Mr. Mac-Morlan, the lawyer in charge\nof the sale, defeated his intentions, so that Ellangowan became the\nproperty of the traitor. So young Lucy Bertram and Dominie Sampson (who\nrefused to be separated from her) became for the moment inmates of Mr.\nMac-Morlan's house. The Dominie found a pupil or two in the\nneighbourhood that he might not be chargeable to his dear Lucy or her\nfriend Mr. Mac-Morlan. And so, in the twenty-first year after the birth\nof an heir, and after Mannering's prophecy concerning him, there seemed\nan end to the ancient house of the Bertrams of Ellangowan.\n\nDuring these years, Colonel Mannering also had a tale to tell. Wedded\nearly to the wife of his youth and his heart, he had gone to India in\nthe service of the Honourable, the East India Company. There by his\nvalour and talent he had rapidly acquired both wealth and position. But\nduring the twenty-first year an event occurred which gave him a distaste\nfor the land of his adoption, and he had come back to his native country\nwith the idea of settling down, far away from old memories and new\nentanglements.\n\nIn a duel which he had fought in India with a young man named Brown--a\nbrave youth of no position, who had offended Mannering by his attentions\nto his daughter, and by establishing himself in his house as a friend of\nthe family--he had left Brown for dead on the field, hardly escaping\nhimself with his life from a sudden attack of the armed banditti who, in\nthe India of that day, were always hovering round desert places. The\nshock of that morning had so told on the health of Mannering's wife that\nshe died shortly afterwards, leaving him with one daughter, Julia--a\nproud, sprightly, sentimental girl, whom he had brought home, and placed\nunder the care of a friend named Mervyn, whose house stood upon one of\nthe Cumberland lakes.\n\nSo it came about that when Mannering was in Scotland, he received a\nletter from his friend which took him to Mervyn Hall as fast as\nhorse-flesh could carry him.\n\nHis friend wrote, as he was careful to say, without his wife's\nknowledge. Mr. Mervyn told Colonel Mannering that he was certain that\nhis daughter Julia was receiving secret visits from some one whom she\ndid not dare to see openly. Not only were there long solitary walks and\nhill-climbings, but on several occasions he had heard up the lake at\nmidnight, as if under her windows, a flageolet playing a little Indian\nair to which Julia Mannering was partial. This was evidently a signal,\nfor a boat had been seen hastily crossing the lake, and the sash of\nJulia's window had been heard to shut down at the first alarm. Mr.\nMervyn said that, little as he liked playing the part of tale-bearer, he\nfelt that Julia was under his care, and he would not deserve his old\nname of Downright Dunstable if he did not inform her father of what he\nhad discovered. Julia, he said, was both a charming and high spirited\ngirl, but she was too much her own father's daughter to be without\nromantic ideas. On the whole, concluded Mr. Mervyn, it behooved the\nColonel to come at once to Mervyn Hall and look after his own property.\n\nThis was the letter which, put into his hands at a seaport town in\nScotland, lost Mannering the estate of Ellangowan, and threw the ancient\nseat of many generations of Bertrams into the clutches of the\nscoundrelly Glossin. For Colonel Mannering instantly posted off to the\nsouth, having first of all sent despatches to Mr. Mac-Morlan by the\nuntrustworthy postilion--the same who arrived a day too late for the\nsale.\n\nWhen Colonel Mannering first went to Mervyn Hall, he could make nothing\nof the case. Of course he believed Brown to have died by his hand in\nIndia, and he could find no traces of any other man likely to be making\nlove to his daughter. Nevertheless he had brought back a plan with him\nfrom Scotland, which, he thought, would put an end to all future\ndifficulties. The helplessness of Lucy Bertram had moved his heart.\nBesides, he was more amused than he cared to own by the originality of\nthe Dominie. He had easily obtained, by means of Mr. Mac-Morlan, a\nfurnished house in the neighbourhood of Ellangowan, and he resolved for\na time at least to repose himself there after his campaigns. His\ndaughter Julia would thus have a companion in Lucy Bertram, and it was\neasy to provide the Dominie with an occupation. For the library of an\nuncle of Mannering's, who had been a learned bishop of the Church of\nEngland, had been willed to him. The Dominie was the very man to put the\nbooks in order. So indeed it was arranged, after some saucy remarks from\nMiss Mannering as to the supposed Scottish accent and probable red hair\nof her companion.\n\nThen Colonel Mannering, accustomed to do nothing by halves, sent down\nhis directions about Dominie Sampson, whose heart indeed would have been\nbroken if he had been separated from the young mistress over whom he had\nwatched from childhood.\n\n\"Let the poor man be properly dressed,\" wrote the Colonel to Mr.\nMac-Morlan, \"and let him accompany his young lady to Woodbourne!\"\n\nThe dressing of Dominie Sampson was, however, easier said than done. For\nit would hurt the pride of the Dominie to have clothes presented to him\nas to a schoolboy. But Lucy Bertram soon settled the matter. The\nDominie, she said, would never notice the difference, if they put one\ngarment at a time into his sleeping room and took away the other. This\nwas what her father had always done when the wardrobe of his dependent\nneeded renewing. Nor had the Dominie ever showed the least consciousness\nof the change.\n\nSo said, so done. A good tailor, having come and looked Mr. Sampson\nover, readily agreed to provide him with two excellent suits, one black\nand one raven grey, such as would fit the Dominie as well as a man of\nsuch an out-of-the-way build could be fitted by merely human needles and\nshears.\n\nThe Dominie, when completely equipped, made no remark upon the\nchange--further than that, in his opinion, the air of a seaport town\nlike Kippletringan seemed to be favourable to wearing-apparel.\n\nIt was the depth of winter when the Mannerings arrived at Woodbourne.\nAll were a little anxious. Even Dominie Sampson longed to be at his\nbooks, and going repeatedly to the windows demanded, \"Why tarry the\nwheels of their chariot?\" But when at last they came, Lucy and Julia\nBertram were soon friends, while the Dominie stood with uplifted hands,\nexclaiming, \"Prodeegious! Prodeegious!\" as, one after another, the\nthirty or forty cart-loads of books were deposited on the library floor\nready to his hand. His arms flapped like windmills, and the uncouth\nscholar counted himself the happiest man on earth as he began to\narrange the great volumes on the shelves. Not that he got on very\nquickly. For he wrote out the catalogue in his best running-hand. He put\nthe books on the shelves as carefully as if they had been old and\nprecious china. Yet in spite of the Dominie's zeal, his labours advanced\nbut slowly. Often he would chance to open a volume when halfway up the\nladder. Then, his eye falling upon some entrancing passage, he would\nstand there transfixed, oblivious of the flight of time, till a\nserving-maid pulled his skirts to tell him dinner was waiting. He would\nthen bolt his food in three-inch squares, and rush back to the library,\noften with his dinner napkin still tied round his neck like a pinafore.\nThus, for the first time in his life, Dominie Sampson was perfectly\ncontent.\n\n[Illustration: \"HIS eye falling upon some entrancing passage, he would\nstand there transfixed, oblivious of the flight of time, till a\nserving-maid pulled his skirts to tell him dinner was waiting.\"]\n\n\nII. DANDIE DINMONT\n\nBut the story now turns to the young man Brown, or, to give him his full\ntitle, Captain Vanbeest Brown, whom Colonel Mannering had left for dead\non an Indian field. He did not die, but he had been compelled to\nundergo a long captivity among the bandits before he found his way back\nto his regiment. The new Colonel whom he found in Mannering's place had\nbeen kind to him, and he soon found himself in command of a troop of\ndragoons. He was at present on leave in England, and, as he was\nconscious that Mannering had no reason for his ill-will and apparent\ncruelty, Brown felt that he on his part had no reason for standing on\nceremony with such a man. He loved Julia Mannering, and, to say the\nleast of it, she did not discourage him. So it was he who had played the\nHindoo air upon the lake--he with whom Julia had talked at her window,\neven as Mervyn had related in his letter to his friend Colonel\nMannering.\n\nWhen the Colonel and his daughter went away to Scotland, Captain Brown,\nhaving no relatives in the country, resolved to follow them. He set out\non foot, having for sole companion a little terrier named Wasp. On the\nway he had to pass a long and weary waste of heath and morass. One house\nalone broke the monotonous expanse. It was little better than a shed,\nbut was sheltered by an ash tree, and a clay-built shed alongside served\nfor a rude stable. A stout pony stood tethered in front of the door,\nbusy with a feed of oats. Stillness brooded all around. It was a poor\nplace, but Captain Brown had wandered too far and seen too much to care\nabout appearances. He stooped his head and entered at the low door. In\na few minutes he found himself attacking a round of beef and washing it\ndown with home-brewed ale in company with the owner of the pony tethered\noutside, a certain Mr. Dandie Dinmont, a store-farmer on his way home\nfrom a Cumberland fair. At first only pleasant nods passed between them\nas they drank to each other in silence.\n\nPresently Brown noticed, seated in the great chimney, a very tall old\nwoman clad in a red cloak and a slouched bonnet, having all the\nappearance of a gipsy or tinker. She smoked silently at her clay pipe,\nwhile the doubtful-looking landlady went about her affairs.\n\nBrown's terrier Wasp was the means of his striking up an acquaintance\nwith the sturdy farmer opposite, who, hearing that he had never seen a\nblackcock, invited him forthwith to Charlies-hope, the name of his farm,\nwhere he promised him he should both see blackcock, shoot blackcock, and\neat blackcock. Dandie Dinmont was going on to tell Brown of his\nwanderings, when the old crone in the red cloak by the side of the fire\nsuddenly broke silence by asking if he had been recently in Galloway,\nand if he knew Ellangowan.\n\n\"Ellangowan!\" cried the farmer, \"I ken it weel! Auld Laird Bertram died\nbut a fortnight ago, and the estate and everything had to be sold for\nwant of an heir male.\"\n\nThe old gipsy (who, of course, was no other than Meg Merrilies) sprang\nat once to her feet.\n\n\"And who dared buy the estate, when the bonny knave-bairn that heirs it\nmay any day come back to claim his ain?\"\n\n\"It was, I believe,\" said Dandie Dinmont, \"one of these writer bodies\nthat buy up everything,--Gilbert Glossin by name!\"\n\n\"Ay, Gibbie Glossin,\" said the old witch-wife, \"mony a time I hae\ncarried him in my creels. But maybe ye'll hae heard o' Derncleugh, about\na mile frae Ellangowan?\"\n\n\"And a wild-looking den it is,\" said the farmer; \"nothing but old ruined\nwalls.\"\n\n\"It was a blithe bit once,\" said the gipsy, as if talking to herself;\n\"did ye notice if there was a willow tree half blown down, that hangs\nover the bit burnie? Mony is the time hae I sat there and knitted my\nstockin'.\"\n\n\"The deil's in the wife,\" cried Dandie; \"let me away! Here's saxpence\nfor ye to buy half-a-mutchkin, instead o' claverin' o' auld-world\ntales.\"\n\nThe gipsy took the money from the farmer, and tendered in return this\nadvice: \"When Tib Mumps brings ye out the stirrup-cup, and asks ye\nwhether ye will gang ower Willie's brae or by the Conscowthartmoss, be\nsure to choose the road ye _dinna_ tell her.\"\n\nThe farmer laughed and promised. But to Brown he said that after all he\nwould rather that Tib Mumps kenned where he was going than yon gipsy\nqueen, so he would e'en hold on his way.\n\nCaptain Brown soon followed on foot, but at the door he found himself\nstopped by Meg Merrilies, who, with much earnestness, asked his name and\nfrom whence he came.\n\n\"My name is Brown,\" he answered, a little impatiently; \"I come from the\nEast Indies.\"\n\n[Illustration: \"HE had not gone very far, and was still in the heart of\nthe morass, when he saw his late companion of the ale-house engaged in\ndeadly combat with a couple of rascals, one of them armed with a\ncutlass, and the other with a bludgeon.\"]\n\nThe old gipsy appeared disappointed by his answer, and Brown put a\nshilling into her hand as he took his leave. However, he had not gone\nvery far, and was still in the heart of the morass, when he saw his late\ncompanion of the ale-house engaged in deadly combat with a couple of\nrascals, one of them armed with a cutlass, and the other with a\nbludgeon. Brown's terrier Wasp ran forward, barking furiously, but\nbefore Brown could come to his assistance the ruffians had got Dandie\nDinmont down, and the man with the bludgeon bestowed some merciless\nblows upon his head. Then with a shout they turned their attention to\nBrown, crying that \"the first one was content.\" But Brown was a staunch\nantagonist, and they soon found that they had met more than their match.\nWhereupon the leader bade him follow his nose over the heath, for that\nthey had nothing to say to him.\n\nBut, since to do this was to abandon Dandie Dinmont to their mercy,\nBrown refused point-blank. Affairs were at this pass when Dandie,\nstaggering to his feet, his loaded whip in his hand, managed to come to\nthe assistance of his rescuer, whereupon the two men took to their heels\nand ran as hard as they could over the moor.\n\nThen the farmer, who knew their ways, bade Brown mount behind him on his\nhorse Dumple, for he warned him that in five minutes \"the whole\nclanjamphrey\" would be down upon them. And even as he spoke five or six\nmen made their appearance, running toward them over the moss. But Dumple\nwas staunch, and by dint of following the safest roads, and being left\nto pick his own way in the difficult places, Dandie's pony soon left the\nvillains behind him. Then, following the old Roman road, they reached\nDinmont's farm of Charlies-hope, across the border, not long after\nnightfall.\n\nA furious barking from innumerable terriers and dogs of all breeds was\ntheir welcome. And soon Brown found himself within four hospitable\nwalls, where not only were his own wants satisfied, but the wounds of\nthe master of the house were bound up by his buxom wife.\n\nAt kindly Charlies-hope, Brown remained several days, while Dandie\nDinmont showed him the best sport to be had upon the border. Together\nthey hunted the fox after the manner of the country--that is, treating\nReynard as a thief and a robber, with whom no conditions are to be\nobserved. Together they went to the night fishing, where Brown heard the\nleisters or steel tridents ringing on the stones at the bottom of the\nwater, as the fishers struck at the salmon in the light of the blazing\ntorches kindled to attract the fish. Otter-hunting and badger-baiting\nfilled in the time, so that Brown had never been so well amused in his\nlife. But he begged from his host that the badger, which had made so\ngallant a defence, should be allowed henceforth to go scot-free. Dandie\npromised with willingness, happy to oblige his guest, though quite\nunable to understand why any one should \"care about a brock.\" When Brown\ntold this hearty family that he must leave them, he was compelled to\npromise, over and over again, that he would soon return. The chorus of\nDandie's tow-headed youngsters burst into one unanimous howl.\n\n\"Come back again, Captain,\" cried one sturdy little chap, \"and Jennie\nshall be your wife.\"\n\nJennie, a girl of eleven, promptly ran and hid herself behind her\nmother.\n\n\"Captain, come back,\" said a little fat roll-about girl of six, holding\nup her mouth to be kissed; \"come back and I'll be your wife my\nainsel'!\"\n\nIt was hard to leave so hospitable a home to go where, to say the least\nof it, one was not wanted. Especially was it so when the sturdy farmer,\ngrasping Brown's hand, said with a certain shamefacedness, \"There's a\npickle siller that I do not ken what to do wi', after Ailie has gotten\nher new goon and the bairns their winter duds. But I was thinking, that\nwhiles you army gentlemen can buy yoursel's up a step. If ye wad tak the\nsiller, a bit scrape o' a pen wad be as guid to me. Ye could take your\nain time about paying it back. And--and it would be a great convenience\nto me.\"\n\nBrown was much moved, but he could only thank his kind host heartily and\npromise that in case of need he would not forget to draw upon his purse.\nSo they parted, Brown leaving his little terrier Wasp to share bed and\nboard with the eldest of the Dinmont boys, who right willingly undertook\nthe task as a kind of security for his master's return.\n\nDinmont conveyed his guest some distance, and afterward, from the first\nDumfries-shire town which they entered, Brown took a carriage to carry\nhim part of the way in the direction of Woodbourne, where Julia\nMannering was at present residing.\n\n\nIII. IN THE LION'S MOUTH\n\nNight and mist stopped him after many miles of journeying. The postboy\nhad lost his way, and could offer no suggestions. Brown descended to see\nif by chance, in this wild place, they were near any farm-house at which\nhe could ask the way. Standing tiptoe upon a bank, it seemed as if he\ncould see in the distance a light feebly glimmering.\n\nBrown proceeded toward it, but soon found himself stumbling among ruins\nof cottages, the side walls of which were lying in shapeless heaps, half\ncovered with snow, while the gables still stood up gaunt and black\nagainst the sky. He ascended a bank, steep and difficult, and found\nhimself in front of a small square tower, from the chinks of which a\nlight showed dimly. Listening cautiously, he heard a noise as of stifled\ngroaning.\n\nBrown approached softly, and looked through a long arrow-slit upon a\ndismal scene. Smoke filled a wretched apartment. On a couch a man lay,\napparently dying, while beside him, wrapped in a long cloak, a woman sat\nwith bent head, crooning to herself and occasionally moistening the\nsufferer's lips with some liquid.\n\n\"It will not do,\" Brown heard her say at last \"he cannot pass away with\nthe crime on his soul. It tethers him here. I must open the door.\"\n\nAs she did so she saw Brown standing without. He, on his part,\nrecognised in the woman the gipsy wife whom he had seen on the Waste of\nCumberland, when he and Dandie Dinmont had had their fight with the\nrobbers.\n\n\"Did I not tell you neither to mix nor mingle?\" said the woman; \"but\ncome in. Here is your only safety!\"\n\nEven as she spoke, the head of the wounded man fell back. He was dead,\nand, before Brown could think of seeking safety in flight, they heard in\nthe distance the sound of voices approaching.\n\n\"They are coming!\" whispered the gipsy; \"if they find you here, you are\na dead man. Quick--you cannot escape. Lie down, and, whatever you see or\nhear, do not stir, as you value your life.\"\n\nBrown had no alternative but to obey. So the old gipsy wife covered him\nover with old sacks as he lay in the corner upon a couch of straw.\n\nThen Meg went about the dismal offices of preparing the dead man for\nburial, but Brown could see that she was constantly pausing to listen to\nthe sounds which every moment grew louder without. At last a gang of\nfierce-looking desperadoes poured tumultuously in, their leader abusing\nthe old woman for leaving the door open.\n\nBut Meg Merrilies had her answer ready.\n\n\"Did you ever hear of a door being barred when a man was in the\ndeath-agony?\" she cried. \"Think ye the spirit could win away through all\nthese bolts and bars?\"\n\n\"Is he dead, then?\" asked one of the ruffians, glancing in the direction\nof the bed.\n\n\"Ay, dead enough,\" growled another; \"but here is the wherewithal to give\nhim a rousing lykewake!\" And going to the corner he drew out a large jar\nof brandy, while Meg busied herself in preparing pipes and tobacco.\n\nBrown in his corner found his mind a little eased when he saw how\neagerly she went about her task.\n\n\"She does not mean to betray me, then!\" he said to himself. Though for\nall that, he could see no gleam of womanly tenderness on her face, nor\nimagine any reason she should not give him up to her associates.\n\nThat they were a gang of murderers was soon evident from their talk. The\nman, now wrapped in the dark sea-cloak, whose dead face looked down on\ntheir revels, was referred to as one who had often gloried in the murder\nof Frank Kennedy. But some of the others held that the deed was not\nwisely done, because after that the people of the country would not do\nbusiness with the smugglers.\n\n\"It did up the trade for one while!\" said one; \"the people turned\nrusty!\"\n\nThen there were evident threats uttered against some one whose name\nBrown did not hear.\n\n\"I think,\" said the leader of the ruffians, \"that we will have to be\ndown upon the fellow one of these nights, and let him have it well!\"\n\nAfter a while the carousing bandits called for what they called \"Black\nPeter.\" It was time (they said) \"to flick it open.\"\n\nTo Brown's surprise and indignation, Black Peter proved to be nothing\nelse than his own portmanteau, which gave him reasons for some very dark\nthoughts as to the fate of his postboy. He watched the rascals force his\nbag open and coolly divide all that was in it among them. Yet he dared\nnot utter a word, well aware that had he done so, the next moment a\nknife would have been at his throat.\n\nAt last, to his great relief, Brown saw them make their preparations for\ndeparture. He was left alone with the dead man and the old woman.\n\nMeg Merrilies waited till the first sun of the winter's morn had come,\nlest one of the revellers of the night should take it into his head to\nturn back. Then she led Brown by a difficult and precipitous path, till\nshe could point out to him, on the other side of some dense plantations,\nthe road to Kippletringan.\n\n\"And here,\" said she, mysteriously putting a large leathern purse into\nhis hand, \"is what will in some degree repay the many alms your house\nhas given me and mine!\"\n\nShe was gone before he could reply, and when Brown opened the purse, he\nwas astonished to find in it gold to the amount of nearly one hundred\npounds, besides many valuable jewels. The gipsy had endowed him with a\nfortune.\n\n\nINTERLUDE OF LOCALITY\n\n \"And all this happened here?\" repeated Sweetheart,\n incredulously, pointing up at the dark purple\n mountains of Screel and Ben Gairn.\n\n \"Well,\" I answered, \"Scott's Solway is the Dumfries\n Solway, not the Galloway Solway. Portanferry exists\n not far from Glencaple on the eastern bank of Nith,\n and the castle of Ellangowan is as like as possible\n to Caerlaverock.\"\n\n \"But he _says_ Galloway!\" objected Sweetheart, who\n has a pretty persistence of her own. \"And I wanted\n Ellangowan to be in Galloway. What with Carlyle\n having been born there, the Dumfries folk have\n quite enough to be proud of!\"\n\n \"Yes, Scott _says_ Ellangowan is in Galloway,\" said\n I, \"but nevertheless to any one who knows the\n country, it remains obstinately in Dumfries-shire.\n His swamps and morasses are those of Lochar. The\n frith is the Dumfries-shire Solway, the castle a\n Dumfries-shire castle, and what Scott put in of\n Galloway tradition was sent him by his friend the\n Castle Douglas exciseman.\"\n\n \"Oh!\" said Sweetheart, a little ruefully, \"but are\n you sure?\"\n\n \"Certain,\" I answered, \"if you consider time and\n distance from the border--say from Charlies-hope,\n you will see that Brown could not possibly have\n reached the heart of Galloway. Besides, Scott was\n far too wise a man to write about what he did not\n know. So he wove in Train's Galloway legends, but\n he put the people into his own well-kenned dresses,\n and set them to act their parts under familiar\n skies. Hence it is, that though the taste of Scott\n was never stronger than in _Guy Mannering_, the\n flavour of Galloway is somehow not in the mouth!\"\n\n \"What does it matter where it all happened?\" cried\n Hugh John; \"it is a rattling good tale, anyway, and\n if the Man-who-Wrote-It imagined that it all\n happened in Galloway, surely _we_ can!\"\n\n This being both sensible and unanswerable, the\n party scattered to improvise old castles of\n Ellangowan, and to squabble for what was to them\n the only wholly desirable part, that of Dirk\n Hatteraick. The combat between the smuggler and the\n exciseman was executed with particular zeal and\n spirit, Sir Toady Lion prancing and curvetting, as\n Frank Kennedy, on an invisible steed, with Maid\n Margaret before him on the saddle. So active was\n the fight indeed, that the bold bad smuggler, Dirk,\n assailed as to the upper part of his body by Sir\n Toady, and with the Heir tugging at his legs, found\n himself presently worsted and precipitated over the\n cliff in place of Frank Kennedy. This ending\n considerably disarranged the story, so that it was\n with no little trouble that the pair of strutting\n victors were induced to \"play by the book,\" and to\n accept (severally) death and captivity in the hold\n of the smuggling lugger.\n\n On the other hand, after I had read the\n Twenty-seventh and Twenty-eighth Chapters of _Guy\n Mannering_ to them in the original, it was\n remarkable with what accuracy of detail Sweetheart\n wrapped a plaid about her and played the witch, Meg\n Merrilies, singing wild dirges over an imaginary\n dead body, while Hugh John hid among the straw till\n Sir Toady and Maid Margaret rushed in with\n incredible hubbub and sat down to carouse like a\n real gang of the most desperate characters.\n\n Seated on a barrel of gunpowder, Sir Toady declared\n that he smelt traitors in the camp, whereupon he\n held a (paper) knife aloft in the air, and cried,\n \"If any deceive us or betray the gang, we will\n destroy them--_thus!_\"\n\n \"Yes,\" chimed in the rosebud mouth of Maid\n Margaret, \"and us will chop them into teeny-weeny\n little bits wif a sausage minchine, and feed them\n to our b-r-r-lood-hounds!\"\n\n \"Little monsters!\" cried Sweetheart, for the moment\n forgetting her proper character of witch-wife.\n Nevertheless, all in the Kairn of Derncleugh were\n happy, save Hugh John, who declared that Scott's\n heroes were always getting put under soft cushions\n or up the chimney. \"You can't really distinguish\n yourself,\" he insisted, \"in such situations!\" And\n he referred once more to the luck of a certain Mr.\n James Hawkins, ship's boy, late of \"Treasure\n Island.\"\n\n \"It's the nobodies that have all the fun--real\n heroes don't count!\" he continued ruefully, as he\n dusted himself from the bits of straw.\n\n \"Wait,\" said I; \"you have not heard the third tale\n from Guy Mannering. Then there will be lots for you\n to do!\"\n\n \"High time!\" he answered with awful irony.\n\n\n\n\nTHE THIRD TALE FROM \"GUY MANNERING\"\n\n\nTHE RETURN OF DIRK HATTERAICK\n\nONE event deeply stirred all Solway-side in the year of Colonel\nMannering's arrival at Woodbourne--the smugglers had returned in force,\nand proved themselves ripe for any desperate act. Their stronghold was\nas of old, the Isle of Man, from which they could descend in a few hours\nupon the Solway coasts. Stricter laws and more severe penalties had only\nrendered them fiercer than of old, and in case of need, they did not\nhesitate in the least to shed blood.\n\nAs of yore also, their leader was the savage Dirk Hatteraick, under whom\nserved a Lieutenant named Brown. One of their first exploits was a\ndaring attack upon the house of Woodbourne, where dwelt Colonel\nMannering with his daughter and Lucy Bertram.\n\nIt happened thus. Mannering, in company with young Charles Hazlewood,\nwas setting out for a loch some miles away to look at the skaters.\nHazlewood had quite often come to visit the house of Woodbourne since\nLucy Bertram went to live there. Suddenly a few men, each leading a\nladen horse, burst through the bushes, and, pressing straight across the\nlawn, made for the front door. Mannering hastened to demand what they\nwanted. They were revenue officers, they said, and as they knew that\nColonel Mannering had served in the East, they called upon him in the\nKing's name to protect them and their captures.\n\nTo this Mannering instantly agreed. No time was to be lost. The\nsmugglers were hot in pursuit, strongly reinforced. Immediately the\ngoods were piled in the hall. The windows were blocked up with cushions,\npillows, and (what caused the Dominie many a groan) great folios out of\nthe library, bound in wood, covered with leather, and studded with\nbrazen bosses like a Highland targe.\n\nWhile these preparations were being made within the house of Woodbourne\nthe steady earth-shaking beat of a body of horsemen was heard\napproaching, and in a few minutes a body of thirty mounted men rushed\nout upon the lawn, brandishing weapons and uttering savage yells. Most\nof them had their heads tied up in coloured handkerchiefs, while many\nwore masks by way of disguising themselves.\n\nFinding the mansion in an unexpected state of defence, they halted a\nmoment, as if to take counsel together. But finally one of them, his\nface all blackened with soot, dismounted and came forward, waving a\nwhite cloth in his hand.\n\nColonel Mannering immediately threw up a window, and asked the smuggler\nwhat he wanted.\n\n\"We want our goods, of which we have been robbed by these sharks,\" cried\nthe man with the blackened face, \"and we mean to have them. If you give\nthem up, we will go away quietly without harming any one, but if you\nrefuse, then we will burn the house and have the life-blood of every\nsoul under your roof.\"\n\nThis he swore with many horrible and cruel oaths.\n\n\"If you do not instantly ride off my lawn,\" answered Colonel Mannering,\n\"I will fire upon you without any further warning!\"\n\nThe Ambassador returned to his troop, and no sooner had he told them the\nColonel's answer than they rushed forward to the attack with horrid\nyells. Three volleys were fired, shattering the window-glass in all\ndirections, but, thanks to the Colonel's preparations, the slugs and\nbullets rattled harmlessly against his defences. Many of the smugglers\nnow dismounted and advanced with axe and crow-bar to force the front\ndoor. It was time for those within to take action.\n\n\"Let only Charles Hazlewood and myself shoot!\" said the Colonel,\n\"Hazlewood, do you mark the Ambassador. I will take the commander of the\nrascals--the man on the grey horse, whom they call their Lieutenant!\"\n\nBoth men fell as the shots rang out. Astonished by this reception, the\nsmugglers retreated, carrying with them their wounded. It was one of\nthese whom Captain Brown saw die in the little ruined keep at Derncleugh\nthe night when he was overtaken in the darkness--indeed, that very\nnamesake of his own, Brown, the mate of Hatteraick's vessel.\n\nThere were many who thought that after this Captain Mannering ought to\nremove his family out of danger. But that gentleman confined himself to\ntaking greater precautions at locking-up time, and insisting that when\nthe ladies went out walking, a gun should be carried by an attendant for\ntheir protection.\n\nOne day Julia Mannering and Lucy Bertram had gone out with young Charles\nHazlewood to visit a small lake much frequented by skaters and curlers,\nwhile a servant followed behind with a gun.\n\nIt chanced that Lucy, who never kept Hazlewood's arm when she could\navoid it, had dropped behind as they were passing along a narrow path\nthrough a pine plantation. Julia Mannering was therefore alone at\nCharles Hazlewood's side when Brown suddenly appeared from among the\ntrees, right in their path. He was roughly dressed, and young\nHazlewood, taking him for one of the smugglers, and mistaking the\nmeaning of Julia's cry of surprise at seeing her lover, snatched the gun\nfrom the servant, and haughtily ordered Brown to stand back so as not to\nalarm the lady. Brown, piqued at finding Julia on the arm of a stranger,\nreplied as haughtily that he did not require to take lessons from\nHazlewood how to behave to any lady. Instantly Charles Hazlewood pointed\nthe gun at his breast. Upon which Brown sprang upon him, and in the\nstruggle the gun went off by accident, and Hazlewood fell to the ground\nwounded. Brown, anxious not to bring Julia Mannering into the affair, at\nonce sprang over the hedge and disappeared.\n\n[Illustration: \"HE was roughly dressed, and young Hazlewood, taking him\nfor one of the smugglers, and mistaking the meaning of Julia's cry of\nsurprise at seeing her lover, snatched the gun from the servant, and\nhaughtily ordered Brown to stand back so as not to alarm the lady.\"]\n\nHazlewood's wound was, happily, not serious, and being an honest open\nyoung fellow, he was the first to own himself in the wrong. Nothing of\nimportance would have come of the affair, but for the officiousness of\nGlossin, the new Laird of Ellangowan, who saw in it a way of\ningratiating himself with the two powerful families of Mannering and\nHazlewood.\n\nGlossin began by questioning the landlady of the hotel where Brown had\nbeen staying. Then he tried to draw out the postboy. From them he\ngathered little, save the fact that a young man named Brown had been\nstaying at the Gordon Arms at Kippletringan. On the day of the accident\nto Charles Hazlewood, Brown had taken the postboy with him to show him\nthe skating and curling on the pond in the neighbourhood of which the\nsupposed attack had taken place. Jock Jabos, the postboy, however,\ndenied that \"the stoutest man in Scotland could take a gun frae him and\nshoot him wi' it, though he was but a feckless little body, fit only for\nthe outside o' a saddle or the fore-end of a post-chaise. Na, nae living\nman wad venture on the like o' that!\"\n\nSo Glossin, in order the better to carry out his plans, pretended to\nbelieve that Brown was the Lieutenant of the gang which had assaulted\nthe house of Woodbourne.\n\nMuch more to the point was the information which was waiting for Glossin\non his return to his house of Ellangowan. Mac-Guffog, the county\nthief-taker, and two of his people were there. With them they had\nbrought a prisoner, whom they had first beguiled into drink, and then\neasily handcuffed while asleep. Glossin was delighted. He was under a\ngreat hope that this might prove to be Brown himself. Instead, he\nrecognised an old acquaintance--no other than Dirk Hatteraick, the\nsmuggler. In the interview which followed, Dirk told Glossin some facts\nwhich made him tremble. His possession of Ellangowan was threatened. The\ntrue heir, the young lad Harry Bertram, lost on the night of the murder\nof Frank Kennedy, had not perished as had been supposed. He had been\nbrought up by the principal partner of the Dutch firm to which he had\nbeen bound apprentice, sent to the East Indies under the name of\nVanbeest Brown, and he was at that very moment upon the coast of\nSolway--it might be very near to Ellangowan itself.\n\nGlossin saw his hopes wither before his eyes. If the heir should find\nout his rights, then the fruits of his villany, the estate of Ellangowan\nitself, must return to its true owner. The lawyer secretly gave Dirk\nHatteraick a small file with which to rid himself of his irons, and then\nbade his captors confine him in the strong-room of the ancient castle.\n\n\"The stanchions are falling to pieces with rust,\" he whispered to Dirk,\n\"the distance to the ground is not twelve feet, and the snow lies thick.\nAfter that, you must steal my boat which lies below in the cove, and\nwait till I come to you in the cave of the Wood of Warroch!\"\n\nSo saying, he called the thief-takers in, and made his arrangements.\nGlossin could not sleep that night. Eagerly he watched the window of the\nold castle. He heard the iron bars fall outward upon the rocks with a\nclinking sound, and feared that all was lost. The light in the window\nwas obscured, and presently he saw a black object drop upon the snow.\nThen the little boat put out from the harbour, the wind caught the sail,\nand she bore away in the direction of Warroch Point.\n\nOn the morrow, however, he overwhelmed Mac-Guffog with the full force of\nhis anger for his carelessness in allowing his prisoner to escape. Then\nhe sent his men off in different directions, as fast as they could, to\nretake Hatteraick--in all directions, that is, except the true one.\n\nHaving thus disposed of the thief-takers, he set out for Warroch Head\nalone. But the marks of his feet in the snow startled him. Any officer,\ncoming upon that trail, would run it up like a bloodhound. So he changed\nhis path, descending the cliff, and making his way cautiously along the\nsea-beach where the snow did not lie. He passed the great boulder which\nhad fallen with Frank Kennedy. It was now all overgrown with mussels and\nseaweed. The mouth of the cave opened black and dismal before him.\nGlossin drew breath before entering such a haunt of iniquity, and\nrecharged his pistols. He was, however, somewhat heartened by the\nthought that Dirk Hatteraick had nothing to gain by his death. Finally\nhe took courage to push forward, and immediately the voice of Hatteraick\ncame hoarse from the back of the cave.\n\n\"Donner and hagel! Be'st du?\" he growled.\n\n\"Are you in the dark?\" said Glossin, soothingly.\n\n\"Dark? Der deyvel, ay!\" retorted Hatteraick, \"where should I get a glim?\nI am near frozen also! Snow-water and hagel--I could only keep myself\nwarm by tramping up and down this vault and thinking on the merry rouses\nwe used to have here!\"\n\nGlossin made a light, and having set down the little lantern which he\ncarried, he gathered together some barrel-staves and driftwood. The\nflame showed Hatteraick's fierce and bronzed visage as he warmed his\nsinewy hands at the blaze. He sat with his face thrust forward and\nactually in the smoke itself, so great had been his agony of cold. When\nhe was a little warmed up, Glossin gave him some cold meat and a flask\nof strong spirits. Hatteraick eagerly seized upon these, exclaiming,\nafter a long draught, \"Ah, that is good--that warms the liver!\"\n\nAfter the liquor and the food had put the smuggler into a somewhat\nbetter temper, the two associates settled themselves to discuss the\nproject which had brought Glossin to the Cave of the Warroch Point.\n\nUp to the present, Glossin had believed that the Vanbeest Brown who had\nwounded young Hazlewood was the mate of the smuggling lugger. But now,\nhearing that this Brown had been shot on the night of the Woodbourne\nattack, all at once a light broke upon him. The assailant could be no\nother than the rightful heir of Ellangowan, Harry Bertram.\n\n\"If he is on this coast,\" he meditated, half to himself, \"I can have him\narrested as the leader of the attack upon Woodbourne, and also for an\nassault upon Charles Hazlewood!\"\n\n\"But,\" said Dirk Hatteraick, grimly, \"he will be loose again upon you,\nas soon as he can show himself to carry other colours!\"\n\n\"True, friend Hatteraick,\" said Glossin; \"still, till that is proved, I\ncan imprison him in the custom-house of Portanferry, where your goods\nare also stowed. You and your crew can attack the custom-house, regain\nyour cargo, and--\"\n\n\"Send the heir of Ellangowan to Jericho--or the bottom of the sea!\"\ncried Hatteraick, with fierce bitterness.\n\n\"Nay, I advise no violence,\" said Glossin, softly, looking at the\nground.\n\n\"Nein--nein,\" growled the smuggler; \"you only leave that to me.\nSturm-wetter, I know you of old! Well, well, if I thought the trade\nwould not suffer, I would soon rid you of this younker--as soon, that\nis, as you send me word that he is under lock and key!\"\n\n * * * * *\n\nIt so happened that at the very moment when Colonel Mannering and\nDominie Sampson had gone to Edinburgh to see after an inheritance,\nBrown, or rather young Bertram (to give his real name), had succeeded in\ncrossing the Solway in a sailing-boat, and was safe in Cumberland.\n\nMannering's mission was one of kindliness to his guest, Lucy Bertram.\nHer aunt, old Miss Bertram of Singleside, had formerly made Lucy her\nheiress, and the Colonel hoped that she might have continued of this\nexcellent mind. By Mr. Mac-Morlan's advice he engaged a whimsical but\nable Scottish lawyer to go with him to the opening of the will--at which\nceremony, among other connections of the deceased, Dandie Dinmont was\nalso present. But all were disappointed. For Miss Bertram had put her\nwhole property in trust on behalf of the lost heir of Ellangowan, young\nHarry Bertram, whom (said the will) she had good reason for believing to\nbe still alive.\n\nThe object of all these plots and plans, good and evil intentions, was,\nhowever, safe in Cumberland. And had he been content to stay where he\nwas, safe he would have remained. But as soon as young Bertram arrived\nupon the English coast he had written to Julia Mannering to explain his\nconduct in the affair with Hazlewood, to the Colonel of his regiment to\nask him for the means of establishing his identity as a Captain in one\nof his Majesty's dragoon regiments, to his agent to send him a sum of\nmoney, and in the meantime to Dandie Dinmont for a small temporary loan\ntill he could hear from his man-of-affairs.\n\nSo he had nothing to do but wait. However, a sharp reply from Julia\nMannering stung him to the quick. In this she first of all informed him\nthat the Colonel would be from home for some days, then reproached him\nfor the hastiness of his conduct, and concluded by saying that he was\nnot to think of returning to Scotland.\n\nThis last was, of course, what Bertram at once proceeded to do, as\nperhaps the young lady both hoped and anticipated.\n\nSo once more the heir of Ellangowan was set ashore beneath the old\ncastle which had been built by his forefathers. He had worked his\npassage manfully, and it was with regret that the sailors put him ashore\nin the bay directly beneath the Auld Place of Ellangowan. Some\nremembrance came across him, drifting fitfully over his mind, that\nsomehow he was familiar with these ruins. When he had entered and looked\nabout him, this became almost a certainty. It chanced that lawyer\nGlossin had entered the castle at about the same time, coming, as he\nsaid aloud, to see \"what could be made of it as a quarry of good hewn\nstone,\" and adding that it would be better to pull it down at any rate,\nthan to preserve it as a mere haunt of smugglers and evil-doers.\n\n\"And would you destroy this fine old ruin?\" said Bertram, who had\noverheard the last part of Glossin's remarks. The lawyer was struck\ndumb, so exactly were the tone and attitude those of Harry Bertram's\nfather in his best days. Indeed, coming suddenly face to face with the\nyoung man there within the ancient castle of Ellangowan, it seemed to\nGlossin as if Godfrey Bertram had indeed risen from the dead to denounce\nand punish his treachery.\n\nBut the lawyer soon recovered himself. The scheme he had worked out\ntogether with Dirk Hatteraick matured in his mind, and this seemed as\ngood a time as any for carrying it out. So he waited only for the coming\nof two of his thief-takers to lay hands on Bertram, and to send word to\nthe father of Charles Hazlewood that he held the would-be murderer of\nhis son at his disposition.\n\nNow Sir Robert Hazlewood was a formal old dunderhead, who was of opinion\nthat his family, and all connected with it, were the only really\nimportant things in the universe. Still when the prisoner was brought\nbefore him, he was a good deal startled by Bertram's quiet assurance,\nand, in spite of Glossin's sneers, could not help being influenced by\nthe information that Colonel Guy Mannering could speak to the fact of\nhis being both an officer and a gentleman. But Glossin pointed out that\nMannering was in Edinburgh, and that they could not let a possible\nmalefactor go merely because he said that he was known to an absent\nman. It was, therefore, arranged that, pending the arrival of the\nColonel, Harry Bertram (or Captain Vanbeest Brown) should be confined in\nthe custom-house at Portanferry, where there was a guard of soldiers for\nthe purpose of guarding the goods taken from the smugglers.\n\nHappy that his schemes were prospering so well, Glossin went off to\narrange with Dirk Hatteraick for the attack, and also as to the removal\nof the soldiers, in such a way that no suspicion might fall upon that\nhonourable gentleman, Mr. Gilbert Glossin, Justice of the Peace and\npresent owner of Ellangowan.\n\n * * * * *\n\nMeanwhile, however, the emissaries of Meg Merrilies were not idle. They\nbrought her the earliest information that the heir of Ellangowan was in\nthe custom-house at Portanferry, and in imminent danger of his life. Far\non the hills of Liddesdale one Gibbs Faa, a gipsy huntsman, warned\nDandie Dinmont that if he wished his friend well, he had better take\nhorse and ride straight for Portanferry--where, if he found Brown in\nconfinement, he was to stay by him night and day. For if he did not, he\nwould only regret it once--and that would be for his whole life.\n\nGlossin's plan was to work on the fears of the stupid pompous Sir Robert\nHazlewood, so that he would summon all the soldiers for the defence of\nHazlewood House, in the belief that it was to be assaulted by the\ngipsies and smugglers. But Meg Merrilies herself sent young Charles\nHazlewood to order the soldiers back, in which mission he would have\nsucceeded but for the dull persistence of his father. However, Mr.\nMac-Morlan, as Sheriff-Substitute of the county, was able to do that in\nspite of Sir Robert's protest which the good sense of his son had been\npowerless to effect. The soldiers left Hazlewood House, and took the\ndirect road back to Portanferry in spite of Sir Robert's threats and\nremonstrances.\n\nLastly Colonel Mannering, but recently returned from Edinburgh, was\nwarned by a missive which Dominie Sampson had brought from Meg herself.\nSo that on one particular night all the forces of order, as well as\nthose of disorder, were directing themselves toward the custom-house of\nPortanferry, where in a close and ignoble apartment Harry Bertram and\nhis worthy friend, Dandie Dinmont, were sleeping. It was Bertram who\nwakened first. There was a strong smell of burning in the room. From the\nwindow he could see a crowded boat-load of men landing at the little\nharbour, and in the yard below a huge mastiff was raging on his chain.\n\n\"Go down and let loose the dog!\" the wife of Mac-Guffog called to her\nhusband; \"I tell you they are breaking in the door of the liquor store!\"\n\nBut the good man appeared to be more anxious about his prisoners. He\nwent from cell to cell, making sure that all was safe, while his wife,\naffirming that he had not the heart of a chicken, descended herself into\nthe courtyard.\n\nIn the meantime, Bertram and Dandie watched from their barred window the\nsavage figures of the smugglers triumphantly loading their boats with\ntheir recovered goods, while the whole custom-house flamed to the\nheavens, sending sparks and blazing fragments upon the roof of the\nadjoining prison.\n\nSoon at the outer gate was heard the thunder of sledge-hammers and\ncrows. It was being forced by the smugglers. Mac-Guffog and his wife had\nalready fled, but the underlings delivered the keys, and the prisoners\nwere soon rejoicing in their liberty. In the confusion, four or five of\nthe principal actors entered the cell of Bertram.\n\n\"Der deyvil,\" exclaimed the leader, \"here's our mark!\"\n\nTwo of them accordingly seized Bertram and hurried him along. One of\nthem, however, whispered in his ear to make no resistance for the\npresent--also bidding Dinmont over his shoulder to follow his friend\nquietly and help when the time came. Bertram found himself dragged along\npassages, through the courtyard, and finally out into the narrow street,\nwhere, in the crowd and confusion, the smugglers became somewhat\nseparated from each other. The sound of cavalry approaching rapidly made\nitself heard.\n\n\"Hagel and wetter!\" cried the leader, no other than Hatteraick himself,\n\"what is that? Keep together--look to the prisoner!\"\n\nBut, for all that, the two who held Bertram were left last of the party.\nThe crowd began to break, rushing this way and that. Shots were fired,\nand above the press the broadswords of the dragoons were seen to\nglitter, flashing over the heads of the rioters.\n\n\"Now,\" whispered the man who had before advised Bertram to be quiet,\n\"shake off that fellow and follow me.\"\n\nBertram easily did so, and his left-hand captor, attempting to draw a\npistol, was instantly knocked senseless by the huge fist of Dandie\nDinmont.\n\n\"Now, follow quick!\" said the first, diving at the word into a dirty and\nnarrow lane. There was no pursuit. Mr. Mac-Morlan and the soldiers had\nappeared in the nick of time. The smugglers had enough to do to provide\nfor their own safety.\n\nAt the end of the lane they found a post-chaise with four horses.\n\n\"Are you here, in God's name?\" cried their guide.\n\n\"Ay, troth am I,\" said Jock Jabos; \"and I wish I were ony gate else!\"\n\nThe guide opened the carriage door.\n\n\"Get in,\" he said to Bertram, \"and remember your promise to the gipsy\nwife!\"\n\nThrough the windows of the coach Dinmont and he could see the village of\nPortanferry, and indeed the whole landscape, brilliantly lighted by a\ntall column of light. The flames had caught the stores of spirits kept\nin the custom-house. But soon the carriage turned sharply through dark\nwoods at the top speed of the horses, and, after a long journey, finally\ndrew up in front of a mansion, in the windows of which lights still\nburned, in spite of the lateness of the hour.\n\n * * * * *\n\n The listening children remained breathless as I\n paused. I had meant this to be the end of my tale,\n but I saw at once that no excuse would be held\n valid for such a shameful dereliction of duty.\n\n \"Go on--go on,\" they cried; \"where was the house\n and what happened?\"\n\n \"I know!\" said Sweetheart; \"it was the house of\n Julia Mannering, and her lover--\"\n\n \"Oh, bother her lover,\" cried Hugh John,\n impatiently; \"_we_ don't want to hear about how\n they lived happy ever after. Tell us about the\n gipsy, Meg Merrilies--\"\n\n \"And about Dirk Hatteraick!\" said Sir Toady Lion,\n getting his word in. \"I just love Dirk!\"\n\n \"And how many people he killed wif his big knife,\n and if he was burnt up alive in the fire!\" For Maid\n Margaret also delights in the most gory details,\n though she would not willingly tread upon a worm.\n\n \"Yes, go on, tell us all--everything that\n happened!\" said Sweetheart.\n\n \"But do skip the lovering parts,\" cried the boys in\n chorus.\n\n So within these statutes of limitation I had\n perforce to recommence, without further preface,\n telling the fourth and last tale from _Guy\n Mannering_.\n\n\n\n\nTHE FOURTH TALE FROM \"GUY MANNERING\"\n\n\nTHE FIGHT IN THE CAVE\n\nIMMEDIATELY upon receiving the message of Meg Merrilies, brought by\nDominie Sampson, Colonel Mannering had sent a carriage to the place\ndesignated. Bertram and his companion Dandie, having by the help of the\ngipsies, Meg's companions, made good their escape from the burning\ncustom-house, took their places in it and were whirled through the\ndarkness, they knew not whither. But it was at the door of the house of\nWoodbourne that they found themselves. Mr. Pleydell, the lawyer, had\nalso arrived from Edinburgh, so that all were presently met together in\nthe drawing-room, and it is difficult to say which of the party appeared\nthe most surprised.\n\nIn Captain Brown (or Harry Bertram, to call him by his own proper name),\nColonel Mannering saw the man whom he had believed slain by his hand in\nIndia. Julia met her lover in her father's house, and apparently there\nby his invitation. Dominie Sampson stood half aghast to recognise the\nlost heir of Ellangowan. Bertram himself feared the effect which his\nsudden appearance might have on Julia, while honest Dandie wished his\nthick-soled boots and rough-spun Liddesdale plaid anywhere else than in\na room filled with ladies and gentlemen.\n\nOnly the lawyer, Mr. Pleydell, was wholly master of the situation, and\nbustled about, putting everybody at their ease. He saw himself in the\nthick of a great mysterious lawsuit which he alone could unravel, and he\nproceeded on the spot to cross-examine Bertram as to what he remembered\nof his life before he went to Holland.\n\nBertram remembered, he said, quite clearly, a good-looking gentleman\nwhom he had called father, a delicate lady who must have been his\nmother, but more distinctly than either he recalled a tall man in worn\nblack who had taught him his lessons and whom he loved for his kindness.\n\nAt these words Dominie Sampson could contain himself no longer. He rose\nhastily from his chair, and with clasped hands and trembling limbs cried\nout, \"Harry Bertram--look at me! Was not I the man?\"\n\nBertram started up as if a sudden light had dawned upon him.\n\n\"Yes,\" he cried, \"that is my name--Bertram--Harry Bertram! And those are\nthe voice and figure of my kind old master!\"\n\nThe Dominie threw himself into his arms, his whole frame shaking with\nemotion, and at last, his feelings overcoming him, he lifted up his\nvoice and wept. Even Colonel Mannering had need of his handkerchief.\nPleydell made wry faces and rubbed hard at his glasses, while Dandie\nDinmont, after two strange blubbering explosions, fairly gave way and\ncried out, \"Deil's in the man! He's garred me do what I haena done since\nmy auld mither died!\"\n\nAfter this, the examination went on more staidly. Bertram said that he\nremembered very well the walk he had taken with the Dominie and somebody\nlifting him up on horseback--then, more indistinctly, a scuffle in which\nhe and his guide had been pulled from the saddle. Vaguely and gradually\nthe memory came back of how he had been lifted into the arms of a very\ntall woman who protected him from harm. Again he was a poor half-starved\ncabin-boy in the Holland trade. Quickly, however, gaining the good-will\nof the leading partner of the firm to which the vessel belonged, he had\nbeen thoroughly well educated in Holland, before being sent to seek his\nfortune in India. He passed over his career there, but told in detail\nthe accidental way in which young Hazlewood had been wounded, and ended\nby a request that he should now be told who the questioner might be who\ntook such an interest in his affairs.\n\n\"Why, for myself, sir,\" answered the counsellor, \"I am Paulus Pleydell,\nan advocate at the Scottish bar. And as for you, it is not easy for the\nmoment to say who you are. But I trust in a short time to hail you by\nthe title of Henry Bertram, Esquire, representative of one of the oldest\nfamilies in Scotland, and heir of entail to the estates of Ellangowan.\"\n\nOn the morrow the plotting at Woodbourne still went on merrily, around\nthe person of the newly found heir. The counsellor-at-law arranged his\nplan of campaign. The Dominie, having left Harry Bertram at half-text\nand words of two syllables when he was carried off in Warroch Wood,\nprepared to take up his education at that exact point.\n\n\"Of a surety, little Harry,\" he said, \"we will presently resume our\nstudies. We will begin from the foundation. Yes, I will reform your\neducation upward from the true knowledge of English grammar, even to\nthat of the Hebrew or Chaldaic tongue!\"\n\nIn the meantime, Colonel Mannering, having first had an interview with\nthe counsellor in his room, gently drew from Julia that it was no other\nthan Bertram who had spoken with her under her window at Mervyn Hall;\nalso that, though she had remained silent, she had perfectly recognised\nhim before the scuffle took place with young Hazlewood at the pond. For\nthese concealments from her father, Mannering as gently forgave her, and\nreceived in return a promise that, in future, she would hide nothing\nfrom him which it concerned him to know.\n\nThe first step of the conspirators was to obtain a legal release for\nBertram from Sir Robert Hazlewood, who granted it most unwillingly,\nhaving (it was evident) been secretly primed by Glossin as to what he\nshould say and do. But it was secured at last, upon Colonel Mannering's\npledging his word of honour for his appearance. And while the business\nwas being settled, Harry Bertram, with the two ladies, wandered out to a\nknoll above the ancient castle of Ellangowan to look once again upon the\nhome of his ancestors.\n\nThey were standing here, looking on the crumbling walls, when suddenly,\nas if emerging from the earth, Meg Merrilies ascended from the hollow\nway beneath, and stood before them.\n\n\"I sought ye at the house,\" she said, \"but ye are right and I was wrong.\nIt is here we should meet--here, on the very spot where my eyes last saw\nyour father. And now, remember your promise and follow me!\"\n\nIn spite of the unwillingness of Lucy and Julia to allow him to depart\nwith such a companion, Bertram and Dandie (for Meg invited Dinmont also\nto follow her) hastened to obey the gipsy's summons. There was something\nweird in the steady swiftness of her gait as she strode right forward\nacross the moor, taking no heed either of obstacle or of well-trodden\npath. She seemed like some strange withered enchantress drawing men\nafter her by her witchcrafts. But Julia and Lucy were somewhat comforted\nby the thought that if the gipsy had meditated any evil against Bertram,\nshe would not have asked so doughty a fighter as Dandie Dinmont to\naccompany him.\n\nThey therefore made the best of their way home, and while they were\ntelling the adventure to the Colonel, young Hazlewood, who happened to\nbe at Woodbourne, courageously offered to follow after, to see that no\nharm came to Dandie and his former antagonist.\n\nMeg Merrilies led them through the wood of Warroch, along the same path\nby which Harry had been carried on the night of the exciseman's murder.\n\nTurning for a moment, she asked Bertram if he remembered the way.\n\n\"Not very clearly!\" he answered.\n\n\"Ay,\" she said, \"here was the very spot where Frank Kennedy was pulled\nfrom his horse. I was hiding behind the bour-tree bush at the moment.\nSair, sair he strove and sair he cried for mercy. But he was in the\nhands of them that never kenned the word.\"\n\nContinuing her way, she led them downward to the sea by a secret and\nrugged path, cut in the face of the cliff, and hidden among brushwood.\nThere on the shore lay the stone under which the body of Frank Kennedy\nhad been found crushed. A little farther on was the cave itself in which\nthe murderers had concealed themselves. The gipsy pointed mysteriously.\n\n\"He is there,\" she said, in a low voice, \"the man who alone can\nestablish your right--Jansen Hatteraick, the tyrant of your youth, and\nthe murderer of Frank Kennedy. Follow me--I have put the fire between\nyou. He will not see you as you enter, but when I utter the words, 'The\nHour and the Man'--then do you rush in and seize him. But be prepared.\nIt will be a hard battle, for Hatteraick is a very devil!\"\n\n\"Dandie, you must stand by me now!\" said Bertram to his comrade.\n\n\"That ye need never doubt,\" returned the Borderer; \"but a' the same it's\nan awesome thing to leave the blessed sun and free air, and gang and be\nkilled like a fox in his hole. But I'll never baulk ye--it'll be a\nhard-bitten terrier that will worry Dandie!\"\n\nSo forward they went, creeping cautiously on all fours after the gipsy\nwoman. When they were about halfway in, a hand was laid on Dandie\nDinmont's heel, and it was all the stout farmer could do to keep from\ncrying out--which, in the defenceless position in which they were\nplaced, might well have cost them all their lives.\n\nHowever, Dandie freed his ankle with a kick, and instantly a voice\nbehind him whispered, \"It is a friend--Charles Hazlewood!\"\n\nAs soon as they had gained the higher part of the cave, Meg Merrilies\nbegan rustling about among the dried branches, murmuring and singing, to\ncover the noise made by the entrance of the three men who followed her.\nFrom the deep dark where they stood, they could see Dirk Hatteraick at\nthe farther end of the cave, behind a fire which he was continually\nbuilding up by throwing into it bits of dried sticks. Hatteraick was of\npowerful build, and his features were beyond description savage and\nrugged. A cutlass hung by his side, and into his belt he had thrust,\nready to his hand at a moment's notice, two pairs of pistols. Truly the\ncapture of Dirk Hatteraick was no light adventure, and Bertram, having\nbeen warned by Dandie in a cautious whisper of Hazlewood's arrival,\nthought within himself that they would be none the worse of the third\nwho had come so opportunely to their assistance.\n\n\"Here, beldam--deyvil's kind,\" cried Hatteraick in his harshest voice,\n\"have you brought me the brandy and news of my people?\"\n\n\"Here is the flask for you,\" answered Meg, passing it to him; \"but as\nfor your crew, they are all cut down and scattered by the redcoats!\"\n\n\"Storm and wetter, ye hag,\" he cried, \"ye bring ill news. This coast is\nfatal to me! And what of Glossin?\"\n\n\"Ye missed your stroke there,\" she said; \"ye have nothing to expect from\nhim!\"\n\n\"Hagel,\" cried the ruffian, \"if only I had him by the throat! He has led\nme to perdition--men lost, boat lost, credit lost. I dare never show my\nface in Flushing again!\"\n\n\"_You will never need!_\" croaked the gipsy.\n\nMeg's sombre prophecy startled Hatteraick. He looked up suddenly.\n\n\"What is that you say, witch? And what are you doing there?\" he cried.\nMeg dropped a firebrand steeped in spirit upon some loose flax.\nInstantly a tall column of brilliant wavering light filled the cave.\n\n\"Ye will never need to go to Flushing,\" she said, \"because 'The Hour's\ncome and the Man!'\"\n\nAt the signal, Bertram and Dandie Dinmont, springing over the brushwood,\nrushed upon Hatteraick. Hazlewood, not knowing the plan of assault, was\na moment later. The ruffian instantly understood that he had been\nbetrayed, and the first brunt of his anger fell upon Meg Merrilies, at\nwhose breast he fired a pistol point-blank. She fell with a shriek which\nwas partly the sudden pain of the wound, and partly a shout of\ntriumphant laughter.\n\n\"I kenned it would end that way--and it is e'en this way that it should\nend!\"\n\nBertram had caught his foot on some slippery weed as he advanced, and\nthe chance stumble saved his life. For otherwise Hatteraick's second\nbullet, aimed coolly and steadily, would certainly have crashed through\nhis skull. Before he could draw a third, Dandie Dinmont was upon him.\nYet such was the giant smuggler's strength and desperation, that he\nactually dragged Dandie through the burning flax, before Bertram and\nHazlewood could come to the farmer's assistance. Then in a moment more\nHatteraick was disarmed and bound, though to master him took all the\nstrength of three strong well-grown men.\n\nAfter he had been once bound securely, Hatteraick made no further\nattempt to escape. He lay perfectly still while Bertram, leaving Dandie\nto guard his prisoner, went to look to Meg Merrilies. The soldier,\nfamiliar with gunshot wounds, knew at once that her case was hopeless.\n\nBut he did what he could to bind up the old gipsy's wound, while\nDandie, his hand laid heavily on Hatteraick's breast, watched pistol in\nhand the entrance of the cave. Hazlewood, whose horse had been tied\noutside, mounted to ride for assistance, and in a few moments silence\nfell on the scene of so fierce a combat, broken only by the low moans of\nthe wounded gipsy.\n\nIt was no more than three-quarters of an hour that Bertram and Dandie\nDinmont had to keep their watch. But to them it seemed as if ages had\npassed before Hazlewood returned and they were clear of the fatal\ncavern. Hatteraick allowed himself to be removed without either\nassisting or hindering those who had charge of him. But when his captors\nwould have had him rest against the huge boulder which had been thrown\ndown along with the murdered exciseman, Hatteraick shrank back with a\nshout:\n\n\"Hagel--not there,\" he cried, \"you would not have me sit _there!_\"\n\nOn the arrival of a doctor, he could only confirm Bertram's opinion that\nMeg Merrilies was indeed wounded to the death. But she had enough\nstrength left to call the assembled people to witness that Bertram was\nindeed young Harry Bertram the lost heir of Ellangowan.\n\n\"All who have ever seen his father or grandfather, bear witness if he is\nnot their living image!\" she cried.\n\nThen with her failing breath she told the tale of the murder, and how\nshe had pleaded for the child's life. She dared Dirk Hatteraick to deny\nthe truth of what she was saying. But the villain only kept his grim\nsilence. Then suddenly the enthusiasm broke forth at the chance\ntestimony of the driver of a return coach to Kippletringan, who\nexclaimed at sight of Bertram, \"As sure as there's breath in man,\nthere's auld Ellangowan risen from the dead!\" The shouts of the people,\nmany of whom had lived all their lives on his father's land, came\ngratefully to the ear of the dying woman.\n\n\"Dinna ye hear?\" she cried, \"dinna ye hear? He's owned--he's owned! I am\na sinfu' woman! It was my curse that brought the ill, but it has been my\nblessing that has ta'en it off! Stand oot o' the light that I may see\nhim yince mair. But no--it may not be! The darkness is in my ain e'en.\nIt's a' ended now:\n\n \"Pass breath,\n Come death!\"\n\nAnd sinking back on her bed of straw, Meg Merrilies died without a\ngroan.\n\n * * * * *\n\nMr. Pleydell having, as Sheriff of the county, formerly conducted the\ninquiry into Frank Kennedy's death, was asked by the other magistrates\nto preside at this. The meeting was held in the court-house of\nKippletringan, and many of the chief people in the neighbourhood\nhastened to the little town to be present at the examination of\nHatteraick. Pleydell, among the evidence formerly collected, had by him\nthe sizes and markings of the footmarks found round the place of Frank\nKennedy's death-struggle. These had, of course, been safely preserved,\never since the failure of justice on that occasion. One set evidently\nbelonged to a long and heavy foot, and fitted the boots of Brown, the\nmate of Hatteraick's vessel, the same who had been killed at the attack\non Woodbourne. The stouter and thicker moulds fitted those of the\nprisoner himself.\n\nAt this Hatteraick cried out suddenly, \"Der deyvil, how could there be\nfootmarks at all on the ground when it was as hard as the heart of a\nMemel log?\"\n\nInstantly Pleydell noted the smuggler's slip.\n\n\"In the evening,\" he said, \"I grant you the ground was hard--not,\nhowever, in the morning. But, Captain Hatteraick, will you kindly tell\nme where you were on the day which you remember so exactly?\"\n\nHatteraick, seeing his mistake, again relapsed into silence, and at that\nmoment Glossin bustled in to take his place on the bench with his\nbrother magistrates. He was, however, very coldly received indeed,\nthough he did his best to curry favour with each in succession. Even\nHatteraick only scowled at him, when he suggested that \"the poor man,\nbeing only up for examination, need not be so heavily ironed.\"\n\n\"The poor man has escaped once before,\" said Mr. Mac-Morlan, drily. But\nsomething worse was in store for Glossin than the cold shoulder from his\nfellow-justices. In his search through the documents found upon\nHatteraick, Pleydell had come upon three slips of paper, being bills\nwhich had been drawn and signed by Hatteraick on the very day of the\nKennedy murder, ordering large sums of money to be paid to Glossin. The\nbills had been duly honoured. Mr. Pleydell turned at once upon Glossin.\n\n\"That confirms the story which has been told by a second eye-witness of\nthe murder, one Gabriel, or Gibbs Faa, a nephew of Meg Merrilies, that\nyou were an accessory after the fact, in so far as, though you did not\ntake part in the slaughter of Kennedy, you concealed the guilty persons\non account of their giving you this sum of money.\"\n\nIn a few minutes Glossin found himself deserted by all, and he was even\nordered to be confined in the prison of Kippletringan, in a room\nimmediately underneath the cell occupied by Hatteraick. The smuggler,\nbeing under the accusation of murder and having once already escaped,\nwas put for safety in the dungeon, called the \"condemned cell,\" and\nthere chained to a great bar of iron, upon which a thick ring ran from\none side of the room to the other.\n\nLeft to his unpleasant reflections, Glossin began to count up the\nchances in his favour. Meg Merrilies was dead. Gabriel Faa, besides\nbeing a gipsy, was a vagrant and a deserter. The other witnesses--he did\nnot greatly fear them! If only Dirk Hatteraick could be induced to be\nsteady, and to put another meaning upon the sums of money which had\nbeen paid to him on the day of Kennedy's murder!\n\nHe must see Hatteraick--that very night he must see him! He slipped two\nguineas into Mac-Guffog's hand (who since the burning of Portanferry\nprison had been made under-turnkey at Kippletringan), and by the\nthief-taker's connivance he was to be admitted that very night at\nlocking-up time into the cell of Dirk Hatteraick.\n\n\"But you will have to remain there all night,\" said the man. \"I have to\ntake the keys of all the cells directly to the captain of the prison!\"\n\nSo on his stocking-soles Glossin stole up after his guide, and was\npresently locked in with the savage and desperate smuggler. At first\nHatteraick would neither speak to Glossin nor listen to a word\nconcerning his plans.\n\n\"Plans,\" he cried at last, in a burst of fury, \"you and your plans! You\nhave planned me out of ship, cargo, and life. I dreamed this moment that\nMeg Merrilies dragged you here by the hair, and put her long clasp-knife\ninto my hand. Ah, you don't know what she said! Sturm-wetter, it will be\nyour wisdom not to tempt me!\"\n\n\"Why, Hatteraick,\" said Glossin, \"have you turned driveller? Rise and\nspeak with me!\"\n\n\"Hagel, nein--let me alone!\"\n\n\"Get up, at least! Up with you for an obstinate Dutch brute!\" said\nGlossin, all at once losing his temper and kicking him with his heavy\nboot.\n\n\"Donner and blitzen,\" cried Hatteraick, leaping up and grappling with\nhim, \"you shall have it then!\"\n\nGlossin resisted as best he could, but his utmost strength was as\nnothing in the mighty grasp of the angry savage. He fell under\nHatteraick, the back of his neck coming with a fearful crash upon the\niron bar.\n\nIn the morning, true to his promise, Mac-Guffog called Glossin to come\nout of Hatteraick's cell.\n\n\"Call louder!\" answered a voice from within, grimly.\n\n\"Mr. Glossin, come away,\" repeated Mac-Guffog; \"for Heaven's sake come\naway!\"\n\n\"He'll hardly do that without help!\" said Hatteraick.\n\n\"What are you standing chattering there for, Mac-Guffog?\" cried the\ncaptain of the prison, coming up with a lantern. They found Glossin's\nbody doubled across the iron bar. He was stone dead. Hatteraick's grip\nhad choked the life out of him as he lay.\n\nThe murderer, having thus done justice on his accomplice, asked neither\nfavour nor mercy for himself, save only that he might have paper whereon\nto write to his firm in Holland.\n\n\"I was always faithful to owners,\" he said, when they reproached him\nwith his crimes. \"I always accounted for cargo to the last stiver! As\nfor that carrion,\" he added (pointing to Glossin), \"I have only sent him\nto the devil a little ahead of me!\"\n\nThey gave him what he asked for--pens, ink, and paper. And on their\nreturn, in a couple of hours, they found his body dangling from the\nwall. The smuggler had hanged himself by a cord taken from his own\ntruckle-bed.\n\nAnd though Mac-Guffog lost his place, on the suspicion of having\nintroduced Glossin into Hatteraick's cell, there were many who believed\nthat it was the Evil One himself who had brought the rogue and the\nruffian together in order that they might save the hangman the trouble\nof doing his office upon them.\n\n * * * * *\n\nThe end can be told in a word. Harry Bertram was duly and legally\nreturned as heir of Ellangowan. His father's debts were soon paid, and\nthe Colonel, in giving him his daughter, gave him also the means of\nrebuilding the ancient castle of the Ellangowan race. Sir Robert\nHazlewood had no objections to Lucy Bertram as a daughter-in-law, so\nsoon as he knew that she brought with her as a dowry the whole estate of\nSingleside, which her brother insisted on her taking in accordance with\nher aunt's first intention. And lastly, in the new castle, there was one\nchamber bigger than all the others, called the Library, and just off it\na little one, in which dwelt the happiest of men upon the earth. This\nchamber was called on the plans \"Mr. Sampson's Apartment.\"\n\n * * * * *\n\nTHE END OF THE FOURTH AND LAST TALE FROM \"GUY MANNERING.\"\n\n * * * * *\n\nINTERLUDE OF CONSULTATION\n\n A unanimous sigh greeted the close of _Guy\n Mannering_. It was the narrator's reward--the same\n which the orator hears, when, in a pause of speech,\n the strained attention relaxes, and the people,\n slowly bent forward like a field of corn across\n which the wind blows, settle back into their\n places.\n\n \"A jolly ending--and the cave part was ripping!\"\n summed up Hugh John, nodding his head in grave\n approval of Sir Walter, \"but why can't he always\n write like that?\"\n\n \"Couldn't keep it up,\" suggested Sir Toady Lion;\n \"books can't all be caves, you know.\"\n\n \"Well, anyhow, I'm not going to play any more\n heroes,\" said Hugh John, emphatically. \"I bags\n Hatteraick--when we get out to the Den!\"\n\n The young man intimated by these cabalistic words\n that the part of Hatteraick was to be his in any\n future play-acting.\n\n \"Which being interpreted,\" said Sweetheart, with\n spirit, \"means that I am to be Gilbert Faa the\n gipsy, and Glossin, and all these nasty sort of\n people. Now I don't mind Meg Merrilies a bit. And\n being shot like that--that's always something. But\n I warn you, Hugh John, that if you were Hatteraick\n ten times over, you couldn't get me down over that\n iron bar!\"\n\n \"No, that you couldn't,\" said Sir Toady Lion,\n seeing a far-off chance for himself; \"why,\n Sweetheart could just batter your head against the\n wall! And then when Mac-Guffog came in the morning\n with his lantern, he'd find that old Hatteraick\n hadn't any need to go and hang himself! But don't\n you two squabble over it; _I_ will do Hatteraick\n myself!\"\n\n \"A very likely thing!\" sneered Hugh John. \"You\n heard me say 'Bags Hatteraick,' Toady Lion! Every\n one heard me--you can't go back on that. You know\n you can't!\"\n\n This was unanswerable. It was felt that to palter\n with such sacred formulas would be to renounce the\n most sacred obligations and to unsettle the very\n foundations of society.\n\n Whereupon I hastened to keep his Majesty's peace by\n proposing a compromise.\n\n \"The girls surely don't want to play the villains'\n parts,\" I began.\n\n \"Oh, but just don't they!\" ejaculated Maid\n Margaret, with the eyes of a child-saint\n momentarily disappointed of Paradise. \"Why does a\n cat not eat butter for breakfast every morning?\n Because it jolly well can't get it.\"\n\n \"Well, at any rate,\" said I, severely, \"girls\n oughtn't to _want_ to play the villains' parts.\"\n\n \"No,\" said Sweetheart, with still, concentrated\n irony, \"they ought always to do just what boys tell\n them to, of course--never think of wanting anything\n that boys want, and always be thankful for boys'\n leavings! U-m-m! _I_ know!\"\n\n \"You should wait till you hear what I meant to say,\n Sweetheart,\" I went on, with as much dignity as I\n could muster. \"There are plenty of characters you\n will like to be, in every one of the books, but I\n think it would be fair always to draw lots for the\n first choice!\"\n\n \"Yes--yes--oh, yes!\" came the chorus, from three of\n the party. But Hugh John, strong in the\n indefeasible rights of man, only repeated, \"_I_\n said 'Bags Hatteraick!'\"\n\n \"Well, then,\" I said, \"for this time Hatteraick is\n yours, but for the future it will be fairer to draw\n lots for first choice.\"\n\n \"All right,\" growled Hugh John; \"then I suppose\n I'll have to put up with a lot more heroes!\n Milksops, I call them!\"\n\n \"Which book shall we have next?\" said Sweetheart,\n who was beginning to be rather ashamed of her heat.\n \"I don't believe that you could tell us _Rob Roy!_\"\n\n \"Well, I can try,\" said I, modestly. For so it\n behooves a modern parent to behave in the presence\n of his children.\n\n \"_She_,\" said Hugh John, pointing directly at his\n sister, \"she read nearly half the book aloud, and\n we never came to Rob at all. That's why she asks\n for _Rob Roy_.\"\n\n \"But there's all about Alan Breck in the\n preface--ripping, it is!\" interpolated Sir Toady,\n who had been doing some original research, \"tell us\n about him.\"\n\n But Alan Breck was quite another story, and I said\n so at once. _Rob Roy_ they had asked for. _Rob Roy_\n they should have. And then I would stand or fall by\n their judgment.\n\n\n\n\nRED CAP TALES\n\nTOLD FROM\n\nROB ROY\n\n\n\n\n\n\nTHE FIRST TALE FROM \"ROB ROY\"\n\n\nFRANK THE HIGHWAYMAN\n\nFRANK OSBALDISTONE had come back from France to quarrel with his father.\nA merchant he would not be. He hated the three-legged stool, and he used\nthe counting-house quills to write verses with.\n\nHis four years in Bordeaux had spoiled him for strict business, without\nteaching him anything else practical enough to please his father, who,\nwhen he found that his son persisted in declining the stool in the dark\ncounting-room in Crane Alley, packed him off to the care of his brother,\nSir Hildebrand Osbaldistone of Osbaldistone Hall in Northumberland,\nthere to repent of his disobedience.\n\n\"I will have no idlers about me,\" he said, \"I will not ask even my own\nson twice to be my friend and my partner. One of my nephews shall take\nthe place in the firm which you have declined.\"\n\nAnd old Mr. Osbaldistone, of the firm of Osbaldistone and Tresham,\nmerchants in London town, being above all things a man of his word,\nMaster Frank took to the North Road accordingly, an exile from his home\nand disinherited of his patrimony.\n\nAt first he was gloomy enough. He was leaving behind him wealth, ease,\nsociety. As he looked back from the heights of Highgate, the bells of\nthe city steeples rang out their \"Turn again, Whittington!\" And to tell\nthe truth, Frank Osbaldistone felt half inclined to obey. But the\nthought of his father's grave scorn held him to his purpose, and soon\nthe delights of travel and the quickly changing scene chased the sadness\nfrom his heart. Indeed, as was natural to a young man, a good horse\nunder his thigh and fifty guineas in his pocket helped amazingly to put\nhim in the best humour with himself.\n\nThe company Frank met with on the North Road was commonplace and dull.\nBut one poor man, a sort of army officer in a gold-laced hat, whose\nmartial courage was more than doubtful, amused Frank Osbaldistone by\nclinging desperately to a small but apparently very heavy portmanteau,\nwhich he carried on the pillion before him, never parting from it for a\nmoment. This man's talk was all of well-dressed highwaymen, whose\nconversation and manners induced the unwary to join company with them.\nThen in some shady dell whistling up their men, the unlucky traveller\nfound himself despoiled--of his goods certainly, perhaps also of his\nlife.\n\nIt delighted Frank's boyish humour beyond measure to play upon the fears\nof this gallant King's officer--which he proceeded to do by asking him\nfirst whether his bag were heavy or not, then by hinting that he would\nlike to be informed as to his route, and finally by offering to take the\nbag on his own pillion and race him with the added weight to the nearest\nvillage.\n\nThis last audacious proposal almost took the man's breath away, and from\nthat moment he was convinced that Frank was none other than the \"Golden\nFarmer\" himself in disguise.\n\nAt Darlington, the landlord of their inn introduced a Scotch cattle\ndealer, a certain Mr. Campbell, to share their meal. He was a\nstern-faced, dark-complexioned man, with a martial countenance and an\nair of instinctive command which took possession of the company at once.\nThe lawyer, the doctor, the clergyman, even Frank himself, found\nthemselves listening with deference to the words of this plainly\ndressed, unobtrusive, Scottish drover. As for the man with the weighty\nbag, he fairly hung upon his words. And especially so when the landlord\ninformed the company that Mr. Campbell had with his own hand beaten off\nseven highwaymen.\n\n\"Thou art deceived, friend Jonathan,\" said the Scot, \"they were but two,\nand as beggarly loons as man could wish to meet withal!\"\n\n\"Upon my word, sir,\" cried Morris, for that was the name of the man with\nthe portmanteau, edging himself nearer to Mr. Campbell, \"really and\nactually did you beat two highwaymen with your own hand?\"\n\n\"In troth I did, sir,\" said Campbell, \"and I think it nae great thing to\nmak' a sang about.\"\n\n\"Upon my word, sir,\" said Morris, eagerly, \"I go northward, sir--I\nshould be happy to have the pleasure of your company on my journey.\"\n\nAnd, in spite of short answers, he continued to press his proposal upon\nthe unwilling Scot, till Campbell had very unceremoniously to extricate\nhimself from his grip, telling him that he was travelling upon his own\nprivate business, and that he could not unite himself to any stranger on\nthe public highway.\n\nThe next day Frank approached Osbaldistone Hall, which stood under the\ngreat rounded range of the Cheviot Hills. He could already see it\nstanding, stark and grey, among its ancestral oaks, when down the ravine\nstreamed a band of huntsmen in full chase, the fox going wearily before,\nevidently near the end of his tether. Among the rout and nearer to Frank\nthan the others, owing to some roughness of the ground, rode a young\nlady in a man's coat and hat--which, with her vest and skirt, made the\nfirst riding-habit Frank had ever seen.\n\nThe girl's cheeks were bright with the exercise. Her singular beauty was\nthe more remarkable, chanced upon in so savage a scene. And when, after\nhearing the \"Whoop--dead!\" which told of poor Reynard's decease, she\npaused to tie up her loosened locks, Master Frank stared most\nundisguisedly and even impolitely.\n\nOne of the young huntsmen, clad in red and green, rode towards her,\nwaving the brush in his hand as if in triumph over the girl.\n\n\"I see,\" she replied, \"I see. But make no noise about it. If Phoebe\nhere (patting the neck of her mare) had not got among the cliffs, _you_\nwould have had little cause for boasting.\"\n\nThen the two of them looked at Frank and spoke together in a low tone.\nThe young man seemed sheepishly to decline some proposal which the girl\nmade to him.\n\n\"Then if you won't, Thornie,\" she said at last, \"I must.\"\n\nAnd turning to Frank she asked him if he had seen anything of a friend\nof theirs, one Mr. Francis Osbaldistone, who for some days past had been\nexpected at the Hall.\n\nFrank instantly and gladly claimed kindred.\n\n\"Then,\" said the girl, smiling, \"as this young man's politeness seems to\nhave fallen asleep, I must e'en be master of the ceremonies, however\nimproper it may be. So I beg to present to you young Squire Thorncliff\nOsbaldistone, your cousin, and Die Vernon, your accomplished cousin's\npoor kinswoman.\"\n\nThe \"accomplished cousin\" finally decided to shake hands with mingled\nawkwardness and an assumption of sulky indifference. This being done, he\nimmediately announced his intention of going to help the huntsmen couple\nup the hounds, and so he took himself off.\n\n\"There he goes,\" said the young lady, following him with disdainful\neyes, \"the prince of grooms and cock-fighters and blackguard\nhorse-racers. But truly there is not one of them to mend another!\"\n\nShe turned sharply upon Frank.\n\n\"Have you read Markham?\" she demanded.\n\nPoor Frank had never even heard of that author. The girl held up her\nhands in horror.\n\n\"Never to have heard of Markham--the Koran of this savage tribe--the\nmost celebrated author on farriery!\" she cried. \"Then I fear you are\nequally a stranger to the more modern names of Gibson and Bartlett?\"\n\n\"I am, indeed, Miss Vernon,\" answered Frank, meekly.\n\n\"And do you not blush to own it?\" she cried. \"Why, we will disown the\nalliance. Then I suppose you can neither give a ball, nor a mash, nor a\nhorn?\"\n\n\"I confess,\" said Frank, \"I trust all these matters to my groom.\"\n\n\"Incredible carelessness!\" she continued. \"What was your father thinking\nof? And you cannot shoe a horse, or cut his mane and tail. Or worm a\ndog, or crop his ears, or cut his dew-claws; or reclaim a hawk or give\nhim casting-stones, or direct his diet when he is sealed! Or--\"\n\nFrank could only once for all profess his utter ignorance of all such\naccomplishments.\n\n\"Then in the name of Heaven, Mr. Frank Osbaldistone, what _can_ you\ndo?\"\n\n\"Very little to the purpose, I am afraid, Miss Vernon,\" answered Frank;\n\"only this--when my groom has dressed my horse I can ride him, and when\nmy hawk is in the field, I can fly him.\"\n\n\"Can you do this?\" said Die Vernon, setting her horse to a rude gate\ncomposed of pieces of wood from the forest, and clearing it at a bound.\nIn a moment Frank was at her side.\n\n\"There are hopes for you yet,\" she said. \"I was afraid that you were a\nvery degenerate Osbaldistone. But what brings you to Cub Hall? I suppose\nyou could have stayed away if you had liked?\"\n\n\"The Cubs of the Hall may be as you describe them,\" said Frank, looking\nat his companion, \"but I am convinced there is one exception that will\nmake amends for all their deficiencies.\"\n\n\"Oh, you mean Rashleigh!\" said Die Vernon.\n\n\"Indeed, I do not,\" said Frank, who had not been four years in France\nfor nothing, \"I never even heard of Rashleigh. I mean some one very much\nnearer me.\"\n\n\"I suppose I should pretend not to understand you,\" she answered, \"but\nthat is not my way. If I were not in the saddle, I would make you a\ncourtesy. But seriously, I deserve your exception, for besides Rashleigh\nand the old priest, I am the only conversable being about Osbaldistone\nHall.\"\n\n\"And who, for Heaven's sake, is Rashleigh?\"\n\n\"Your youngest cousin, about your own age, but not so--so well-looking.\nFull of natural sense--learned, as being bred to the church, but in no\nhurry to take orders--and in addition by all odds the cleverest man in a\ncountry where such are scarce.\"\n\nThey rode back to the Hall, but as it was some time before Frank could\nget any one to attend to his own horse and Diana's mare, which she had\nleft in his charge, he had time to look about him and take in the old\ncastle and its rough, wasteful prodigality of service. By and by,\nhowever, there arrived Sir Hildebrand, who, among his sons, seemed, by\ncomparison at least, both intelligent and a gentleman. He gave Frank a\nrough but hearty welcome to his mansion.\n\n\"Art welcome, lad!\" he said. \"I would have seen thee before but had to\nattend to the kennelling of the hounds. So thy father has thought on the\nold Hall and old Sir Hildebrand at last! Well, better late than never!\nHere are thy cousins--Percie, Thornie, John, Dick, and Wilfred. But\nwhere's Rashleigh? Ay, here's Rashleigh! Take thy long body aside,\nThornie, and let's see thy brother a bit. And here's my little Die, my\nsister's daughter, the prettiest girl on our dales, be the next who she\nmay. And so now let's to the sirloin!\"\n\nThe five elder brethren of Osbaldistone Hall were all cast in one\nmould--tall, well-formed, athletic men, but dull of feature and\nexpression, and seemingly without any intellect whatever. Rashleigh, the\nyoungest, was the exact opposite of his brethren. Short in stature,\nthick-set, and with a curious halt in his gait, there was something\nabout his dark irregular features--something evil, relentless, and\ncruel, which even the assumed gentleness of his words and the melody of\nhis voice could not hide. His brothers were mere oafs in learning, none\nof whom ever looked at printed paper save to make a fly-book of it. But\nRashleigh was learned, and, when he pleased, of manners exquisitely\nrefined.\n\nIt was, however, Miss Diana who really introduced Frank to his cousins,\nand the ceremony took place that day at dinner, while the young men were\ndevoting themselves heartily to the meat which they piled up on their\nplatters. The clatter of knives and forks covered her voice.\n\n\"Your cousins,\" she said, \"taken all together, form a happy compound of\nthe sot, the gamekeeper, the bully, the horse-jockey, and the fool. But\nas no two leaves off the same tree are quite exactly alike, so these\ningredients are differently mingled in your kinsmen. Percie, the son and\nheir, has more of the sot than of the gamekeeper, bully, horse-jockey,\nor fool. My precious Thornie is more of the bully--John, who sleeps\nwhole weeks among the hills, has most of the gamekeeper. The jockey is\npowerful with Dickon, who rides two hundred miles by day and night, to\nbe bought and sold himself at a race-meeting. And the fool so\npredominates over Wilfred's other characteristics that he may be termed\na fool positive.\"\n\nThough Frank pressed her, Die Vernon refused to add Sir Hildebrand to\nher gallery of family portraits.\n\n\"I owe him some kindnesses,\" she said, \"or what at least were meant for\nsuch. And besides, I like him. You will be able to draw his picture\nyourself when you know him better.\"\n\nHaving once before been successful with a compliment, when talking to\nhis beautiful companion, Frank now summoned his French breeding and\ntried a second. He had been silent for a minute, and Miss Vernon,\nturning her dark eyes on him, had said with her usual careless\nfrankness, \"You are thinking of me!\"\n\n\"How is it possible,\" answered Master Frank, \"that I should think of\nanything else, seated where I have the happiness to be.\"\n\nBut Diana only smiled with a kind of haughty scorn, and replied, \"I must\ntell you at once, Mr. Osbaldistone, that your pretty sayings are wholly\nlost on me. Keep them for the other maids whom you will meet here in the\nnorth. There are plenty who will thank you for them. As for me, I happen\nto know their value. Come, be sensible! Why, because she is dressed in\nsilk and gauze, should you think that you are compelled to unload your\nstale compliments on every unfortunate girl? Try to forget my sex. Call\nme Tom Vernon. Speak to me as to a friend and companion, and you have no\nidea how much I shall like you.\"\n\nFrank's expression of amazement at these words egged on Diana to\nfurther feats of daring.\n\n\"But do not misjudge me,\" she said, \"as I see you are likely to do. You\nare inclined to think me a strange bold girl, half coquette, half romp,\ndesirous, perhaps, of storming you into admiration. You never were more\nmistaken. I would show as much favour to your father, as readily make\n_him_ my confidant, if he were here--and if I thought he were capable of\nunderstanding me. The truth is, I must speak of these things to some one\nor die.\"\n\nFrank changed the subject. \"Will you not add Rashleigh to the family\ngallery?\" he said.\n\n\"No, no,\" she said hastily, \"it is never safe to speak of Rashleigh--no,\nnot even when, as you now think, he has left the table. Do not be too\nsure even of that--and when you speak of Rashleigh Osbaldistone, get up\nto the top of Otterscope Hill, stand on the very peak, and speak in\nwhispers. And, after all, do not be too sure that a bird of the air may\nnot carry the matter. Rashleigh was my tutor for four years. We are\nmutually tired of each other, and we shall heartily rejoice to be\nseparated!\"\n\nNevertheless Rashleigh it was who had been selected in full family\nconclave to take Frank's empty stool in the counting-house of\nOsbaldistone, Tresham and Company in Crane Alley. Indeed, there was no\nchoice. His brothers were incapable even of the multiplication table.\nBesides, they wished him away, with the feelings of mice who hear that\nthe family cat is going off to fill another situation. Even his father,\nwho stood no little in awe of his clever son, breathed more freely at\nthe thought of Osbaldistone Hall without Rashleigh.\n\nIt was not long before Mr. Frank Osbaldistone had a taste of his cousin\nRashleigh's quality. The very next morning his uncle and cousins looked\nat him curiously when he came down early. Sir Hildebrand even quoted a\nrhyme for his benefit,\n\n \"He that gallops his horse on Blackstone Edge,\n May chance to catch a fall.\"\n\nIt was a fox-hunting morning, and during a long run Frank sustained his\ncharacter as a good and daring rider, to the admiration of Diana and Sir\nHildebrand, and to the secret disappointment of his other kind\nkinsfolk, who had prophesied that he would certainly \"be off at the\nfirst burst,\" chiefly for the reason that he had a queer, outlandish\nbinding round his hat.\n\nIt was plain that Diana wanted to speak with him apart, but the close\nattendance of Cousin Thornie for some time made this impossible. That\nloutish youth's persistence finally fretted the girl, and having been\naccustomed all her life to ride the straightest way to her desire, she\nbade him be off to see that the earths above Woolverton Mill were duly\nstopped.\n\nAfter some objections Thornie was got safely out of the road, and Diana\nled the way to a little hill whence there was a fine view in every\ndirection. She pointed, as Frank thought, somewhat significantly to the\nnorth.\n\n\"Yonder whitish speck is Hawkesmore Crag in Scotland,\" she said, \"the\ndistance is hardly eighteen miles, as the crow flies. Your horse will\ncarry you there in two hours--and I will lend you my mare if you think\nher less blown.\"\n\n\"But,\" said Frank, quite mystified, \"I have so little wish to be in\nScotland, that if my horse's head were in Scotland, I would not give his\ntail the trouble of following. What should I do in Scotland, Miss\nVernon?\"\n\n\"Why, provide for your safety--do you understand me now, Mr. Frank?\"\n\n\"Less than ever, Miss Vernon,\" he answered. \"I have not the most distant\nconception of what you mean.\"\n\n\"Why, then,\" said Diana, \"to be plain, there is an information lodged\nwith our nearest Justice of the Peace, Squire Inglewood, that you were\nconcerned in a robbery of government papers and money sent to pay the\ntroops in Scotland. A man with whom you travelled, and whom you\ncertainly frightened, has lodged such a complaint against you. His name\nis Morris.\"\n\n\"Morris has been robbed?\"\n\n\"Ay,\" said Diana, \"and he swears you are the man who robbed him.\"\n\n\"Then Sir Hildebrand believes it?\" cried Frank.\n\n\"He does,\" answered Diana, \"and to tell the truth, so did I until this\nmoment.\"\n\n\"Upon my word, I am obliged to you and my uncle for your opinion of me.\"\n\n\"Oh, it is nothing to be ashamed of,\" she said, smiling, \"no mere\nhighway robbery. The man was a government messenger. We are all\nJacobites about here, and no man would have thought the worse of you for\nbidding him stand and deliver. Why, my uncle had a message from Squire\nInglewood himself, that he had better provide for your safety by\nsmuggling you over the border into Scotland.\"\n\n\"Tell me,\" said Frank, somewhat impatiently, \"where does this Squire\nInglewood live? I will go and answer the charge instantly and in\nperson.\"\n\n\"Well said--I will go with you,\" said Diana, promptly, \"it was never the\nVernon way to desert a friend in time of need.\"\n\nFrank tried to dissuade her from this, but he could not combat the\ngirl's resolution. So they set off together for Inglewood Hall. As they\nentered the courtyard, they met Rashleigh just coming out.\n\nMiss Vernon instantly challenged him, before he got time to make up a\nstory.\n\n\"Rashleigh,\" she said, \"you have heard of Mr. Frank's affair, and you\nhave been over to the Justice talking about it.\"\n\nBut Rashleigh was equally ready.\n\n\"Certainly,\" he answered, \"I have been endeavouring to render my cousin\nwhat service I could. But at the same time I am sorry to meet him here.\"\n\n\"As a friend and kinsman, Mr. Osbaldistone,\" said Frank, \"you should\nhave been sorry to meet me anywhere else but where my character is at\nstake, and where it is my intention to clear it.\"\n\nHowever, it was evidently not Miss Vernon's purpose to quarrel with\nRashleigh at that time. She led him apart, and began talking to him--at\nfirst quietly, then with obvious anger. From her manner she was charging\nhim with knowing who had really committed the robbery, and pressing upon\nhim in some way to make plain his cousin's innocence. He resisted long,\nbut at length gave way.\n\n\"Very well, then,\" he said, \"you are a tyrant, Diana. Still, it shall be\nas you desire. But you know that you ought not to be here. You must\nreturn with me at once!\"\n\n\"I will do no such thing,\" said the girl; \"not a foot will I go back\ntill such time as I see Frank well out of the hands of the Philistines.\nHe has been bidding me to go back all the time, himself. But I know\nbetter. Also, I know you, my cousin Rashleigh, and my being here will\ngive you a stronger motive to be speedy in performing your promise.\"\n\nRashleigh departed in great anger at her obstinacy, and Frank and Die\ntogether sought the den of the Justice, to which they were guided by a\nhigh voice chanting the fag-end of an old bottle-song:\n\n \"Oh, in Skipton-in-Craven\n Is never a haven\n But many a day foul weather,\n And he that would say\n A pretty girl nay\n I wish for his cravat a tether.\"\n\n\"Hey day,\" said Die Vernon, \"the genial Justice must have dined\nalready--I did not think it had been so late.\"\n\nAs Diana had supposed, the Justice had dined. But though both his clerk\nJobson and Frank's accuser Morris were with him, he showed himself as\npleased to see Diana as he was evidently disinclined for all further\nlegal business.\n\n\"Ah, ha, Die Vernon,\" he cried, starting up with great alacrity, \"the\nheath-bell of Cheviot and the blossom of the border, come to see how the\nold bachelor keeps house? Art welcome, girl, as the flowers in May!\"\n\nMiss Vernon told him that on this occasion she could not stay. She had\nhad a long ride that morning, and she must return at once. But if he\nwere a good kind Justice, he would immediately despatch young Frank's\nbusiness and let them go.\n\nThis the \"good Justice\" was very willing to do, but Clerk Jobson, alert\nin his office, pressed that the law should have its course, while Frank\nhimself demanded no better than that the mystery should be cleared up\nonce and for all.\n\nWhereupon the man who had been robbed repeated his statement. He had, it\nseemed, been first of all terrified by Frank's antics. And then on the\nopen moor, when he had found himself stopped, and relieved of his\nportmanteau by two masked men, he had distinctly heard the name\n\"Osbaldistone\" applied by one of his assailants in speaking to the\nother. He furthermore certified that all the Osbaldistones had been\nPapists and Jacobites from the time of William the Conquerer. From which\nit was clear that Frank was the guilty man!\n\nFrank replied that it was true that, like a foolish, gamesome youth, he\nhad certainly practised somewhat on the fears of the man Morris, but\nthat he had never seen him since he parted from him at Darlington, and\nthat, far from being a Papist and a Jacobite, he could easily prove that\nhe had been brought up in the strictest school of Presbyterianism and in\nfull obedience to the government of King George.\n\nClerk Jobson, however, was sharp enough to turn Frank's admissions\nagainst him, and said that since he had voluntarily assumed the\nbehaviour of a robber or malefactor, he had by that very act brought\nhimself within the penalties of the law.\n\nBut at this moment a letter was handed to the Clerk, which informed him\nthat a certain old Gaffer Rutledge was at the point of death, and that\nhe, Clerk Jobson, must go immediately to his house in order to settle\nall his worldly affairs.\n\nThe clerk, after offering to make out the warrant of commitment before\nsetting out, at last, and with great reluctance, rode away. Then the\nJustice, who evidently still fully believed in Frank's guilt, counselled\nhim as a friend to let bygones be bygones, and to give Mr. Morris back\nhis portmanteau. Frank had hardly time to be indignant at this when a\nservant announced--\"A stranger to wait upon the Justice!\"\n\n\"A stranger!\" echoed the Justice, in very bad temper; \"not upon\nbusiness, or I'll--\" But his protestation was cut short by the entrance\nof the stranger himself, and by the stern deep voice of Mr. Campbell,\nwho immediately produced his usual effect upon Squire Inglewood.\n\n\"My business is peculiar,\" said the Scot, \"and I ask your Honour to give\nit your most instant consideration.\"\n\nThen Mr. Campbell turned on Morris such a look of ferocity that it made\nthat valiant gentleman shake visibly from head to foot.\n\n\"I believe you cannot have forgotten what passed between us at our last\nmeeting,\" he said, \"and you can bear me witness to the Justice that I am\na man of fortune and honour. You will be some time resident in my\nvicinity, and you know it will be in my power to do as much for you.\nSpeak out, man, and do not sit there chattering your jaws like a pair of\ncastanets.\"\n\nAt last an answer was extracted from the trembling Mr. Morris, but with\nas much difficulty as if it had been a tooth.\n\n\"Sir--sir--,\" he stammered, \"yes--I do believe you to be a man of\nfortune and of honour--I do believe it!\"\n\n\"Then,\" said Campbell, \"you will bear me witness that I was in your\ncompany when the valise was stolen, but did not think fit to interfere,\nthe affair being none of mine. Further you will tell the Justice that no\nman is better qualified than I to bear testimony in this case.\"\n\n\"No man better qualified, certainly,\" assented Morris, with a heavy\nsigh. In order to prove his character, Mr. Campbell put into the hands\nof Justice Inglewood a certificate given under the seal and in the\nhandwriting of the great Duke of Argyle himself. The Justice, who had\nstood by the Duke in 1714, was duly impressed, and told the Scot that\nhis additional testimonial was perfectly satisfactory.\n\n\"And now,\" he added, \"what have you to say about this robbery?\"\n\n\"Briefly this,\" said Mr. Campbell, \"the robber for whom Mr. Morris took\nMr. Osbaldistone was both a shorter and a thicker man. More than that, I\nsaw under the false face he wore, when it slipped aside, that his\nfeatures were altogether different!\"\n\nBetween terror and the determined attitude of Campbell, Morris was soon\nforced to withdraw his information against Frank, and the Justice, glad\nto be rid of so troublesome a case, instantly threw the papers into the\nfire.\n\n\"You are now at perfect liberty, Mr. Osbaldistone,\" said Squire\nInglewood, \"and you, Mr. Morris, are set quite at your ease.\"\n\nIn spite of this Mr. Morris did not seem exactly comfortable, especially\nas Mr. Campbell expressed his intention of accompanying him to the next\nhighway, telling him that he would be as safe in his company as in his\nfather's kailyard.\n\n\"Zounds, sir,\" he said as they went out, \"that a chield with such a\nblack beard should have no more heart than a hen-partridge. Come on wi'\nye, like a frank fellow, once and for all!\"\n\nThe voices died away, the clatter of horses' hoofs was heard, and after\na few kindly words from the Justice, Diana and Frank set out on their\nway home. On the road they met Clerk Jobson returning in great haste and\nin a most villanous temper. The will-making, even the illness of Gaffer\nRutledge, had proved to be a \"bam,\" that is to say, a hoax. The clerk's\nlanguage became so impertinent towards Miss Vernon, that, if she had not\nprevented him, Frank would certainly have broken the rascal's head.\n\nThe revel was in full swing at Osbaldistone Hall when they returned. So\nfor the sake of peace Diana ordered some dinner to be brought to them in\nthe library. This was a large neglected room, walled about with great\nbooks, into which hardly any of the Osbaldistones ever came, and which\naccordingly Diana had appropriated as her peculiar sanctum.\n\nTo this chamber Rashleigh Osbaldistone penetrated after dinner had been\nremoved. He came to explain the events of the day, but except that he\nhad met Campbell by chance, and that, having learned that he had been an\neye-witness to the robbery, he had sent him on to Squire Inglewood's,\nthere was not much more that he seemed inclined to reveal.\n\nAfterwards, however, in his own room, Rashleigh became more\ncommunicative. He desired to know what kind of man Frank's father was,\nwith whom in future he was to be placed. And in return for this\ninformation he told Frank what he wished to know as to Diana Vernon. She\nwas, said Rashleigh, to marry Thorncliff, according to a family compact\nof long standing. But he intimated in addition that she would greatly\nhave preferred himself, and that, indeed, he had withdrawn from the care\nof her studies on account of the too evident affection she had begun to\nshow towards one, who, as a son of the church, was destined never to\nmarry.\n\nThis information rankled in Frank's mind, and all the next day he was\nsullen and even brutal in his manner towards Miss Vernon. But she did\nnot grow angry, and merely left him to fill up the measure of his\nfolly--which he presently did by an affray with Rashleigh and his other\ncousins over the wine-cups in the evening, in which swords were drawn\nand blows given.\n\nThe next morning, however, Miss Vernon called him to account.\n\n\"Upon my word, Mr. Francis Osbaldistone,\" she said, seating herself in\none of the great chairs in the library, like a judge upon the bench,\n\"your character improves upon us. Last night's performance was a\nmasterpiece. You contrived to exhibit in the course of one evening all\nthe various qualifications of your several cousins--the gentle and\ngenerous temper of Rashleigh, the temperance of Percie, the cool courage\nof Thorncliff, John's skill in dog-breaking, Dickon's aptitude for\nbetting--all these were exhibited by the same Mr. Francis, and with a\nchoice of time and place worthy of the taste and sagacity of Wilfred.\"\n\nFrank expressed his shame and sorrow as best he could. He had been\ntroubled, he said, by some information that he had received.\n\nInstantly Miss Vernon took him up.\n\n\"And now,\" she said, \"please tell me instantly what it was that\nRashleigh said of me--I have a right to know and know I will!\"\n\nIt was some time before Frank could bring himself to tell Diana what her\ncousin had really hinted concerning herself, and when she heard that he\nhad affirmed her wish to marry him in preference to Thorncliff, she\nshuddered from head to foot.\n\n\"No,\" she cried, all her soul instantly on fire, \"any lot rather than\nthat--the sot, the gambler, the bully, the jockey, the insensate fool\nwere a thousand times preferable to Rashleigh! But the convent, the\njail--the grave--shall be welcome before them all!\"\n\n\nINTERLUDE OF DISCUSSION\n\n At the abrupt close of the story the children\n looked not a little surprised, nor did they\n manifest their usual eagerness to rush out of doors\n and instantly to reduce the tale to action.\n\n The first difficulty was as to who the real\n highwayman could be.\n\n \"Did Frank _really_ take the man's bag with the\n money and things?\" ventured Maid Margaret, a little\n timidly. She knew that she would be promptly\n contradicted.\n\n \"No, of course not,\" shouted Hugh John, \"it was the\n Scotch drover, Campbell,--for how else could he\n know so well about it? Of course it was--_I_ knew\n it from the first.\"\n\n Meantime Sweetheart had been musing deeply.\n\n \"Do you know,\" she said gently, \"I am most of all\n sorry for Die Vernon. I don't think that I want to\n play in this story. It is too real. I think Die\n Vernon lived.\"\n\n \"Why--didn't they all live?\" said Maid Margaret,\n plaintively. For the world of books was still\n quite alive for her. She had not lost the most\n precious of all the senses. Dream-gold was as good\n as Queen's-head-gold fresh out of the mint for her.\n Happy Maid Margaret!\n\n \"I am sure Die Vernon was real,\" Sweetheart went\n on; \"last night when you were all out cycle-riding\n and I was waiting for my Latin lesson, I read a bit\n of the book--a chapter that father has not told us.\n And it made me sorry for Die. She wished that she\n had been born a man, so that she might say and do\n the same things as others. She was alone in the\n world, she said. She needed protection, yet if she\n said or did anything naturally, every one thought\n what a bold, forward girl she was! I have felt that\n too!\"\n\n \"Rubbish!\" said Hugh John, in high remorseless\n scorn, \"_you_ are not 'alone in the world!' No, not\n much. And if we say or do anything to you, you\n jolly well whack us over the head. Why, the last\n time I called you--\"\n\n \"That will do, Hugh John,\" interrupted Sweetheart,\n in very Die Vernonish voice.\n\n \"Well, when I called you--'Thinggummy'--_you\n know_--you hit me with a stick and the mark lasted\n three days!\"\n\n \"And served you right!\" said Sweetheart, calmly.\n\n \"Well, I'm not saying it didn't, am I?\" retorted\n honest Hugh John, \"but anyway _you_ needn't go\n about doing _wooly-woo_--\n\n \"'My nest it is harried,\n My children all gone!'\"\n\n \"Oh, you are a boy and can't understand--or\n won't!\" said Sweetheart, with a sigh, \"I needn't\n have expected it. But Diana Vernon did make me cry,\n especially the bit about her being a\n Catholic--stop--I will find it!\"\n\n And she foraged among the books on the shelf for\n the big Abbotsford edition of _Rob Roy_, the one\n with the fine old-fashioned pictures.\n\n \"Here it is,\" she said with her finger on the\n place.\n\n \"'I belong to an oppressed sect and antiquated\n religion (she read), and instead of getting credit\n for my devotion, as is due to all other good girls,\n my kind friend Justice Inglewood might send me to\n the house of correction for it. . . . I am by\n nature of a frank and unreserved disposition,--a\n plain, true-hearted girl, who would willingly act\n honestly and openly by all the world, and yet fate\n has entangled me in such a series of nets and\n toils and entanglements, that I dare not speak a\n word for fear of consequences, not to myself but to\n others.'\"\n\n Sweetheart sighed again and repeated thoughtfully,\n \"I _am_ sorry for Die Vernon!\"\n\n \"Humph,\" said Hugh John, with dogged masculine\n logic, \"girls are always making up troubles, I\n think. I don't see what she has to 'whimp'\n about--everybody did just as she said at that\n Hall--more than I would do for any silly girl, I\n bet! Just you try it on, only once, Miss\n Sweetheart, that's all! She has all she can eat and\n can order it herself--lots of horses and riding--a\n gun--cricky, I only wish I had her chances! Think\n of it--just oblige me by thinking of it--secret\n passages to come and go by, night and day, right\n plumb in the wall under your nose, mysterious\n priests, Jesuits, Jacobites, and things. Why, it's\n nearly as good as Crusoe's Island, I declare.\"\n\n Sweetheart looked at Hugh John with the far-away\n gentle compassion which always drove that\n matter-of-fact warrior wild.\n\n \"All girls are the same,\" he asserted insultingly,\n \"they always get thinking they are going to die\n right off, if only their little finger aches!\"\n\n \"You'll be sorry!\" said Sweetheart, warningly.\n\n \"Oh, will I?\" said Hugh John, truculently, \"isn't\n what I say true, Toady Lion?\"\n\n But Toady Lion was sitting upon a buffet, in the\n character of Morris upon his portmanteau. He was\n shaking and chattering with such exaggerated terror\n that Maid Margaret, wrapped in a dust-sheet for a\n disguise and armed with the kitchen poker, could\n not rob him for very laughter. So neither of them\n paid any heed.\n\n \"You'll be sorry for speaking like that about Die\n Vernon,\" Sweetheart went on; \"I've looked and I\n know. She was a true heroine. And she is worth a\n whole pack of your heroes any day.\"\n\n \"And, indeed, that's not saying much!\" said Hugh\n John, who also had his sorrows. \"But at any rate\n that was no proper place to break off a story. And\n I'll tell father so. Let's tease to have some more.\n It's a wet day, and we can't do anything else!\"\n\n \"Oh, yes--let's!\" said Sweetheart. \"Stop all that,\n Toady Lion, and you, Maid Margaret. We are going to\n ask for the second tale from _Rob Roy!_\"\n\n \"Well,\" grumbled Hugh John, \"I hope that there will\n be more about Rob Roy in it this time. It's not too\n soon.\"\n\n And Sweetheart only continued to regard him with\n the same quiet but irritating smile, and nodded\n her head as who would say, \"Those who live the\n longest see the most!\"\n\n\n\nTHE SECOND TALE FROM \"ROB ROY\"\n\n\nI. IN THE TOILS OF RASHLEIGH\n\nBUT it became more and more evident that Frank's time at Osbaldistone\nHall was growing short. A certain travelling merchant, a friend and\ncountryman of Andrew Fairservice, the Osbaldistone gardener, brought\nnews from London of how Frank's character had been attacked there in the\nmatter of Morris, and that in the high court of Parliament itself.\n\nMoreover, Frank felt that he could not much longer remain in the same\nhouse with Miss Vernon. His love for her daily increased. Yet she told\nhim plainly that she could and would only be a friend to him. He must\nask her no questions, however deep the mysteries which encircled her\nmight seem. One day he found a man's glove lying on the library table.\nOn another occasion, after Rashleigh's departure for London, he\ndistinguished two shadows on the windows of the library while he was\npatrolling the garden after dark.\n\nLast of all Frank received a letter through some secret channel of\nDiana's written by his father's partner, Mr. Tresham. This informed him\nthat his father had been for some time in Holland on business of the\nfirm, and that Rashleigh had gone north to Scotland some time ago, with\na large amount of money to take up bills granted by his father to\nmerchants in that country. Since his setting out, nothing whatever had\nbeen heard of Rashleigh, and Owen had gone north to find him. Frank was\nurgently prayed to proceed to Glasgow for the same purpose as soon as\npossible. For if Rashleigh were not found, it was likely that the great\nhouse of Osbaldistone and Tresham might have to suspend payment.\n\nAt this news Frank was stricken to the heart. He saw now how his\nfoolishness had ruined his father, because it was through his obstinacy\nthat Rashleigh had gained admission to his father's confidence. Mr.\nOsbaldistone, he knew, would never survive the disgrace of bankruptcy.\nHe must, therefore, instantly depart. And Diana willingly sped him on\nhis way, giving him a letter which he was only to open if all other\nmeans of paying his father's debts had failed.\n\nFrank resolved to quit Osbaldistone Hall by night secretly, leaving only\na letter of thanks for his uncle, and informing him that immediate and\nurgent business called him to Glasgow. He found a willing guide ready to\nhis hand in the gardener Andrew Fairservice, who, as he said, had long\nbeen awaiting such an opportunity of quitting his employment.\n\nBut this same Andrew came near to involving Frank in a fresh breach of\nthe law. For, as Squire Thorncliff owed him ten pounds which he refused\nto pay, Andrew had mounted himself on Squire Thornie's good beast. And\nit was not until the animal was safely arrested by the law in the first\nScotch town across the border, and Frank had written the whole story to\nSir Hildebrand, that he felt easy in his mind as to the irregular act of\nhis attendant.\n\nThey arrived at Glasgow, then a small but ancient town, on the eve of\nthe Sabbath day. It was impossible for Frank to discover Owen that\nnight, and it proved to be no more easy the following morning.\n\nFor when he proposed to his landlady to go to the dwelling-house of Mr.\nMacVittie, or to the counting-house of that firm, in search of Owen,\nshe held up her hands in horror.\n\n\"There will not be a soul in either place,\" she cried; \"they are all\nserious men and will only be found where all good Christians ought to be\non the Lord's Day Morning, and that's in the Barony Laigh (Low) Kirk!\"\n\nSo thither accordingly Frank betook himself, accompanied, of course, by\nhis faithful follower, Andrew Fairservice. They found the Laigh Kirk to\nbe a gloomy underground crypt into which light was but sparingly\nadmitted by a few Gothic windows. In the centre the pews were already\nfull to overflowing with worshippers, and Andrew and Frank had to take\ntheir places in the ring of those who stood in the outer dark among the\ngloomy ranges of pillars which stretched away into complete obscurity.\n\nFrank listened to the sermon for some time with what attention he could\nmuster. But the thought of his father's loss and his own share in it\nrecurred often to his mind. Suddenly he was roused from his revery by a\nwhisper from the darkness behind, \"Listen,\" a voice said, low but very\ndistinct, in his ear, \"do not look back. You are in danger in this\nplace. So am I. Meet me to-night at the Brig, at twelve o'clock\nprecisely. Keep at home till the gloaming and avoid observation!\"\n\nFrank tried to find out who could be so well acquainted with his journey\nas to give him this rendezvous. But all that he could see, vanishing\ninto the darkness of the vaulted arches, was a figure, wrapped in a long\ncloak which revealed nothing whatever of its wearer. Instinctively Frank\nattempted to pursue, but he had not gone many yards, when he fell over a\ntombstone with such a clatter that it caused the preacher to stop and\norder the officers to take into custody the author of the unseemly\ndisturbance.\n\nThere was nothing for it, therefore, but to wait with as much patience\nas he could muster for the time appointed. He did, however, see Mr.\nMacVittie, his father's correspondent, when as Andrew said the \"kirk\nscaled.\" But he did not take that worthy's advice to speak to the\nmerchant. The hard features of the man had in them something\ndisagreeable and even menacing which vaguely recalled Rashleigh\nOsbaldistone. And Frank, remembering the warnings of his unknown friend,\nresolved to refrain from making his presence in Glasgow known, at least\nfor the present, to that notable merchant Mr. MacVittie.\n\nThis Sunday was the longest day of Frank Osbaldistone's life. It seemed\nas if the hours would never go past. Twilight came at last, however, and\nhe issued forth to walk up and down in the public park, among the\navenues of trees, till the time of his appointment should arrive.\n\nAs he marched to and fro, keeping as much as possible out of sight of\nthe passers-by, he heard the voice of Andrew Fairservice in close and\nsomewhat loud conversation with a man in a long cloak and a slouched\nhat. Andrew was retailing the character of his master to the stranger,\nand though Frank Osbaldistone promised to himself to break Andrew's pate\nfor his insolence on the first suitable occasion, he could not but\nacknowledge the fidelity of the likeness which Andrew painted.\n\n\"Ay, ay, Mr. Hammorgaw,\" Andrew was saying, \"the lad is a good lad. He\nis not altogether void of sense. He has a gloaming sight of what is\nreasonable, but he is crack-brained and cockle-headed about his\nnipperty-tipperty poetry nonsense. A bare crag wi' a burn jawing over it\nis unto him as a garden garnished with flowering knots and choice\npot-herbs. And he would rather claver with a daft quean they call Diana\nVernon, than hear what might do him good all the days of his life from\nyou or me, or any other sober and sponsible person. Reason, sir, he\ncannot endure. He is all for the vanities and the volubilities. And he\neven once told me, poor blinded creature, that the Psalms of David were\nexcellent poetry. As if the holy Psalmist thought of rattling rhymes in\nblether, like his own silly clinkum-clankum that he calls verse! Gude\nhelp him! Two lines of Davie Lindsay wad ding a' that he ever clerkit!\"\n\nAt last, after a weary waiting, the bell of the church of St. Mungo\ntolled the hour of midnight. The echoes had not ceased upon the air when\na figure approached across the bridge, coming from the southern side.\nThe man was strong, thick-set, and wore a horseman's cloak wrapped about\nhim. But he passed without speaking, and held on his way to the farther\nend of the bridge. There he turned, and meeting Frank full in face, bade\nhim follow him and he would know his reasons for thus warning him.\n\nFrank first demanded to know who he was, and what were his purposes with\nhim.\n\n\"I am a man,\" was the reply, \"and my purpose is friendly to you.\"\n\nMore than that he would not say. Frank could follow him or not, just as\nhe chose. Only if he did not, he would rue it all his life.\n\nFurthermore, he stung the young man, perhaps intentionally, with the\ntaunt of being afraid. Frank cast back his words in his teeth. He was\nyoung, active, armed, of a good conscience. Why then had he need to be\nafraid?\n\n\"But,\" said the stranger, \"if you are not afraid of what I can do to\nyou, do you not fear the consequences of being found in the company of\none whose very name whispered in this lonely street would make the\nstones themselves rise up to apprehend him--on whose head half the men\nin Glasgow would build their fortune as on a found treasure, had they\nthe luck to grip him by the collar--the sound of whose apprehension were\nas welcome at the Cross of Edinburgh as ever the news of a field\nstricken and won in Flanders?\"\n\n\"And who, then, are you?\" cried Frank, \"whose name should create so deep\na terror?\"\n\n\"No enemy of yours, since I am taking you to a place where, if I were\nrecognised, cold iron for my heels and hemp for my throat would be my\nbrief dooming.\"\n\nInstinctively Frank laid his hand on his sword.\n\n\"What,\" said the stranger, \"on an unarmed man and your friend?\"\n\n\"I am ignorant if you be either the one or the other!\" said Frank, \"and\nindeed your language and manner lead me to doubt both.\"\n\n\"Manfully spoken,\" said the unknown; \"well, I will be frank and free\nwith you--I am conveying you to prison!\"\n\n\"To prison,\" cried Frank, \"and by what warrant--for what offence? You\nshall have my life sooner than my liberty. I defy you! I will not follow\nyou a step farther!\"\n\nThe unknown drew himself up haughtily.\n\n\"I am not taking you there as a prisoner,\" he said. \"I am neither\nmessenger nor sheriff's officer. _Your_ liberty is little risked by the\nvisit. _Mine_ is in some peril. But I care not for the risk. For I love\na free young blood, that kens no protector but the cross of his sword.\"\n\nSo saying he tapped at a low wicket, and was answered sharply from\nwithin, as by one awakened suddenly from a dream.\n\n\"Fat's tat? Wha's that, I wad say? And what the deil want ye at this\nhour o' the e'en? Clean again rules--clean again rules--as they call\nthem!\"\n\nThe speaker seemed by the yawning drone of the last words again to be\ncomposing himself to slumber.\n\nThen the stranger, who had hitherto guided Frank, spoke in a loud\nwhisper, \"Dougal man! hae ye forgotten _Ha nun Gregarach?_\"\n\nInstantly there was a bustle inside.\n\n\"Deil a bit, deil a bit!\" said the voice within, briskly.\n\nBolts were drawn, whispers passed in Gaelic, and presently Frank and his\ncompanion stood both of them in the vestibule of the tolbooth or public\nprison of Glasgow. It was a small but strong guard-room, from which\npassages led away to the right and left, and staircases ascended to the\ncells of the prisoners. Iron fetters fitly adorned the walls. Muskets,\npistols, and partizans stood about, ready alike for defence or offence.\nStill more strange was the jailer who greeted them.\n\nThis man was a wild, shock-headed savage with a brush of red hair, but\nhe knelt and almost worshipped Frank's guide. He could not take his\neyes off him.\n\n\"Oich--oich,\" grunted Dougal, for that was the turnkey's name, \"to see\nye here! What would happen to ye if the bailies should come to get\nwitting of it?\"\n\nThe guide, still wrapped in his cloak, placed his finger on his lip.\n\n\"Fear nothing, Dougal,\" he said, \"your hands shall never draw a bolt on\nme.\"\n\n\"That shall they no,\" said Dougal, emphatically, \"she wishes them hacked\noff by the elbows first. And when are ye gaun yonder again? When you\nreturn, you will not forget to tell your poor cousin--only seven times\nremoved.\"\n\n\"I will let you know, Dougal,\" said the man, \"as soon as my plans are\nsettled.\"\n\n\"And by my sooth,\" cried Dougal, \"when you do, I will fling my keys at\nthe provost's head, and never gie them anither turn--see if I winna!\"\n\nBut Frank's guide, who had listened to all this rhapsody very much with\nthe air of a prince accustomed to royal service and thinking little of\nit, interrupted Dougal with some words in Gaelic.\n\nWhereupon the turnkey, taking a lantern, led the young man up the\nwinding stair and introduced him to a cell, where, lying on a bed, he\nrecognised--no other than Owen, the head clerk of his father's house.\n\nAt first the good Owen could only bemoan the hardness of fate, thinking\nthat Frank also had met with the same treatment as himself, by being\nsent to prison. He had, it seemed, as in duty bound, gone at once to\nMessrs. MacVittie, MacFin, and Company and exposed to them his case,\nstating the difficulty in which the house were placed by Rashleigh's\ndisappearance. Hitherto they had been most smooth and silver-tongued,\nbut at the first word of difficulty as to payment, they had clapped poor\nOwen into prison on the charge of meditating flight out of the country.\n\nHe had, he continued, sent a note to Bailie Nicol Jarvie, the other\ncorrespondent of the house in Glasgow. But, as he said, \"If the civil\nhouse in the Gallowgate used him thus, what was to be expected from the\ncross-grained old crab-stock in the Salt Market?\"\n\nIt had fallen out even as he had expected. Bailie Nicol Jarvie had not\nso much as answered his letter, though it had been put into his hand as\nhe was on his way to church that morning.\n\nHardly were the words out of Owen's mouth, when from below came the\nvoice of Dougal the turnkey, evidently urging Frank's guide to conceal\nhimself.\n\n\"Gang upstairs and hide behind the Sassenach gentleman's bed. Ay,\nay--coming--coming!\"\n\nThe Highlander hastily entered Owen's cell, and, stripping off his heavy\ncoat, stood at bay, evidently gathering himself for a leap at the\nofficers, should it indeed prove to be the provost, magistrates, and\nguard of the city of Glasgow, as Dougal believed. It was obvious that he\nmeant to spring right at any who might be seeking to apprehend him. But\ninstead of a guard with fixed bayonets, it was only a good-looking young\nwoman in kilted petticoats holding a lantern in her hand, who ushered in\na magistrate, stout, bob-wigged, bustling, and breathless. At the sight\nof his face Frank's conductor instantly drew back and resumed the\nmuffling cloak which hid the lower part of his features.\n\nThe chief captain of the jail now showed himself at the door, having\ndescended hastily to wait on the great man. But the Bailie's anger was\nhuge against all and sundry.\n\n\"A bonny thing, Captain Stanchells,\" he cried, \"that I, a magistrate of\nthe city, should have been kept half an hour knocking as hard for\nentrance into the tolbooth as the poor creatures within knock to get\nout! And what, pray, is the meaning of this--strangers in the jail after\nlock-up time? I will look after this, Stanchells, depend upon it. Keep\nthe door locked. By and by I will speak with these gentlemen. But first,\nI must have a talk with an old acquaintance here. Mr. Owen, Mr. Owen,\nhow's all with you, man?\"\n\n\"Well in body, I thank you, Mr. Jarvie,\" said poor Owen, \"but sore\nafflicted in spirit.\"\n\n\"Ay, ay--no doubt--no doubt,\" said the Bailie, briskly, \"but we are all\nsubject to a downcome, and it comes hard on those that have held their\nheads high. But I have not come out at twelve o'clock of a Sabbath night\nto cast up to an unfortunate man his backslidings. That was never\nBailie Nicol Jarvie's way, nor yet was it his father the deacon's\nbefore him. Why, man, even in the Kirk I was thinking on your letter.\nAnd after supper I sat yawning wide enough to swallow St. Enoch's Kirk,\ntill twelve of the clock struck. Then I took a bit look at my ledger\njust to see how matters stood between us. Syne I called up Mattie and\nbade her light the lamp and convoy me down to the tolbooth. I have entry\nhere at any hour of the night and day, and so had my father before me,\nGod bless him!\"\n\n\nII. ROB ROY AT LAST\n\nDuring this harangue Frank's mysterious guide had been gradually edging\ntoward the door, and showing signs of slipping away. But even when\nlooking carefully over Mr. Owen's papers, the keen eyes of the\nmagistrate detected the movement.\n\n\"Shut the door, Stanchells, and keep it locked!\" he cried.\n\nThe Highlander took three or four steps across the room, muttered an\nexecration in Gaelic, and then with an air of careless defiance set\nhimself down on a table and proceeded to whistle a stave with all\npossible assurance.\n\nThe Bailie soon arranged Mr. Owen's affairs. He would become his bail\nhimself, and promised to secure his liberation early next morning. Then\nhe took the lantern from his servant Mattie, and, holding it up,\nproceeded to examine the stern, set countenance of Frank's guide. That\nstout-hearted Celt did not move a muscle under the inspection, but with\nhis arms folded carelessly, his heel beating time to the lilt of his\nwhistled strathspey, he came very near to deceiving the acuteness of his\ninvestigator.\n\n\n\n\"Eh--ah--no--it cannot be. It is! Eh, ye born deevil, ye robber--ye\ncatheran! Can this be you?\"\n\n\"E'en as ye see me, Bailie!\" was the short response.\n\n\"Ye cheat-the-gallows, ye reiving villain--what think you is the value\nof your head now!\" cried the Bailie.\n\n\"Umph! Fairly weighed and Dutch measure,\" came the answer, \"it might\nweigh down one provost's, four bailies', a town-clerk's, six deacons',\nbesides stent-masters'--!\"\n\n\"Tell over your sins,\" interrupted Mr. Nicol Jarvie, \"and prepare ye,\nfor if I speak the word--\"\n\n\"But ye will _not_ speak the word,\" said the Highlander, coolly.\n\n[Illustration: \"HE took the lantern from his servant Mattie, and,\nholding it up, proceeded to examine the stern, set countenance of\nFrank's guide. That stout-hearted Celt did not move a muscle under the\ninspection, but with his arms folded carelessly, his heel beating time\nto the lilt of his whistled strathspey, he came very near to deceiving\nthe acuteness of his investigator.\"]\n\n\"And why should I not?\" said the Bailie, \"answer me that--why should I\nnot?\"\n\n\"For three sufficient reasons, Bailie Jarvie,\" he retorted, \"first, for\nauld langsyne. Second, for the sake of the auld wife ayont the fire at\nStuckavrallachan, that made some mixture of our bloods--to my shame be\nit spoken that _I_ should have a cousin a weaver. And lastly, Bailie,\nbecause if I saw a sign of your betraying me, I would plaster the wall\nthere with your brains, long before any hand of man could rescue you!\"\n\n\"Ye are a bold, desperate villain, sir,\" retorted the undaunted Bailie,\n\"and ye ken that I ken ye to be so--but that were it only my own risk, I\nwould not hesitate a moment.\"\n\n\"I ken well,\" said the other, \"ye have gentle blood in your veins, and I\nwould be loath to hurt my own kinsman. But I go out of here free as I\ncame in, or the very walls of Glasgow tolbooth shall tell the tale these\nten years to come!\"\n\n\"Well, well,\" said Mr. Jarvie, \"after all, blood is thicker than water.\nKinsfolk should not see faults to which strangers are blind. And, as you\nsay, it would be sore news to the auld wife below the Ben, that you, ye\nHieland limmer, had knockit out my brains, or that I had got you strung\nup in a halter. But, among other things, where is the good thousand\npound Scots that I lent you, and when am I to be seeing it?\"\n\n\"Where is it?\" said the unknown, grimly, \"why, where last year's snow\nis, I trow!\"\n\n\"And that's on the tap o' Schehallion, ye Hieland dog,\" said Mr. Jarvie,\n\"and I look for payment from ye where ye stand.\"\n\n\"Ay,\" said the Highlander, unmoved, \"but I carry neither snow nor silver\nin my sporran. Ye will get it, Bailie--just when the King enjoys his ain\nagain, as the auld sang says!\"\n\nThen the magistrate turned to Frank.\n\n\"And who may this be?\" he demanded, \"some reiver ye hae listed, Rob? He\nlooks as if he had a bold heart for the highway, and a neck that was\nmade express for the hangman's rope!\"\n\n\"This,\" said Owen, horrified at the Bailie's easy prediction as to the\nfate of his young master, \"this is Mr. Francis Osbaldistone, only son of\nthe head of our house--\"\n\n\"Ay, I have heard of him,\" said the Bailie, still more contemptuously,\n\"he that ran away and turned play-actor, through pure dislike to the\nwork an honest man should live by!\"\n\n\"Indeed,\" said the Highlander, \"I had some respect for the callant even\nbefore I kenned what was in him. But now I honour him for his contempt\nof weavers and spinners, and sic-like mechanical persons.\"\n\n\"Ye are mad, Rob,\" said the Bailie, \"mad as a March hare--though\nwherefore a hare should be madder in the month of March than at\nMartinmas is more than I can well say. But this young birkie here, that\nye are hounding the fastest way to the gallows--tell me, will all his\nstage-plays and his poetries, or your broad oaths and drawn dirks tell\nhim where Rashleigh Osbaldistone is? Or Macbeth and all his kernes and\ngalloglasses, and your own to boot, procure him the five thousand pounds\nto answer the bills that must fall due ten days hence--were they all\nsold by auction at Glasgow Cross--basket hilts, Andrea Ferraras,\nleathern targets, brogues, brechan, and sporrans?\"\n\n\"Ten days!\" said Frank, instinctively drawing Diana Vernon's letter out\nof his pocket. The time had elapsed, and he was now free to open it.\n\nA thin sealed enclosure fell out, and the wandering airs of the prison\nwafted it to Bailie Jarvie's feet. He lifted it and at once handed it to\nthe Highlander, who, after glancing at the address, proceeded calmly to\nopen it.\n\nFrank tried vainly to interpose.\n\n\"You must first satisfy me that the letter is intended for you, before I\ncan allow you to read it,\" he said.\n\n\"Make yourself easy, Mr. Osbaldistone,\" answered the Highlander, looking\ndirectly at him for the first time, \"remember Justice Inglewood, Clerk\nJobson, Mr. Morris--above all, remember your very humble servant, Robert\nCampbell, and the beautiful Diana Vernon.\"\n\nThe vague resemblance which had been haunting Frank ever since he had\nheard this man's voice was now at once made plain. The cloak being\ndropped and the man's face turned full upon him, he saw that it was\nindeed the same Highland drover who had borne unexpected testimony in\nhis favour when he was in danger of his life in the house of Mr. Justice\nInglewood.\n\n\"It is a difficult cast she has given me to play,\" said the Highlander,\nlooking at Die Vernon's letter, \"but I daresay I shall be able to serve\nyou. Only you must come and visit me in my own country. I cannot hope to\naid you on the paving stones of Glasgow. And you, Bailie, if you will\ncome up with this young gentleman as far as the Clachan of Aberfoil, I\nwill pay you the thousand pounds Scots that I owe you.\"\n\n\"Such a journey ill becomes my place,\" said the Bailie, doubtfully, \"but\nif I did come, would you really and soothfully pay me the siller?\"\n\n\"I swear to you,\" said the Highlander, \"by him that sleeps beneath the\ngrey stane at Inch Cailleach!\n\n\"But,\" he continued, \"I must be budging. For the air of the Glasgow\ntolbooth is no that over salutary to a Highland constitution.\"\n\n\"Ohon,\" said the Bailie, \"that I should be art and part in an escape\nfrom justice--it will be a disgrace to me all the days of my life!\nAweel, we have all our backslidings to answer for. Stanchells, open the\ndoor!\"\n\nThe head jailor stared at the two visitors who had gotten into Mr.\nOwen's cell without his leave, but he was reassured by the Bailie's\ncareless \"Friends of mine, Stanchells, friends of mine!\"\n\nThe party descended to the lower vestibule, and there called more than\nonce for Dougal, but without effect.\n\nWhereupon Campbell observed, with a quiet smile, that \"if Dougal was the\nlad he kenned him, he would scarce wait to be thanked for his share of\nthat night's work, but would now be full trot for the pass of\nBallamaha--\"\n\n\"And am I myself,\" cried the angry Bailie, \"to be locked up in the\ntolbooth all night? Send for fore-hammers, sledge-hammers, pincers! Send\nfor Deacon Yettlin, the smith. And as for that Hieland blackguard, he\nshall hang as high as Haman--\"\n\n\"When ye catch him,\" said Campbell, gravely, \"but wait, surely the jail\ndoor is not locked!\"\n\nAnd so it turned out.\n\n\"He has some glimmerings of sense, that Dougal creature,\" added the\nHighlander; \"he kenned that an open door might have served me at a\npinch!\"\n\nSo saying he sprang into the darkness, and soon the street resounded to\nlow signal whistles, uttered and instantly replied to.\n\n\"Hear to the Hieland deevils,\" said Mr. Jarvie; \"they think themselves\nalready on the skirts of Ben Lomond! But what's this?\"\n\nThere was a clash of iron at his feet, and stooping to the causeway\ncobbles, the Bailie lifted the keys of the jail which Dougal had carried\naway in his flight.\n\n\"Indeed,\" he said, \"and that's just as well. For they cost the burgh\nsiller, and there might have been some talk in the council about the\nloss of them, that I would little like to have heard. It would not be\nthe first time they had cast up my kin to me, if Bailie Grahame and some\nothers should get wind of this night's work.\"\n\nThe next morning at the Bailie's hospitable table, Frank Osbaldistone\nmet Mr. Owen--but altogether another Owen from him of the\ntolbooth--neat, formal, and well brushed as ever, though still in the\nlowest of spirits about the misfortunes of the house.\n\nThey had not long begun when Frank, who could be brusque enough upon\noccasion, startled the Bailie by the question, \"And pray, by the bye,\nMr. Nicol Jarvie, who is this Mr. Robert Campbell whom I met last\nnight?\"\n\nThe question, abruptly put, seemed to knock the worthy Bailie all of a\nheap. He stammered and repeated it over and over, as if he had no answer\nready.\n\n\"Wha's Mr. Robert Campbell? Ahem--ahay--! Wha's Mr. Robert Campbell,\nquo' he?\"\n\n\"Yes,\" repeated the young Englishman, \"I mean who and what is he?\"\n\n\"Why, he's--ahay! He's--ahem! Where did _you_ meet Mr. Robert Campbell,\nas you call him yourself?\"\n\n\"I met him by chance,\" Frank answered promptly, \"some months ago, in the\nnorth of England.\"\n\n\"Then, Mr. Osbaldistone,\" said the Bailie, doggedly, \"ye ken just as\nmuch about him as I do!\"\n\n\"I should suppose not, Mr. Jarvie,\" said Frank, \"since you are, it\nseems, both his relation and his friend!\"\n\n\"There is doubtless some cousinship between us,\" said the Bailie, with\nreluctance, \"but I have seen little of Rob since he left the\ncattle-dealing. He was hardly used by those who might have treated him\nbetter, poor fellow.\"\n\nMore than this for the moment Frank could not extract from Mr. Jarvie,\nand indeed his father's affairs were naturally the first consideration.\nAs Frank could not help with their business matters and arrangements,\nthe Bailie dismissed him without ceremony, telling him that he might go\nup to the College Yards, where he would find some that could speak Greek\nand Latin, but that he must be back at one o'clock \"_preceesely_\" to\npartake of the Bailie's family leg of mutton and additional tup's head.\n\nIt was while Frank Osbaldistone was pacing to and fro in the College\nYards, that, from behind a hedge, he saw three men talking together. At\nfirst he could hardly believe his eyes. For one of them, the very sight\nof whom caused a disagreeable thrill to pass through his body, was none\nother than Rashleigh himself, while the other two were Morris and Mr.\nMacVittie,--the very three men who could do him the most harm in the\nworld.\n\nAt the end of the avenue MacVittie and Morris left the gardens, while\nRashleigh returned alone, apparently pacing the walk in deep meditation.\nFrank suddenly appeared before him, and challenged him to give up the\ndeeds and titles he had stolen from his father.\n\nRashleigh, whom no surprise could stir out of his cool native audacity,\nanswered that it would be better for his cousin to go and amuse himself\nin his world of poetical imagination, and to leave the business of life\nto men who understood and could conduct it.\n\nWords grew hotter and hotter between the two young men, till Rashleigh,\nstung by a reference to Diana Vernon, bade Frank follow him to a\nsecluded place where he would be able to chastise him for his boyish\ninsolence.\n\nAccordingly Frank followed him, keeping a keen watch on his adversary\nlest he should attempt any treachery. And it was well that he did so.\nFor Rashleigh's sword was at his breast before he had time to draw, or\neven to lay down his cloak, and he only saved his life by springing a\npace or two backward in all haste.\n\nIn the matter of fence, Frank found Rashleigh quite his match--his own\nsuperior skill being counterbalanced by Rashleigh's longer and more\nmanageable sword and by his great personal strength and ferocity. He\nfought, indeed, more like a fiend than a man. Every thrust was meant to\nkill, and the combat had all the appearance of being to the death.\n\nAt last Frank stumbled accidentally, and Rashleigh's sword passed\nthrough his coat and out at the back, just grazing his side, whereupon\nFrank, seizing the hilt of his antagonist's sword, shortened his grip\nand was on the point of running him through the body. But the\ndeath-grapple was put an end to in the nick of time, by the intervention\nof Campbell, who suddenly appeared out of the bushes and threw himself\nbetween them. Rashleigh demanded fiercely of the Highlander how he dared\nto interfere where his honour was concerned.\n\n\n\n\nBut Campbell, with a whistle of his broadsword about his head, reminded\nhim that so far as \"daring\" went, he was ready to make mincemeat of the\npair of them. But though this cooled Rashleigh's temper at once, it was\nfar from appeasing Frank, who swore that he would keep hold of his\ncousin till he had given up all he had stolen from his father.\n\n[Illustration: \"THE death-grapple was put an end to in the nick of time\nby the intervention of Campbell, who suddenly appeared out of the bushes\nand threw himself between them. Rashleigh demanded fiercely of the\nHighlander how he dared to interfere where his honour was concerned.\"]\n\n\"You hear!\" said Rashleigh to Campbell; \"he rushes upon his fate. On his\nown head be it!\"\n\nBut the Highlander would not permit the young man to be ill treated,\nonly for standing up for his own father. He took hold of Frank, however,\nand by a gigantic effort he caused him to release Rashleigh's coat which\nhe had seized in his anger.\n\n\"Let go his collar, Mr. Francis,\" he commanded. \"What he says is true.\nYe are more in danger of the magistrate in this place than what he is.\nTake the bent, Mr. Rashleigh. Make one pair of legs worth two pair of\nhands. You have done that before now.\"\n\nRashleigh, with a last threat of future revenge, took up his sword,\nwiped it, put it back in its sheath, and disappeared in the bushes.\n\nIn spite of his struggles the Highlander held Frank till it was vain for\nhim to pursue Rashleigh, and then Campbell had some advice to give him.\n\n\"Let him alone,\" he said. \"I tell you, man, he has the old trap set for\nyou. And here I cannot give you the same help that I did in the house of\nJustice Inglewood. Now go your ways home, like a good bairn. Keep out of\nthe sight of Rashleigh, and Morris, and that MacVittie animal. Mind the\nClachan of Aberfoil, and by the word of a gentleman I will not see you\nwronged.\"\n\nOn his way back Frank had his slight wound dressed by a surgeon and\napothecary in the neighbourhood, who refused to believe his explanation\nabout the button of his adversary's foil slipping.\n\n\"There never was button on the foil that made this!\" he said. \"Ah, young\nblood--young blood! But fear not--we surgeons are a secret generation!\"\n\nAnd so dismissed, Frank soon found his way back to Mr. Jarvie's family\nleg of mutton and tup's head, only a few minutes after the appointed\nstroke of one.\n\n * * * * *\n\n\nIII. THE BAILIE FIGHTS WITH FIRE\n\nWhen Frank Osbaldistone, the Bailie, and Andrew Fairservice, set forward\ntoward the Highlands, their way lay for the first stage over barren\nwastes, with the blue line of the Grampian Hills continually before\ntheir eyes.\n\nAndrew had as usual tried to cheat his master by getting rid of his own\npony and buying another on Frank's account. But the Bailie soon caused\nAndrew to recover his old horse on the penalty of being at once haled\noff to prison.\n\nNight came on before the little party of three arrived at the inn of the\nClachan of Aberfoil, having previously crossed the infant Forth by an\nancient bridge, high and narrow.\n\nThe inn was a mere hovel, but the windows were cheerfully lighted up.\nThere was a sound of revelry within that promised good cheer to hungry\nmen, and the party were on the point of entering, when Andrew\nFairservice showed them a peeled wand which was set across the half-open\ndoor.\n\n\"That means,\" he said, \"that some of their great men are birling at the\nwine within, and will little like to be disturbed.\"\n\nIt proved to be even so. The landlady was most anxious to keep them out.\nThey could get rest and shelter, she promised them, within seven\nScottish miles--that is to say, within at least double that number of\nEnglish ones. Her house was taken up, and the gentlemen in possession\nwould ill like to be intruded on by strangers. Better gang farther than\nfare worse.\n\nBut Frank, being an Englishman and hungry for his dinner, was ready to\ndo battle against all odds in order to get it.\n\nThe interior of the inn of Aberfoil was low and dark. The smoke of the\nfire hung and eddied under the gloomy roof about five feet from the\nground. But underneath all was kept clear by the currents of air that\nrushed about the house when the wind blew through the wicker door and\nthe miserable walls of stone plastered with mud.\n\nThree men were sitting at an oak table near the fire. Two of these were\nin Highland dress, the first small and dark, with a quick and irritable\nexpression of countenance. He wore the \"trews\" of tartan, which in\nitself showed him a man of consideration. The other Highlander was a\ntall, strong man, with the national freckled face and high cheekbones.\nThe tartan he wore had more of red in it than that of the other. The\nthird was in Lowland dress, a bold, stout-looking man, in a showily\nlaced riding-dress and a huge cocked hat. His sword and a pair of\npistols lay on the table before him.\n\nAll three were drinking huge draughts of the Highland drink called\n\"Usquebagh,\" and they spoke loudly and eagerly one to the other, now in\nGaelic, now in English. A third Highlander, wrapped in his plaid and\nwith his face hidden, lay on the floor, apparently asleep.\n\nThe three gentlemen were at first unconscious of the invasion. They\ncontinued their loud conversation, and it was not until Frank\nOsbaldistone called the landlady that they paused and looked at them,\napparently stricken dumb by his audacity.\n\n\"You make yourself at home,\" said the lesser Celt, in very good English,\nwhich however he spoke with an air of haughty disdain.\n\n\"I usually do, sir,\" said Frank, \"when I come into a house of public\nentertainment.\"\n\n\"And did she not see,\" demanded the taller man, \"by the white wand at\nthe door, that gentlemans had taken up the public house on their ain\nbusiness?\"\n\n\"I do not pretend to understand the customs of this country,\" said\nFrank, with firmness, \"but I have yet to learn how any three persons are\nentitled to exclude all other travellers from the only place of shelter\nand refreshment for miles around.\"\n\nThe Bailie here offered a stoup of brandy as an appropriate means of\nestablishing a good understanding, but the three natives proceeded to\nsnuff the air and work themselves up into a passion with the evident\nintention of ending the quarrel by a fray.\n\n\"We are three to three,\" said the lesser Highlander, glancing his eyes\nat the intruding party. \"If ye be pretty men, draw!\"\n\nAnd so saying, he drew his own broadsword and advanced upon Frank. The\nyoung Englishman, knowing the superiority of his rapier to the claymore,\nespecially in the confined space, was in no fear as to the issue of the\ncombat. But when the gigantic Highlander advanced upon the worthy\nmagistrate of Glasgow, after trying in vain once or twice to draw his\nfather's _shabble_, as he called it, from its sheath,--a weapon which\nhad last seen the light at Bothwell Bridge,--the Bailie seized as a\nsubstitute the red-hot coulter of a plough, which had been sticking in\nthe fire. At the very first pass he set the Highlander's plaid on fire,\nand thereafter compelled him to keep a respectful distance. Andrew\nFairservice had, of course, vanished at the very first symptoms of a\nstorm, but the Lowlander, disappointed of an antagonist, drew honourably\noff and took no share in the fight. Nevertheless the Bailie, built for\nmore peaceful pursuits, was quickly getting the worst of it, when from\nthe floor started up the sleeping Highlander, crying, \"Hersel' has eaten\nthe town bread at the Cross of Glasgow, and by her troth, she will fight\nfor Bailie Jarvie at the Clachan of Aberfoil!\"\n\nAnd seconding words with blows, he fell upon his tall countryman. As\nboth were armed with targes made of wood and studded with brass, the\ncombat was more remarkable for noise and clatter than for serious\ndamage. And it was not long before the Lowlander cried out, taking upon\nhimself the office of peacemaker: \"Hold your hands, gentlemen--enough\ndone, enough done! The strangers have shown themselves men of honour,\nand have given reasonable satisfaction.\"\n\nThere was no wish to continue the fray, save perhaps on the part of the\nBailie's antagonist, who demanded to know who was going to pay for the\nhole burnt in his bonnie plaid, through which, he declared, any one\nmight put a kail-pot.\n\nBut the Bailie, pleased with himself for having shown spirit, declared\nthat the Highlander should have a new plaid, especially woven, of his\nown clan-colours. And he added that if he could find the worthy lad who\nhad taken his quarrel upon himself, he would bestow upon him a gill of\n_aqua-vitae_.\n\nBut the Highlander who had been so ready on the Bailie's behalf was now\nnowhere to be found. The supper was brought in presently, as if the\nlandlady had only been waiting for the end of the fray in order to serve\nthe repast.\n\nThe Bailie had from the first recognised the Lowlander as one to whom\nthe deacon his father had lent money, and with whose family there were\nmany ties of cordiality and confidence. So while the friendly converse\nwas thus proceeding indoors, Frank went out to find Andrew Fairservice,\nand on his way the landlady gave him a folded scrap of paper, saying\nthat she was glad to be rid of it--what with Saxons, soldiers, and\nrobbers--life was not worth living on the Highland line!\n\nBy the light of a torch Frank read as follows, \"For the honoured hands\nof Mr. F. O., a Saxon young gentleman--These!\"\n\nThe letter proved to be from Campbell, and informed Frank that as there\nwere night hawks abroad, he must hold no communication with any one lest\nit should lead to future trouble. The person who gave him the letter\nmight be trusted, but that in the meantime it would be well to avoid a\nmeeting with \"R. M. C.\"\n\nFrank was much disappointed at this deferring of the hope of aiding his\nfather, by recovering the papers and titles which Rashleigh had stolen.\nBut still there was no help for it. And so, after dragging Andrew out of\nthe corner of the shed, where he was hidden behind a barrel of feathers,\nhe returned to the inn.\n\nHere he found the Bailie high in dispute with his quondam friend, the\nLowlander Galbraith. The quarrel concerned the Duke of Argyle and the\nClan Campbell, but most of all a certain freebooter of the name of Rob\nRoy, who, as it now appeared, they were all assembled to pursue and make\nan end of.\n\nNorth and east the passes were being held. The westland clans were out.\nSouthward Major Galbraith was in command of a body of Lennox horse, and\nto a certainty Rob Roy would swing in a rope by the morrow's morn.\n\nScarcely were the words spoken when the ordered tramp of infantry on the\nmarch was heard, and an officer, followed by two or three files of\nsoldiers, entered the apartment. It gave Frank a thrill of pleasure to\nremark his English accent, after the Scotch which he had been listening\nto ever since he left Osbaldistone Hall.\n\nBut he liked somewhat less what he was next to hear. The English officer\nhad received instructions to place under arrest two persons, one young\nand the other elderly, travelling together. It seemed to him that Frank\nand the Bailie answered fairly well to this description.\n\nIn spite of the protests and threats of the honourable magistrate, he\nordered them both to follow him in his advance into the Highland\ncountry, upon which he was immediately to set out.\n\nThe letter which Frank had received from the landlady of the inn, being\nfound upon him, was held to be evidence that he had been in treasonable\ncorrespondence with Rob Roy, whose usual initials, indeed, were at the\nbottom of the note. Next the shock-headed Highlander who had taken the\nBailie's quarrel upon him, having been captured, was brought before the\nofficer, and commanded, on pain of being instantly hanged, to lead them\nto the place where he had left the Mac-Gregor. After long persuasion,\nsome of it of the roughest sort, poor Dougal consented for five guineas\nto act as guide to the party of soldiers under Captain Thornton--for\nsuch was the name of the English officer.\n\nThis sinful compliance of Dougal's angered the Bailie so much that he\ncried to the soldiers to take Dougal away, because now he deserved\nhanging for his treachery more than ever.\n\nThis drew the retort from the Corporal who was acting as hangman, that\nif it were the Bailie who was going to be hanged, he would be in no\nsuch desperate hurry!\n\nBut Dougal promised to be faithful, and in a few minutes the English\nofficer had paid the reckonings of the three gentlemen whom Frank had\nfound drinking at the inn of Aberfoil. The hot and smoky atmosphere of\nthe miserable inn was exchanged for the wide hill breezes. But on their\npassage through the villages the hatred of the natives, mostly women and\nchildren, for the \"red soldiers\" broke forth into shrill cursing. Andrew\nFairservice, who alone of the three understood Gaelic, grew pale with\nterror at the threats which were lavished upon them.\n\n\"And the worst of all is,\" he said, trembling, \"that the owercome o'\ntheir sang is that we are to gang up the glen and see what we are to\nget.\"\n\n\nIV. THE DROWNING OF THE SPY\n\nWhereupon the Bailie took it on himself to warn Captain Thornton that\nthe Highlanders, especially under a leader so daring as Rob Roy, were in\nthe habit of attacking their enemies in narrow passes where regular\ntroops had no chance against them. But the officer was not to be turned\naside. He had his orders and he meant to carry them out. Rob Roy was\ncertainly trapped, he said. All the upper passes were in the hands of\nthe Highlanders of the western clans. Garschattachin had closed in on\nthe south with the Lennox Horse. The latest tidings of the freebooter\nwere in accordance with the information so reluctantly given by Dougal,\nand were to the effect that Rob Roy had sent away the larger part of his\nclan, and was seeking escape alone, or with very few in his company,\ntrusting most likely to his superior knowledge of the passes.\n\nMeanwhile Dougal their guide answered with a natural impatience to all\ncomplaints that he was leading them by difficult or dangerous roads.\n\n\"If,\" he said, with an appearance of reason, \"gentlemans were seeking\nthe Red Gregarach, they must expect some wee danger. And if they likit\ngrand roads, they should hae bided at Glasgow.\"\n\nThe party was continuing to follow the narrow path by the lake, till\nthey came to a halt at a place where the path left the water and climbed\nupward by several zigzags to the top of a rock, on which the advance\nguard reported that they had seen the bonnets of the Highlanders as well\nas the shining barrels of their long muskets.\n\nThe officer now ordered the Corporal with three files to dislodge the\nenemy from this stronghold. The soldiers accordingly moved forward while\nCaptain Thornton, with the rest of his party, followed in support. But\nimmediate attack was prevented by the appearance of a woman on the top\nof the rock.\n\n\"Stand!\" she cried in commanding tones, \"and tell me what you seek in\nMac-Gregor's country.\"\n\n[Illustration: \"THE soldiers accordingly moved forward while Captain\nThornton, with the rest of his party, followed in support. But immediate\nattack was prevented by the appearance of a woman on the top of the\nrock.\n\n\"'Stand!' she cried in commanding tones, 'and tell me what you seek in\nMac-Gregor's country.'\"]\n\nShe was tall and imposing in figure. Her features had once been\nhandsome, but were now wasted with grief and passion. She wore a man's\nplaid and belt, a man's bonnet was on her head, and she held a naked\nsword in her hand.\n\n\"That's Helen Mac-Gregor, Rob's wife,\" said the Bailie, in a whisper of\nalarm; \"there will be broken heads before long!\"\n\n\"What seek ye here?\" she demanded again of Captain Thornton, who had\nadvanced to reconnoitre.\n\n\"We seek the outlaw Rob Roy Mac-Gregor Campbell,\" said the officer; \"we\nmake no war upon women. Therefore offer no opposition to the King's\ntroops and assure yourself of civil treatment.\"\n\n\"I am no stranger to your tender mercies,\" the woman said, \"you have\nleft me neither name nor fame--neither house nor hold, blanket nor\nbedding, cattle to feed us, nor flocks to clothe us! Ye have taken from\nus all--all! The very name of our ancestors ye have taken away, and now\nye come for our lives!\"\n\n\"I seek no man's life,\" said the officer. \"I only execute my orders.\nForward there--march!\"\n\n\"Hurrah, boys--for Rob Roy's head and a purse of gold!\" cried the\nCorporal, taking the word from his officer.\n\nHe quickened his pace to a run, followed by his six men. But as they\nreached the first loop of the ascent of the cliff, there came the flash\nof a dozen muskets from both sides of the pass. The Corporal, shot\nthrough the body, still struggled to reach the summit. He clung to the\nrock, but after a desperate effort his grasp relaxed. He slipped from\nthe bare face of the cliff into the deep lake, where he perished. Of the\nsoldiers three fell with him, while the others retired as best they\ncould upon their main body.\n\n\"Grenadiers, to the front!\" cried the steady voice of Captain Thornton,\n\"open your pouches--handle your grenades--blow up your matches--fall\non!\"\n\nThe whole party advanced with a shout, headed by Captain Thornton, the\ngrenadiers preparing to throw their grenades among the bushes, and the\nrank and file ready to support them in a close and combined assault.\n\nDougal, finding himself forgotten in the scuffle, had wisely crept into\nthe thicket which overhung the road, and was already mounting the cliff\nwith the agility of a wild-cat. Frank hastily followed his example. For\nthe spattering fire, directed on the advancing party of soldiers, the\nloud reports of muskets, and the explosion of the grenades, made the\npath no comfortable place for those without arms. The Bailie, however,\nhad only been able to scramble about twenty feet above the path when,\nhis foot slipping, he would certainly have fallen into the lake had not\nthe branch of a ragged thorn caught his riding-coat and supported him in\nmid-air, where he hung very like a sign in front of a hostelry. Andrew\nFairservice had made somewhat better speed, but even he had only\nsucceeded in reaching a ledge from which he could neither ascend nor yet\ncome down. On this narrow promontory he footed it up and down, much like\na hen on a hot girdle, and roared for mercy in Gaelic and English\nalternately, accordingly as he thought the victory inclined toward the\nsoldiers or went in favour of the outlaws.\n\nBut on this occasion it was the Highlanders who were destined to win.\nThey fought altogether under cover, and, from the number of musket\nflashes they held also a great superiority in point of numbers. At all\nevents Frank soon saw the English officer stripped of his hat and arms,\nand his men, with sullen and dejected countenances, delivering up their\nmuskets to the victorious foe.\n\nThe Bailie was, however, rescued by \"the Dougal cratur,\" as the\nmagistrate called him, who cut off the tails of his coat and lowered him\nto the ground. Then, when at last he was somewhat appeased, on account\nof Frank's seeming desertion, he counselled that they should be in no\nhurry to approach Mac-Gregor's wife, who would certainly be most\ndangerous in the moment of victory.\n\nAndrew Fairservice had already been espied on his airy perch, from which\nthe Highlanders soon made him descend, by threatening him with their\nguns and even firing a stray shot or two over his head, so that\npresently he fell to the earth among them. The outlaws stood ready to\nreceive him, and ere he could gain his legs, they had, with the most\nadmirable celerity, stripped him of periwig, hat, coat, doublet,\nstockings, and shoes. In other circumstances this might have been\namusing for Frank to watch. For though Andrew fell to the earth a\nwell-clothed and decent burgher--he arose a forked, uncased, bald-pated,\nand beggarly-looking scarecrow.\n\nAnd indeed Frank and the Bailie would soon have shared the same fate,\nhad not Dougal appeared on the scene in the nick of time, and compelled\nthe plunderers to restore their spoil. So to Helen Mac-Gregor they were\ntaken, Dougal fighting and screaming all the way, evidently determined\nto keep his captives to himself, or at least to prevent others from\nclaiming them.\n\nWith many but (considering the time and occasion) somewhat ill-chosen\nwords of familiarity, the Bailie claimed kindred with Rob Roy's wife.\nBut in this he did himself more harm than good, for his ill-timed\njocularity grated on Helen Mac-Gregor's ear, in her present mood of\nexaltation, and she promptly commanded that the Sassenachs should one\nand all be bound and thrown into the deeps of the lake.\n\nBut here Dougal threw himself between the angry woman and her prisoners\nwith such vehemence that he was able to stave off, at least for a time,\nthe execution of the supreme sentence. These men were, he said, friends\nof the Chief and had come up on his assurance to meet him at the Clachan\nof Aberfoil.\n\nBut at that very moment the wild strains of the pibroch were heard\napproaching, and a strong body of Highlanders in the prime of life\narrived on the scene. It now appeared that those who had fought and\nbeaten the troops were either beardless boys or old men scarcely able to\nhold a musket. But there was no joy of victory on the faces of the\nnewcomers. The pipes breathed a heart-breaking lament.\n\n_Rob Roy was taken!_\n\n\"Taken,\" repeated Helen Mac-Gregor, \"taken!--And do you live to say so?\nDid I nurse you for this, coward dogs--that you should see your father\nprisoner, and come back to tell it?\"\n\nThe sons of Rob Roy, the elder James, tall and handsome, the younger\nRobin Oig, ruddy and dark, both hung their heads. And after the first\nburst of her indignation was over, the elder explained how Rob Roy had\nbeen summoned to bide tryst with--(here Frank Osbaldistone missed the\nname, but it sounded like his own). Having, however, some suspicion of\ntreachery, Rob Roy had ordered the messenger to be detained, and had\ngone forth attended by only Angus Breck and little Rory. Within half an\nhour Angus Breck came back with the tidings that the Chief had been\ncaptured by a party of the Lennox militia under Galbraith of\nGarschattachin, who were in waiting for him.\n\nHelen Mac-Gregor had now two purposes to carry out. First, she sent\nmessengers in every direction to gather assistance for an immediate\nattack on the Lowlanders, in order to effect the rescue of her husband.\nSecond, she ordered the spy, whose false message had sent her husband to\nhis doom, to be brought before her. For him there was no pity.\n\nWhen he was haled, pale and trembling before the enraged wife of the\nMac-Gregor, what was Frank's astonishment to discover that he was none\nother than Morris, the very same man who had accused him of the robbery\nof his portmanteau at Squire Inglewood's, and whom he had last seen in\nthe Glasgow College Yards, walking and talking with Rashleigh\nOsbaldistone.\n\nA brief command to her followers--and the wretched man was bound. A\nheavy stone was tied about his neck in a plaid, and he was hurled\ninstantly into the depths of the lake, where he perished, amid the loud\nshouts of vindictive triumph which went up from the clan.\n\n\nINTERLUDE OF EXPOSTULATION\n\n \"Oh, do go on,\" said Sweetheart, actually pushing\n the narrator's arm, as if to shake more of the tale\n out of him. \"What a perfectly horrid place to stop\n at! Tell us what happened after.\"\n\n \"Nothing more happened to Morris, I can promise\n you that!\" I replied.\n\n \"That's not nice of you,\" said Sweetheart. \"I am\n quite sorry for the poor man--in spite of all he\n had done!\"\n\n \"Well, I'm not,\" said Sir Toady Lion, truculently,\n \"he deserved it all, and more. He has done nothing\n but tell lies and betray people all through the\n story--right from the very beginning.\"\n\n \"Besides, he was afraid!\" said Hugh John, with whom\n this was the sin without forgiveness.\n\n \"Well,\" said Sweetheart, \"so am I afraid often--of\n mice, and rats, and horrid creeping things.\"\n\n \"Huh,\" said Sir Toady, crinkling up his nose, \"you\n are a girl--of course you are afraid!\"\n\n \"And I know,\" retorted Sweetheart, \"two noble,\n brave, gallant, fearless, undaunted BOYS, who\n daren't go up to the garret in the dark--_there!_\"\n\n \"That's not fair,\" said Hugh John; \"that was only\n once, after father had been telling us about the\n Hand-from-under-the-Bed that pulled the bedclothes\n off! Anybody would have been frightened at that.\n You, yourself--\"\n\n \"Oh, but I don't pretend,\" cried Sweetheart; \"I\n don't need to. I am only a girl. But for all that,\n I went up and lit the candle in a bedroom belonging\n to two boys, who dared not even go up the stair\n holding each other by the hand!\"\n\n \"If you say that, I'll hit you,\" said Sir Toady.\n\n \"Will you!\" said Sweetheart, clearing for action;\n \"we'll see about that. It's only mice _I_ am afraid\n of--not cowardly boys!\"\n\n I hastened to still the rising storm, and in order\n to bring the conversation back to the subject of\n Rob Roy, I asked Hugh John if this were not more to\n his taste in the matter of heroes.\n\n \"Oh, Rob Roy's all right,\" he said; \"that is, when\n once you get to him. But Frank Osbaldistone is just\n like the rest--always being tied up, or taken round\n where he doesn't want to go. Besides, he ran away\n at the battle!\"\n\n \"Well,\" said I, \"he had no arms, and besides it was\n not his quarrel. He couldn't fight either for the\n soldiers or for the Highlanders. At any rate, you\n can't deny that he did fight with Rashleigh in the\n College Yards of Glasgow!\"\n\n \"Yes, and he got wounded. And then Rob Roy\n threatened to lick them both--I don't count that\n much!\" said the contemner of heroes. \"But, at any\n rate, it was something. And he didn't go spooning\n about after girls--that's good, anyway.\"\n\n \"Don't be too sure,\" said Sweetheart; \"there's Die\n Vernon in the background.\"\n\n \"Well, of course, a fellow _has_ to do some of it\n if he's a hero,\" said Hugh John, who has always\n high ideas of the proper thing; \"it's in his part,\n you see, and he has to--else he wouldn't be\n respected. But I think if ever I had to be a hero,\n I would dress up Sir Toady for the girl's part.\n Then if he monkeyed too much, why--I could welt him\n well after. But (he added with a sigh), with a\n girl, you can't, of course.\"\n\n \"Well, anyway,\" said Sweetheart, thinking that\n possibly the tale-teller might feel aggrieved at\n these uncomplimentary remarks, \"_I_ think it is\n just a beautiful story, and I love the dear Bailie\n for being willing to go all that way with Frank,\n and get hung up in the tree by the coat-tails and\n all!\"\n\n \"Rats!\" said Hugh John, contemptuously, \"think if\n he had known _that_, he would ever have left\n Glasgow--not much!\"\n\n \"Well, it was beautiful, I think,\" said Sweetheart,\n \"but I _am_ sorry that they drowned the poor man\n Morris, especially when he was so very frightened.\"\n\n But the instant indignant outcry of the boys\n silenced her. Lochs twelve feet deep, it speedily\n appeared, ought to be provided by law everywhere\n over the kingdoms three, for the accommodation of\n such \"sweeps\" and \"sneaks\" and \"cowards.\"\n\n Then Mistress Margaret spoke up for the first time.\n She had been sitting with her eyes fixed dreamily\n on the sparkle of the logs in the library\n fireplace.\n\n \"What a blessing it is,\" she said, \"that this is a\n rainy Saturday, and so we do not need to wait for\n more. Please go on with the story--JUST where you\n left off.\"\n\n And Maid Margaret's form of government being\n absolute monarchy, I did so, and the result was\n\n\n\n\nTHE THIRD TALE FROM \"ROB ROY\"\n\n\nI. IN THE HANDS OF THE PHILISTINES\n\nAFTER the victory of the Highlanders and the drowning of Morris the spy,\nit was for some little while touch-and-go whether the Bailie and Frank\nshould be made to follow him to the bottom of the loch. But at last\nFrank was ordered to go as an ambassador to those who had captured Rob\nRoy, while the Bailie with Captain Thornton and all the other prisoners\nremained as hostages in the hands of the victorious Helen.\n\nThis was the message he was to carry to the Sassenach.\n\nThe whole district of the Lennox would be ravished if the Mac-Gregor\nwere not set free within twelve hours. Farmhouses would be burned,\nstack-yard and byre made desolate. In every house there would be a\ncrying of the death wail--the coronach of sorrow. Furthermore, to begin\nwith, Helen Mac-Gregor promised that if her request was not granted\nwithin the time specified, she would send them this Glasgow Bailie, with\nthe Saxon Captain, and all the captive soldiers, bundled together in a\nplaid, and chopped into as many pieces as there were checks in the\ntartan!\n\nWhen the angry Chieftainess paused in her denunciations, the cool level\nvoice of the soldier struck in: \"Give my compliments--Captain Thornton's\nof the Royal's--to the commanding officer, and tell him to do his duty\nand secure his prisoner, without wasting a thought on me. If I have been\nfool enough to let myself be led into this trap, I am at least wise\nenough to know how to die for it without disgracing the service. I am\nonly sorry for my poor fellows,\" he added, \"fallen into such butcherly\nhands!\"\n\nBut the Bailie's message was far different in tone.\n\n\"Whisht, man, whisht,\" he cried, \"are ye weary of your life? Ye'll gie\n_my_ service, Bailie Nicol Jarvie's service--a magistrate o' Glasgow, as\nhis father was before him--to the commanding officer, and tell him that\nthere are here a wheen honest men in sore trouble, and like to come to\nmair. And tell him that the best thing he can do for the common good is\njust to let Rob come his ways up the glen, and nae mair about it! There\nhas been some ill done already, but as it has lighted mostly on the\nexciseman Morris it will not be muckle worth making a stir about!\"\n\nSo young Hamish Mac-Gregor led Frank Osbaldistone across the mountains\nto the place where his father's captors, the horsemen of the Lennox, had\ntaken up their position on a rocky eminence, where they would be safe\nfrom any sudden attack of the mountaineers.\n\nBefore parting he made Frank promise not to reveal, either who had\nguided him thither, or where he had parted from his conductor. Happily\nFrank was not asked either of these questions. He and Andrew (who, in a\ntattered cloak and with a pair of brogues on his feet, looked like a\nHighland scarecrow) were soon perceived by the sentries and conducted to\nthe presence of the commanding officer, evidently a man of rank, in a\nsteel cuirass, crossed by the ribband of the Thistle, to whom the\nothers seemed to pay great deference. This proved to be no other than\nhis Grace the Duke of Montrose, who in person had come to conduct the\noperations against his enemy, Rob Roy.\n\nFrank's message was instantly listened to, and very clearly and\npowerfully he pointed out what would occur if Rob Roy were not suffered\nto depart. But the Duke bade him return to those who sent him, and tell\nthem that if they touched so much as a hair upon the heads of their\nhostages, he would make their glens remember it for a hundred years. As\nfor Rob Roy, he must surely die!\n\nBut Frank Osbaldistone pointed out that to return with such a message\nwould be to go to certain death, and pleaded for some reply which might\nsave the lives of Captain Thornton, the Bailie, and the soldiers who\nwere captive in Helen Mac-Gregor's hands upon the hostile shores of Loch\nArd.\n\n\"Why, if you cannot go yourself, send your servant!\" returned the Duke.\nAt which Andrew burst forth. He had had, he said, enough and to spare of\nHighland hospitality.\n\n\"The deil be in my feet,\" quoth Andrew, \"if I go the length of my toe\non such an errand. Do the folk think I have a spare windpipe in my\npocket, after John Highlandman has slit this one with his jocteleg? Or\nthat I can dive down at one side of a Highland loch and come up at the\nother like a sheldrake? Na, na, every one for himself, and God for us\nall! Folk may just go on their own errands. Rob Roy is no concern of\nmine. He never came near my native parish of Dreepdaily to steal either\npippin or pear from me or mine!\"\n\nThe Duke seemed much affected by the hard case of the King's officer,\nbut he replied that the state of the country must come first, and it was\nabsolutely necessary that Rob Roy should die. He held to this resolution\neven when Galbraith of Garschattachin and others of his followers seemed\ninclined to put in a good word for Rob. He was about to examine the\nprisoner further, when a Highlander brought him a letter which seemed to\ncause the great man much annoyance. It announced that the Highland\nclans, on whom the Lowlanders had been relying, had made a separate\npeace with the enemy and had gone home.\n\nAs the night was now fast coming on, the Duke ordered Garschattachin to\ndraw off his party in one direction, while he himself would escort the\nprisoner to a place called Duchray.\n\n\"Here's auld ordering and counter-ordering,\" growled Garschattachin\nbetween his teeth, \"but bide a wee--we may, ere long, play at Change\nSeats--for the King's coming!\"\n\nThe two divisions of cavalry began to move down the valley at a slow\ntrot. One party, that commanded by Galbraith, turned to the right, where\nthey were to spend the night in an old castle, while the other, taking\nalong with them Frank Osbaldistone, escorted the prisoner to a place of\nsafety. Rob Roy was mounted behind one of the strongest men present, one\nEwan of Brigglands, to whom he was fastened by a horse-belt passed round\nboth and buckled before the yeoman's breast. Frank was set on a\ntroop-horse and placed immediately behind. They were as closely\nsurrounded by soldiers as the road would permit, and there were always\none or two troopers, pistol in hand, riding on either side of Rob Roy.\n\nNevertheless the dauntless outlaw was endeavouring all the time to\npersuade Ewan of Brigglands to give him a last chance for his life.\n\n\"Your father, Ewan,\" he said, so low that Frank had difficulty in\ncatching the words, \"would not thus have carried an old friend to the\nshambles, like a calf, for all the dukes in Christendom!\"\n\nTo this Ewan returned no answer--only shrugging his shoulders as a sign\nthat what he was doing was by no choice of his own.\n\n\"And when the Mac-Gregors come down the glen,\" the voice of the tempter\nwent on in Ewan's ear, \"and ye see empty folds, a bloody hearthstone,\nand the fire flashing out between the rafters of your house, ye may be\nthinking then, Ewan, that were your friend Rob Roy to the fore, you\nmight have had that safe, which it will make your heart sore to lose!\"\n\nThey were at this time halted on the river-bank, waiting for the signal\nto bring over the Mac-Gregor. Rob made one last attempt.\n\n\"It's a sore thing,\" said Rob Roy, still closer in the ear of his\nconductor, \"that Ewan of Brigglands, whom Rob Roy has helped with hand,\nsword, and purse, should mind a gloom from a great man more than a\nfriend's life.\"\n\nEwan, sorely agitated, was silent.\n\nThen came the Duke's loud call from the opposite bank, \"Bring over the\nprisoner!\"\n\nDashing forward precipitately, Ewan's horse, with the two men on his\nback, entered the water. A soldier kept back Frank from following. But\nin the waning light he could see the Duke getting his people into order\nacross the river, when suddenly a splash and a cry warned him that Rob\nhad prevailed on Ewan of Brigglands to give him one more chance for\nlife.\n\n\nII. THE ESCAPE\n\nIn a moment all was confusion. The Duke shouted and ordered. Men rode\nhither and thither in the fast-falling darkness, some really anxious to\nearn the hundred guineas which the Duke promised to the captor of his\nfoe, but the most part trying rather by shouting and confusion to cover\nRob's escape. At one time, indeed, he was hardly pressed, several shots\ncoming very near him before he could lose himself in the darkness. He\nwas compelled to come to the surface to breathe, but in some way he\ncontrived to loosen his plaid, which, floating down the stream, took off\nthe attention of his more inveterate pursuers while he himself swam into\nsafety.\n\nIn the confusion Frank had been left alone upon the bank, and there he\nremained till he heard the baffled troopers returning, some with vows of\nvengeance upon himself.\n\n\"Where is the English stranger?\" called one; \"it was he who gave Rob the\nknife to cut the belt!\"\n\n\"Cleave the pock-pudding to the chafts!\" said another.\n\n\"Put a brace of balls into his brain-pan!\" suggested yet another.\n\n\"Or three inches of cold iron into his briskit!\"\n\nSo, in order to nullify these various amiable intentions, Frank\nOsbaldistone leaped from his horse, and plunged into a thicket of alder\ntrees, where he was almost instantly safe from pursuit. It was now\naltogether dark, and, having nowhere else to go, Frank resolved to\nretrace his way back to the little inn at which he had passed the\nprevious night. The moon rose ere he had proceeded very far, bringing\nwith it a sharp frosty wind which made Frank glad to be moving rapidly\nover the heather. He was whistling, lost in thought, when two riders\ncame behind him, ranging up silently on either side. The man on the\nright of Frank addressed him in an English tongue and accent strange\nenough to hear in these wilds.\n\n\"So ho, friend, whither so late?\"\n\n\"To my supper and bed at Aberfoil!\" replied Frank, curtly.\n\n\"Are the passes open?\" the horseman went on, in the same commanding tone\nof voice.\n\n\"I do not know,\" said Frank; \"but if you are an English stranger, I\nadvise you to turn back till daybreak. There has been a skirmish, and\nthe neighbourhood is not perfectly safe for travellers.\"\n\n\"The soldiers had the worst of it, had they not?\"\n\n\"They had, indeed--an officer's party was destroyed or made prisoners.\"\n\n\"Are you sure of that?\" persisted the man on horseback.\n\n\"I was an unwilling spectator of the battle!\" said Frank.\n\n\"Unwilling! Were not you engaged in it?\"\n\n\"Certainly not,\" he answered, a little nettled at the man's tone. \"I was\nheld a prisoner by the King's officer!\"\n\n\"On what suspicion? And who and what are you?\"\n\n\"I really do not know, sir,\" said Frank, growing quickly angry, \"why I\nshould answer so many questions put to me by a stranger. I ask you no\nquestions as to your business here, and you will oblige me by making no\ninquiries as to mine.\"\n\nBut a new voice struck in, in tones which made every nerve in the young\nman's body tingle.\n\n\"Mr. Francis Osbaldistone,\" it said, \"should not whistle his favourite\nairs when he wishes to remain undiscovered.\"\n\nAnd Diana Vernon, for it was she, wrapped in a horseman's cloak,\nwhistled in playful mimicry the second part of the tune, which had been\non Frank's lips as they came up with him.\n\n\"Great heavens, can it be you, Miss Vernon,\" cried Frank, when at last\nhe found words, \"in such a spot--at such an hour--in such a lawless\ncountry!\"\n\nWhile Frank was speaking, he was trying to gain a glimpse of her\ncompanion. The man was certainly not Rashleigh. For so much he was\nthankful, at least, nor could the stranger's courteous address proceed\nfrom any of the other Osbaldistone brothers. There was in it too much\ngood breeding and knowledge of the world for that. But there was also\nsomething of impatience in the attitude of Diana's companion, which was\nnot long in manifesting itself.\n\n\"Diana,\" he said, \"give your cousin his property, and let us not spend\ntime here.\"\n\nWhereupon Miss Vernon took out a small case, and with a deeper and\ngraver tone of feeling she said, \"Dear cousin, you see I was born to be\nyour better angel. Rashleigh has been compelled to give up his spoil,\nand had we reached Aberfoil last night, I would have found some\nmessenger to give you these. But now I have to do the errand myself.\"\n\n\"Diana,\" said the horseman, \"the evening grows late, and we are yet far\nfrom our home.\"\n\n\"Pray consider, sir,\" she said, lightly answering him, \"how recently I\nhave been under control. Besides, I have not yet given my cousin his\npacket--or bidden him farewell--farewell forever! Yes, Frank, forever.\n(She added the last words in a lower tone.) There is a gulf fixed\nbetween us! Where I go, you must not follow--what we do, you must not\nshare in--farewell--be happy!\"\n\nIn the attitude in which she bent from her Highland pony, the girl's\nface, perhaps not altogether unintentionally, touched that of Frank\nOsbaldistone. She pressed his hand, and a tear that had gathered on Die\nVernon's eyelash found its way to the young man's cheek.\n\n\nThat was all. It was but a moment, yet Frank Osbaldistone never forgot\nthat moment. He stood dumb and amazed with the recovered treasure in his\nhand, mechanically counting the sparkles which flew from the horses'\nhoofs which carried away his lost Diana and her unknown companion.\n\n * * * * *\n\nFrank was still dreaming over his almost unbelievable encounter with\nMiss Vernon--more concerned perhaps, be it said, about the fact that she\nhad wept to part with him than about the recovery of his father's\npapers, when another traveller overtook him, this time on foot.\n\n\"A braw nicht, Mr. Osbaldistone,\" said a voice which there was no\nmistaking for that of the Mac-Gregor himself; \"we have met at the mirk\nhour before now, I am thinking!\"\n\nFrank congratulated the Chieftain heartily on his recent wonderful\nescape from peril.\n\n\"Ay,\" said Rob Roy, coolly, \"there is as much between the throat and the\nhalter as between the cup and the lip. But tell me the news!\"\n\n[Illustration: \"IN the attitude in which she bent from her Highland\npony, the girl's face, perhaps not altogether unintentionally, touched\nthat of Frank Osbaldistone. She pressed his hand, and a tear that had\ngathered on Die Vernon's eyelash found its way to the young man's\ncheek.\"]\n\nHe laughed heartily at the exploits of the Bailie and the red-hot\ncoulter in the inn of Aberfoil, and at the apprehension of Frank and his\ncompanion by the King's officer.\n\n\"As man lives by bread,\" he cried, \"the buzzards have mistaken my friend\nthe Bailie for his Excellency, and you for Diana Vernon--oh, the most\negregious night owlets!\"\n\n\"Miss Vernon,\" said Frank, trying to gain what information he could,\n\"does she still bear that name?\"\n\nBut the wary Highlander easily evaded him.\n\n\"Ay, ay,\" he said, \"she's under lawful authority now; and it's time, for\nshe's a daft hempie. It's a pity that his Excellency is a thought\nelderly for her. The like of you or my son Hamish would have sorted\nbetter in point of years.\"\n\nThis blow, which destroyed all Frank's hopes, quite silenced him--so\nmuch so that Rob Roy had to ask if he were ill or wearied with the long\nday's work, being, as he said, \"doubtless unused to such things.\"\n\nBut in order to divert his attention Mac-Gregor asked him as to the\nskirmish, and what had happened afterwards. It was with genuine agony\nthat Rob Roy listened to the tale which Frank had to tell--though he\nmodified, as far as he could, the treatment the Bailie and himself had\nmet with from the Mac-Gregors.\n\n\"And the excise collector,\" said Rob Roy; \"I wish he may not have been\nat the bottom of the ploy himself! I thought he looked very queer when I\ntold him that he must remain as a hostage for my safe return. I wager he\nwill not get off without ransom!\"\n\n\"Morris,\" said Frank, with great solemnity, \"has paid the last great\nransom of all!\"\n\n\"Eh--what?\" cried the Mac-Gregor, \"what d'ye say? I trust it was in the\nskirmish that he was killed?\"\n\n\"He was slain in cold blood, after the fight was over, Mr. Campbell!\"\n\n\"Cold blood!\" he muttered rapidly between his teeth, \"how fell this?\nSpeak out, man, and do not Mister or Campbell me--my foot is on my\nnative heath, and my name is Mac-Gregor!\"\n\nWithout noticing the rudeness of his tone, Frank gave him a distinct\naccount of the death of Morris. Rob Roy struck the butt of his gun with\ngreat vehemence on the ground, and broke out, \"I vow to God, such a deed\nmight make one forswear kin, clan, country, wife, and bairns! And yet\nthe villain wrought long for it. He but drees the doom he intended for\nme. Hanging or drowning--it is just the same. But I wish, for all that,\nthey had put a ball or a dirk through the traitor's breast. It will\ncause talk--the fashion of his death--though all the world knows that\nHelen Mac-Gregor has deep wrongs to avenge.\"\n\nWhereupon he quitted the subject altogether, and spoke of Frank\nOsbaldistone's affairs. He was glad to hear that he had received the\nstolen papers from Diana Vernon's own hands.\n\n\"I was sure you would get them,\" he said; \"the letter you brought me\ncontained his Excellency's pleasure to that effect, and it was for that\npurpose I asked ye to come up the glen in order that I might serve you.\nBut his Excellency has come across Rashleigh first.\"\n\nRob Roy's words made much clear to the young man, yet some things\nremained mysterious. He remembered that Diana Vernon had left the\nlibrary and immediately returned with the letter which was afterwards\nclaimed by Rob Roy in the tolbooth of Glasgow. The person whom he now\ncalled his Excellency must therefore have been in Osbaldistone Hall at\nthe same time as himself, and unknown to all except Diana and possibly\nto her cousin Rashleigh. Frank remembered the double shadows on the\nwindows, and thought that he could now see the reason of those.\n\nBut Rob would give him no clew as to who or what his Excellency was.\n\n\"I am thinking,\" he said cautiously, \"that if you do not know that\nalready, it cannot be of much consequence for you to know at all. So I\nwill e'en pass over that part of it. But this I will tell you. His\nExcellency was hidden by Diana Vernon in her own apartment at the Hall,\nas best reason was, all the time you were there. Only Sir Hildebrand and\nRashleigh knew of it. You, of course, were out of the question, and as\nfor the young squires, they had not enough wit among the five of them to\ncall the cat from the cream!\"\n\nThe two travellers, thus talking together, had approached within a\nquarter of a mile from the village, when an outpost of Highlanders,\nspringing upon them, bade them stand and tell their business. The single\nword _Gregarach_, pronounced in the deep commanding tones of Frank's\ncompanion, sufficed to call forth an answering yell of joyous\nrecognition. The men threw themselves down before the escaped Chief,\nclasping his knees, and, as it were, worshipping him with eyes and lips,\nmuch as poor Dougal had done in the Glasgow tolbooth.\n\nThe very hills resounded with the triumph. Old and young, both sexes and\nall ages, came running forth with shouts of jubilation, till it seemed\nas if a mountain torrent was hurrying to meet the travellers. Rob Roy\ntook Frank by the hand, and he did not allow any to come near him till\nhe had given them to understand that his companion was to be well and\ncarefully treated.\n\nSo literally was this command acted upon, that for the time being Frank\nwas not even allowed the use of his limbs. He was carried--will he, nill\nhe--in triumph toward the inn of Mrs. MacAlpine. It was in Frank's heart\nthat he might possibly meet there with Diana Vernon, but when he entered\nand looked around, the only known face in the smoky hovel was that of\nthe Bailie, who, with a sort of reserved dignity, received the greetings\nof Rob Roy, his apologies for the indifferent accommodation which he\ncould give him, and his well-meant inquiries after his health.\n\n\"I am well, kinsman,\" said the Bailie, \"one cannot expect to carry the\nSalt Market of Glasgow at one's tail, as a snail does his shell. But I\nam blithe to see that ye have gotten out of the hands of your\nunfriends!\"\n\nThe Bailie, however, cheered by Highland refreshment, presently unbent\nand had many things to say. He would also have spoken concerning Helen\nMac-Gregor. But Rob stopped him.\n\n\"Say nothing of my wife,\" he said sternly; \"of me, ye are welcome to\nspeak your full pleasure.\"\n\nNext the Bailie offered to bind Rob's two sons as apprentices to the\nweaving trade, which well-meant proposition produced from the outlaw the\ncharacteristic anathema, mostly (and happily) conceived in Gaelic,\n\"_Ceade millia diaoul!_ My sons weavers! _Millia molligheart!_ But I\nwould rather see every loom in Glasgow, beam, traddles, and shuttles,\nburnt in the deil's ain fire sooner!\"\n\nHowever Rob Roy honestly paid the Bailie his thousand merks, principal\nand interest, in good French gold. And Frank quite won the outlaw's\nheart by the suggestion that the foreign influence of the house of\nOsbaldistone and Tresham could easily push the fortune of Hamish and\nRobin in the service of the King of France or in that of his Majesty of\nSpain. Rob could not for the present accept, he said. There was other\nwork to be done at home. But all the same he thanked him for the offer,\nwith, as it seemed, some considerable emotion. Already Frank was\nlearning the truth that a hard man is always more moved by what one may\ndo for his children, than with what one does for himself.\n\nLastly he sent \"the Dougal cratur,\" dressed in Andrew Fairservice's\nancient garments, to see them safe upon their way. He had a boat in\nwaiting for them on Loch Lomond side, and there on the pebbles the\nBailie and his cousin bade each other farewell. They parted with much\nmutual regard, and even affection--the Bailie at the last saying to Rob\nRoy that if ever he was in need of a hundred \"or even twa hundred pounds\nsterling,\" he had only to send a line to the Salt Market. While the\nchief answered that if ever anybody should affront his kinsman, the\nBailie had only to let him ken, and he would pull the ears out of his\nhead if he were the best man in Glasgow!\n\nWith these assurances of high mutual consideration, the boat bore away\nfor the southwest angle of the lake. Rob Roy was left alone on the\nshore, conspicuous by his long gun, waving tartans, and the single tall\nfeather in his bonnet which denoted the chieftain.\n\nThe travellers arrived safely in Glasgow, when the Bailie went instantly\nhome, vowing aloud that since he had once more gotten within sight of\nSt. Mungo's steeple, it would be a long day and a short one before he\nventured out of eye-shot of it again.\n\nAs for Frank, he made his way to his lodgings in order to seek out Owen.\nThe door was opened by Andrew Fairservice, who set up a joyous shout,\nand promptly ushered the young man into the presence of the Head Clerk.\nBut Mr. Owen was not alone. Mr. Osbaldistone the elder was there also,\nand in another moment Frank was folded in his father's arms.\n\n\nIII. THE DEATH OF RASHLEIGH\n\n * * * * *\n\nMr. Osbaldistone's first impulse seemed to be to preserve his dignity.\nBut nature was too strong for him.\n\n\"My son--my dear son!\" he murmured.\n\nThe head of the firm of Osbaldistone and Tresham had returned from\nHolland sooner than was expected, and with the resources which he had\ngathered there, and being now in full credit, he had no difficulty in\nsolving the financial problems which had weighed so heavily upon the\nhouse in his absence. He refused, however, every tender of apology from\nMacVittie and Company, settled the balance of their account, and\nannounced to them that that page of their ledger, with all the\nadvantages connected with it, was closed to them forever.\n\nSoon after the home-coming of Frank Osbaldistone from the Highlands and\nhis reconciliation with his father, the great Jacobite rebellion of 1715\nbroke out, in which the greater part of the Highlands burst into a\nflame, as well as much of the more northerly parts of England. Sir\nHildebrand led out his sons to battle--all, that is to say, with the\nexception of Rashleigh, who had changed his politics and become a spy on\nbehalf of the government of King George.\n\nBut it was not the will of Fate that the name of Osbaldistone should\nmake any figure in that short and inglorious campaign. Thorncliff was\nkilled in a duel with one of his brother officers. The sot Percie died\nshortly after, according to the manner of his kind. Dickon broke his\nneck in spurring a blood mare beyond her paces. Wilfred the fool died\nfighting at Proud Preston on the day of the Barricades; and his\ngallantry was no less that he could never remember an hour together for\nwhich king he was doing battle.\n\nJohn also behaved boldly and died of his wounds a few days after in the\nprison of Newgate, to the despair of old Sir Hildebrand, who did not\nlong survive him. Indeed he willingly laid himself down to die, after\nhaving first disinherited Rashleigh as a traitor, and left his much\nencumbered estates to his nephew, Frank Osbaldistone.\n\nMr. Osbaldistone the elder now took an unexpected view of his son's\nprospects. He had cared nothing for his family in the past--indeed,\nnever since he had been expelled from Osbaldistone Hall to make way for\nhis younger brother. But now he willingly spent his money in taking up\nthe mortgages upon the Osbaldistone estates, and he urged upon Frank the\nnecessity of going down at once to the Hall, lest Rashleigh should get\nbefore him in that possession which is nine points of the law.\n\nSo to Osbaldistone Hall went Frank once more, his heart not a little\nsore within him for the good days he had spent in it, and especially\nbecause of the thought that he would now find there no madcap Die\nVernon to tease and torment him out of his life.\n\nFirst of all, to make his title clear, Frank had been desired to visit\nthe hospitable house of old Justice Inglewood, with whom Sir Hildebrand\nhad deposited his will. As it chanced, it was in that good gentleman's\npower to give the young man some information which interested him more\nthan the right of possession to many Osbaldistone Halls.\n\nAfter dinner in the evening Frank and the Justice were sitting together,\nwhen all of a sudden Squire Inglewood called upon his companion to\npledge a bumper to \"dear Die Vernon, the rose of the wilderness, the\nheath-bell of Cheviot, that blossom transported to an infamous convent!\"\n\n\"Is not Miss Vernon, then, married?\" cried Frank, in great astonishment,\n\"I thought his Excellency--\"\n\n\"Pooh--pooh! His Excellency and his Lordship are all a humbug now, you\nknow,\" said the Justice; \"mere St. Germains titles--Earl of Beauchamp\nand ambassador plenipotentiary from France, when the Duke Regent scarce\nknew that he lived, I daresay. But you must have seen old Sir Frederick\nVernon at the hall, when he played the part of Father Vaughan?\"\n\n\"Good Heavens,\" cried Frank, \"then Father Vaughan was Miss Vernon's\nfather?\"\n\n\"To be sure he was,\" said the Justice, coolly; \"there's no use keeping\nthe secret now, for he must be out of the country by this\ntime--otherwise no doubt it would be my duty to apprehend him. Come, off\nwith your bumper to my dear lost Die!\"\n\nSo Frank fared forth to Osbaldistone Hall, uncertain whether to be glad\nor sorry at Squire Inglewood's news. Finally he decided to be glad--or\nat least as glad as he could. For Diana, though equally lost to him, was\nat least not wedded to any one else.\n\nSyddall, the old butler of Sir Hildebrand, seemed at first very\nunwilling to admit them, but Frank's persistence, together with Andrew\nFairservice's insolence, made a way into the melancholy house. Frank\nordered a fire to be lighted in the library. Syddall tried to persuade\nhim to take up his quarters elsewhere, on the plea that the library had\nnot been sat in for a long time, and that the chimney smoked.\n\nTo the old man's confusion, however, when they entered the room, a fire\nwas blazing in the grate. He took up the tongs to hide his confusion,\nmuttering, \"It is burning clear now, but it smoked woundily in the\nmorning!\"\n\nNext Frank ordered Andrew to procure him two stout fellows of the\nneighbourhood on whom he could rely, who would back the new proprietor,\nin case of Rashleigh attempting any attack during Frank's stay in the\nhome of his fathers.\n\nAndrew soon returned with a couple of his friends--or, as he described\nthem, \"sober, decent men, weel founded in doctrinal points, and, above\nall, as bold as lions.\"\n\nSyddall, however, shook his head at sight of them.\n\n\"I maybe cannot expect that your Honour should put confidence in what I\nsay, but it is Heaven's truth for all that. Ambrose Wingfield is as\nhonest a man as lives, but if there be a false knave in all the country,\nit is his brother Lancie. The whole country knows him to be a spy for\nClerk Jobson on the poor gentlemen that have been in trouble. But he's a\ndissenter, and I suppose that's enough nowadays.\"\n\nThe evening darkened down, and trimming the wood fire in the old library\nFrank sat on, dreaming dreams in which a certain lady occupied a great\nplace. He chanced to lift his eyes at a sound which seemed like a sigh,\nand lo! Diana Vernon stood before him. She was resting on the arm of a\nfigure so like the portrait on the wall that involuntarily Frank raised\nhis eyes to the frame to see whether it was not indeed empty.\n\nBut the figures were neither painted canvas nor yet such stuff as dreams\nare made of. Diana Vernon and her father--for it was they--stood before\nthe young man in actual flesh and blood. Frank was so astonished that\nfor a while he could not speak, and it was Sir Frederick who first broke\nthe silence.\n\n\"We are your suppliants, Mr. Osbaldistone,\" he said; \"we claim the\nrefuge and protection of your roof, till we can pursue a journey where\ndungeons and death gape for me at every step!\"\n\n\"Surely you cannot suppose--\" Frank found words with great\ndifficulty--\"Miss Vernon cannot suppose that I am so ungrateful--that I\ncould betray any one--much less you!\"\n\n\"I know it,\" said Sir Frederick, \"though I am conferring on you a\nconfidence which I would have been glad to have imposed on any one else.\nBut my fate, which has chased me through a life of perils, is now\npressing me hard, and, indeed, leaving me no alternative.\"\n\nAt this moment the door opened, and the voice of Andrew Fairservice was\nheard without. \"I am bringing in the candles--ye can light them when ye\nlike--'can do' is easy carried about with one!\"\n\nFrank had just time to rush to the door and thrust the officious rascal\nout, shutting the door upon him. Then, remembering the length of his\nservant's tongue, he made haste to follow him to the hall to prevent his\ngabbling of what he might have seen. Andrew's voice was loud as Frank\nopened the door.\n\n\"What is the matter with you, you fool?\" he demanded; \"you stare and\nlook wild as if you had seen a ghost.\"\n\n\"No--no--nothing,\" stammered Andrew, \"only your Honour was pleased to be\nhasty!\"\n\nFrank Osbaldistone immediately dismissed the two men whom Andrew had\nfound for him, giving them a crown-piece to drink his health, and they\nwithdrew, apparently contented and unsuspicious. They certainly could\nhave no further talk with Andrew that night, and it did not seem\npossible that in the few moments which Andrew had spent in the kitchen\nbefore Frank's arrival, he could have had time to utter two words.\n\nBut sometimes only two words can do a great deal of harm. On this\noccasion they cost two lives.\n\n\"You now know my secret,\" said Diana Vernon; \"you know how near and dear\nis the relative who has so long found shelter here. And it will not\nsurprise you, that, knowing such a secret, Rashleigh should rule me with\na rod of iron.\"\n\nBut in spite of all that had happened, Sir Frederick was a strict and\nnarrow Catholic, and Frank found him more than ever determined to\nsacrifice his daughter to the life of the convent.\n\n\"She has endured trials,\" he said, \"trials which might have dignified\nthe history of a martyr. She has spent the day in darkness and the night\nin vigil, and never breathed a syllable of weakness or complaint. In a\nword, Mr. Osbaldistone, she is a worthy offering to that God to whom I\ndedicate her, as all that is left dear or precious to Frederick Vernon!\"\n\nFrank felt stunned and bewildered when at last they retired. But he had\nsufficient forethought to order a bed to be made up for him in the\nlibrary, and dismissed Syddall and Andrew with orders not to disturb him\ntill seven o'clock in the morning.\n\nThat night Frank lay long awake, and was at last dropping over to sleep\nwhen he was brought back to consciousness by a tremendous noise at the\nfront door of Osbaldistone Hall. He hastened downstairs only in time to\nhear Andrew Fairservice bidding Syddall stand aside.\n\n\"We hae naething to fear if they come in King George's name,\" he was\nsaying; \"we hae spent baith bluid and gold for him.\"\n\nIn an agony of terror Frank could hear bolt after bolt withdrawn by the\nofficious scoundrel, who continued to boast all the while of his\nmaster's loyalty to King George. He flew instantly to Diana's room. She\nwas up and dressed.\n\n\"We are familiar with danger,\" she said with a sad smile. \"I have the\nkey of the little garden door. We will escape by it. Only keep them a\nfew moments in play! And dear, dear Frank, again--for the last time,\nfarewell!\"\n\nBy this time the men were on the stairway, and presently rapping on the\nlibrary door.\n\n\"You robber dogs!\" cried Frank, wilfully misunderstanding their purpose;\n\"if you do not instantly quit the house, I will fire a blunderbuss upon\nyou through the door!\"\n\n\"Fire a fool's bauble,\" returned Andrew Fairservice; \"it's Clerk Jobson\nwith a legal warrant--\"\n\n\"To search for, take, and apprehend,\" said the voice of that abominable\npettifogger, \"the bodies of certain persons in my warrant named, charged\nof high treason under the 13th of King William, chapter third.\"\n\nThe violence on the door was renewed.\n\n\"I am rising, gentlemen,\" said Frank, trying to gain as much time as\npossible; \"commit no violence--give me leave to look at your warrant,\nand if it is formal and legal, I shall not oppose it.\"\n\n\"God save great George our King,\" cried Andrew Fairservice, \"I telled ye\nthat ye would find no Jacobites here!\"\n\nAt last the door had to be opened, when Clerk Jobson and several\nassistants entered. The lawyer showed a warrant for the arrest of Diana\nVernon, her father,--and, to his surprise, of Frank himself.\n\nClerk Jobson, evidently well-informed, went directly to Diana's chamber.\n\n\"The hare has stolen away,\" he said brutally, \"but her form is still\nwarm. The greyhounds will have her by the haunches yet.\"\n\nA scream from the garden announced that he had prophesied too truly. In\nfive minutes more Rashleigh entered the library with Diana and her\nfather, Sir Frederick, as his prisoners.\n\n\"The fox,\" he said, \"knew his old earth, but he forgot it could be\nstopped by a careful huntsman. I had not forgot the garden gate, Sir\nFrederick--or, if the title suits you better, my most noble Lord\nBeauchamp!\"\n\n\"Rashleigh,\" said Sir Frederick, \"thou art a most detestable villain!\"\n\n\"I better deserved the name, my Lord,\" said Rashleigh, turning his eyes\npiously upward, \"when under an able tutor I sought to introduce civil\nwar into a peaceful country. But I have since done my best to atone for\nmy errors.\"\n\nFrank Osbaldistone could hold out no longer.\n\n\"If there is one thing on earth more hideous than another,\" he cried,\n\"it is villainy masked by hypocrisy!\"\n\n\"Ha, my gentle cousin,\" said Rashleigh, holding a candle toward Frank\nand surveying him from head to foot, \"right welcome to Osbaldistone\nHall. I can forgive your spleen. It is hard to lose an estate and a\nsweetheart in one night. For now we must take possession of this poor\nmanor-house in the name of the lawful heir, Sir Rashleigh Osbaldistone!\"\n\nBut though Rashleigh braved it out thus, he was clearly far from\ncomfortable, and especially did he wince when Diana told him that what\nhe had now done had been the work of an hour, but that it would furnish\nhim with reflections for a lifetime.\n\n\"And of what nature these will be,\" she added, \"I leave to your own\nconscience, which will not slumber forever!\"\n\nSo presently the three prisoners were carried off. Syddall and Andrew\nwere ordered to be turned out of the house, the latter complaining\nbitterly.\n\n\"I only said that surely my master was speaking to a ghost in the\nlibrary--and that villain Lancie--thus to betray an auld friend that has\nsung aff the same Psalm-book wi' him for twenty years!\"\n\nHowever, Andrew had just got clear of the avenue when he fell among a\ndrove of Highland cattle, the drivers of which questioned him tightly as\nto what had happened at the Hall. They then talked in whispers among\nthemselves till the lumbering sound of a coach was heard coming down the\nroad from the house. The Highlanders listened attentively. The escort\nconsisted of Rashleigh and several peace-officers.\n\nSo soon as the carriage had passed the avenue gate, it was shut behind\nthe cavalcade by a Highlandman, stationed there for the purpose. At the\nsame time the carriage was impeded in its further progress by some\nfelled trees which had been dragged across the road. The cattle also got\nin the way of the horses, and the escort began to drive them off with\ntheir whips.\n\n\"Who dares abuse our cattle,\" said a rough voice; \"shoot him down,\nAngus!\"\n\n\"A rescue--a rescue!\" shouted Rashleigh, instantly comprehending what\nhad taken place, and, firing a pistol, he wounded the man who had\nspoken.\n\n\"_Claymore!_\" cried the leader of the Highlanders, and an affray\ninstantly engaged. The officers of the law, unused to such prompt\nbloodshed, offered little real resistance. They galloped off in\ndifferent directions as fast as their beasts would carry them.\nRashleigh, however, who had been dismounted, maintained on foot a\ndesperate and single-handed conflict with the leader of the band. At\nlast he dropped.\n\n\"Will you ask forgiveness for the sake of God, King James, and auld\nfriendship?\" demanded a voice which Frank knew well.\n\n\"No, never!\" cried Rashleigh, fiercely.\n\n\"Then, traitor, die in your treason!\" retorted Mac-Gregor, and plunged\nhis sword into the prostrate antagonist.\n\nRob Roy then drew out the attorney Clerk Jobson from the carriage, more\ndead than alive, and threw him under the wheel.\n\n\"Mr. Osbaldistone,\" he said in Frank's ear, \"you have nothing to fear.\nYour friends will soon be in safety. Farewell, and forget not the\nMac-Gregor!\"\n\n * * * * *\n\n \"_And that_,\" I said, \"_is all!_\"\n\n But I was instantly overwhelmed by the rush of a\n living wave.\n\n \"No, no,\" cried the children, throwing themselves\n upon me, \"you must tell us what became of Rob\n Roy--of the Bailie--of Dougal!\"\n\n These demands came from the boys.\n\n \"And if Diana married Frank, or went to the\n convent?\" interjected Sweetheart.\n\n \"Well,\" I said, \"I can soon answer all these\n questions. Sir Frederick died soon after, but\n before his end he relieved his daughter from her\n promise to enter a convent. She married Mr. Frank\n Osbaldistone instead.\"\n\n \"And lived happy ever after?\" added Maid Margaret,\n who was at the \"fairy princess\" stage of\n literature.\n\n \"Except when she got cross with him,\" commented Sir\n Toady, an uncompromising realist, with pessimistic\n views on womenkind.\n\n \"And Rob Roy held his ground among his native\n mountains until he died.\"\n\n \"Tell us about the Bailie,\" said Hugh John; \"I\n liked the Bailie--he's jolly!\"\n\n I told him that he was far from being alone in that\n opinion.\n\n \"The Bailie,\" I answered, \"lived, as the Maid says,\n happily ever after, having very wisely married his\n servant Mattie. He carried on all the northern\n affairs of Osbaldistone and Tresham, now a greater\n commercial house than ever, and lived to be Lord\n Provost of the city of Glasgow.\"\n\n \"Let Glasgow flourish!\" cried Sir Toady,\n spontaneously. And the audience concluded the\n fourth tale and last from _Rob Roy_ with a very\n passable imitation of a Highland yell.\n\n\nTHE END OF THE LAST TALE FROM \"ROB ROY.\"\n\n\n\n\nRED CAP TALES\n\nTOLD FROM\n\nTHE ANTIQUARY\n\n\n\n\n\nTHE FIRST TALE FROM \"THE ANTIQUARY\"\n\n\n THE children lay prone on the floor of the library\n in various positions of juvenile comfort, watching\n the firewood in the big wide grate sparkle and\n crackle, or the broad snowflakes \"spat\" against the\n window-panes, where they stuck awhile as if gummed,\n and then began reluctantly to trickle down. As Sir\n Toady Lion said, \"It was certainly a nice day on\n which to stop IN!\"\n\n The choice of the book from which to tell the next\n Red Cap Tale had been a work of some difficulty.\n Hugh John had demanded _Ivanhoe_, chiefly because\n there was a chapter in it about shooting with the\n bow, the which he had read in his school reader\n when he ought to have been preparing his Latin. Sir\n Toady wanted _The Fortunes of Nigel_, because the\n title sounded adventurous. Sweetheart, who has been\n sometimes to the play, was insistent for _The Bride\n of Lammermoor_, while as to Maid Margaret, she was\n indifferent, so long as it was \"nice and eecitin'.\"\n\n But the tale-teller, being in the position of the\n Man-with-the-Purse (or in that of the House of\n Commons with regard to the granting of supplies),\n held to it that, in spite of its \"growed-up\" title,\n _The Antiquary_ would be the most suitable. First,\n because we had agreed to go right through the\n Scottish stories; secondly, because _The Antiquary_\n was one of the first which Sir Walter wrote; and\n thirdly and lastly, because he, the tale-teller\n aforesaid, \"felt like it.\"\n\n At this, I saw Hugh John look at his brother with\n the quick glance of intelligence which children\n exchange when they encounter the Superior Force.\n\n That unspoken message said clearly and neatly,\n \"Pretty thing asking us to select the book, when he\n had it all settled from the start!\"\n\n Nevertheless, I made no remark, but with my eyes on\n the click of Sweetheart's knitting needles (for in\n the intervals of nursery wars Sweetheart grows a\n diligent housewife), I began in the restful silence\n of that snowy Saturday my first tale from _The\n Antiquary_.\n\n\nI. THE MYSTERIOUS MR. LOVEL\n\nAs though all the tin pots on a tinker's wagon had been jolted and\njangled, the bells of St. Giles's steeple in Edinburgh town, had just\ntold the hour of noon. It was the time for the Queensferry diligence\n(which is to say, omnibus) to set out for the passage of the Firth, if\nit were to catch the tide of that day, and connect with the boat which\nsets passengers from the capital upon the shores of Fife.\n\nA young man had been waiting some time. An old one had just bustled up.\n\"Deil's in it!\" cried the latter, with a glance at the dial of the\nchurch clock, \"I am late, after all!\"\n\nBut the young man, saluting, informed him that, instead of being late,\nhe was early--so far, that is, as the coach was concerned. It had not\nyet appeared upon the stand. This information first relieved the mind of\nthe old gentleman, and then, after a moment or two, began (no difficult\nmatter) to arouse his anger.\n\n\"Good woman! good woman!\" he cried down one of the area stairs, common\nin the old town of Edinburgh. Then he added in a lower tone, \"Doited old\nhag! she's deaf as a post. I say, Mrs. Macleuchar!\"\n\nBut Mrs. Macleuchar, the proprietress of the Queensferry diligence, was\nin no hurry to face the wrath of the public. She served her customer\nquietly in the shop below, ascended the stairs, and when at last on the\nlevel of the street, she looked about, wiped her spectacles as if a mote\nupon them might have caused her to overlook so minute an object as an\nomnibus, and exclaimed, \"Did ever anybody see the like o' this?\"\n\n\"Yes, you abominable woman,\" cried the traveller, \"many have seen the\nlike before, and all will yet see the like again, that have aught to do\nwith your trolloping sex!\"\n\nAnd walking up and down the pavement in front of Mrs. Macleuchar's\nbooth, he delivered a volley of abuse each time he came in front of it,\nmuch as a battleship fires a broadside as she passes a hostile fortress,\ntill the good woman was quite overwhelmed.\n\n\"Oh! man! man!\" she cried, \"take back your three shillings and make me\nquit o' ye!\"\n\n\"Not so fast--not so fast,\" her enemy went on; \"will three shillings\ntake me to Queensferry according to your deceitful programme? Or will it\npay my charges there, if, by your fault, I should be compelled to tarry\nthere a day for want of tide? Will it even hire me a pinnace, for which\nthe regular price is five shillings?\"\n\nBut at that very moment the carriage lumbered up, and the two travellers\nwere carried off, the elder of them still leaning out of the window and\nshouting reproaches at the erring Mrs. Macleuchar.\n\nThe slow pace of the broken-down horses, and the need to replace a shoe\nat a wayside smithy, still further delayed the progress of the vehicle,\nand when they arrived at Queensferry, the elder traveller, Mr. Jonathan\nOldbuck by name, saw at once, by the expanse of wet sand and the number\nof the black glistening rocks visible along the shore, that the time of\ntide was long past.\n\nBut he was less angry than his young companion, Mr. Lovel, had been led\nto expect from the scolding he had bestowed upon Mrs. Macleuchar in the\ncity. On the way the two had discovered a kindred taste for antique\nliterature and the remains of the past, upon which last Mr. Jonathan\nOldbuck was willing to discourse, as the saying is, till all was blue.\n\nThe Hawes Inn sat (and still sits) close by the wash of the tides which\nscour the Firth of Forth on its southern side. It was then an\nold-fashioned hostelry, overgrown on one side with ivy, and with the\nwoods of Barnbogle growing close down behind it. The host was very\nwilling to provide dinner and shelter for the two guests, and, indeed,\nthere was a suspicion that Mr. Mackitchinson of the Hawes was in league\nwith Mrs. Macleuchar of the Tron, and that this fact went far to explain\nthe frequent late appearance of the coach with \"the three yellow wheels\nand a black one\" belonging to that lady, upon the High Street of\nEdinburgh.\n\nAt the Hawes Inn, therefore, the time of waiting before dinner was\nsufficient for young Mr. Lovel to step out and discover who his amusing\nand irascible companion of voyage might be. At South Queensferry every\none knew Mr. Oldbuck of Monkbarns. Bred a lawyer, he had never\npractised, being ever more interested in the antiquities of his native\ncountry than in sitting in an office among legal documents and quill\npens. The death of his brother had made him heir to all his father's\nproperty, and in due time he had settled comfortably down to country\nlife and Roman inscriptions at the family seat of Monkbarns, near by to\nthe town of Fairport, the very town to which Mr. Lovel was at that\nmoment making his way.\n\nMr. Oldbuck, though equally anxious, was unable to discover anything\nabout his travelling companion. He had, however, discussed the elder\ndramatists with him, and found him so strong in the subject, that his\nmind, always searching for the reasons of things, promptly set the young\nman down as an actor travelling to Fairport, to fulfil an engagement at\nthe theatre there.\n\n\"Yes,\" he said to himself, \"Lovel and Belville--these are just the names\nwhich youngsters are apt to assume on such occasions--on my life I am\nsorry for the lad!\"\n\nIt was this thought which made Mr. Oldbuck, though naturally and of\nhabit very careful of his sixpences, slip round to the back of the Hawes\nInn and settle the bill with the landlord. It was this which made him\npropose to pay two-thirds of the post-chaise which was to carry them\nacross to Fairport, when at last they set foot on the northern side of\nthe Firth. Arrived at their destination, Mr. Oldbuck recommended Lovel\nto the care of a decent widow, and so left him with many friendly\nexpressions, in order to proceed to his own house of Monkbarns.\n\nBut no Mr. Lovel appeared on the boards of the theatre at Fairport. On\nthe contrary, not even the town gossips, who, having no business of\ntheir own to attend to, take charge of other people's, could find out\nanything about him. Furthermore they could say no evil. The Sheriff\ncalled upon him, but the stranger had evidently fully satisfied the man\nof law, for on his return home he sent him an invitation to dinner,\nwhich was, however, civilly declined. He paid his bills and meddled with\nno one. All which being reported, more or less faithfully, to the\nproprietor of Monkbarns, caused the young man to rise in his estimation,\nas one who had too much good sense to trouble himself with the \"bodies\"\nof Fairport.\n\nIt was five days before Lovel made his way out to the House of Monkbarns\nto pay his respects. The mansion had once on a time been the storehouse\nof the vanished Abbey. There the monks had stored the meal which the\npeople dwelling on their lands brought to them instead of rent. Lovel\nfound it a rambling, hither-and-thither old house, with tall hedges of\nyew all about it. These last were cut into arm-chairs, crowing cocks,\nand St. Georges in the act of slaying many dragons, all green and\nterrible. But one great yew had been left untouched by the shears, and\nunder it Lovel found his late fellow-traveller sitting, spectacles on\nnose, reading the _London Chronicle_.\n\nThe old gentleman immediately rose to welcome his guest, and having\ntaken him indoors, he guided him with some difficulty to the \"den,\" as\nhe called his study. Here Mr. Oldbuck found his niece in company with a\nserving-maid, both in the midst of a thick cloud of dust, endeavouring\nto reduce the place to some order and cleanliness.\n\nThe Antiquary instantly exploded, as is the manner of all book-lovers\nwhen their \"things\" are disarranged.\n\n\"How dare you, or Jenny either, presume to meddle with my private\naffairs? Go sew your sampler, you monkey, and do not let me find you\nhere again as you value your ears--\"\n\n\"Why, uncle,\" said the girl, who still stood her ground, \"your room was\nnot fit to be seen, and I just came to see that Jenny laid everything\ndown where she took it up.\"\n\nIn the midst of a second discharge of great guns the young lady made her\nescape, with a half-humorous courtesy to Lovel. It was, indeed, some\ntime before the young man could see, through the dense clouds of dust\n(which, as the Antiquary said, had been ancient and peaceful enough only\nan hour ago) the chamber of Mr. Oldbuck, full of great books, littered\nwith ancient maps, engravings, scraps of parchment, old armour,\nbroadswords, and Highland targets.\n\nIn the midst of all crouched a huge black cat, glaring steadily with\ngreat yellow eyes out of the murky confusion, like the familiar spirit\nof this wizard's den.\n\nSo, after showing Lovel many of his most valuable antiquities, and in\nespecial his treasured books, Mr. Oldbuck gladly led the way into the\nopen air. He would take his visitor, he said, to the Kaim of Kinprunes.\nIt was on his own land, he affirmed, and not very far away. Arrived at a\nlittle barren eminence, the Antiquary demanded of his friend what he\nsaw.\n\n\"A very fine view!\" said Lovel, promptly.\n\nBut this was not the response for which the proud owner was waiting. He\nwent on to ask Lovel if he did not see anything remarkable on the\nsurface of the ground.\n\n\"Why, yes,\" said Lovel, readily, \"I do see something like a ditch,\nindistinctly marked.\"\n\nAt this, however, the Antiquary was most indignant.\n\n\"Indistinct!\" he cried, \"why, the indistinctness must be in your own\neyes. It was clear even to that light-headed lassie, my niece, at the\nfirst glance. Here on this very Kaim of Kinprunes was fought out the\nfinal conflict between Agricola and the Caledonians! The record\nsays--let me remind you--'in sight of the Grampian Hills.' Yonder they\nare! _In conspectu classis_,--'in sight of the fleet,'--and where will\nyou find a finer bay than that on your right hand? From this very\nfortification, doubtless, Agrippa looked down on the immense army of\nCaledonians occupying the slopes of the opposite hill, the infantry\nrising rank over rank, the cavalry and charioteers scouring the more\nlevel space below. From this very _praetorium_--\"\n\nBut a voice from behind interrupted the Antiquary's poetic description,\nfor his voice had mounted almost into a kind of ecstasy.\n\n\"_Praetorian here--Praetorian there--I mind the bigging o't!_\"\n\nBoth at once turned round, Lovel surprised, and the Antiquary both\nsurprised and angry. An old man in a huge slouched hat, a long white\ngrizzled beard, weather-beaten features of the colour of brick-dust, a\nlong blue gown with a pewter badge on the right arm, stood gazing at\nthem. In short, it was Edie Ochiltree, the King's Blue-Gownsman, which\nis to say, privileged beggar.\n\n\"What is that ye say, Edie?\" demanded Oldbuck, thinking that his ears\nmust have deceived him.\n\n\"About this bit bower, Monkbarns,\" said the undaunted Edie, \"I mind the\nbiggin' (building) o' it!\"\n\n\"The deil ye do!\" said the Antiquary with scorn in his voice; \"why, you\nold fool, it was here before ye were born, and will be here after ye are\nhanged.\"\n\n\"Hanged or drowned, alive or dead,\" said Edie, sticking to his guns, \"I\nmind the biggin' o't!\"\n\n\"You--you--you,\" stammered the Antiquary, between confusion and anger,\n\"you strolling old vagabond, what ken ye about it?\"\n\n\"Oh, I ken just this about it, Monkbarns,\" he answered, \"and what profit\nhave I in telling ye a lie? It was just some mason-lads and me, with\nmaybe two or three herds, that set to work and built this bit thing here\nthat ye call the praetorian, to be a shelter for us in a sore time\nof rain, at auld Aiken Drum's bridal. And look ye, Monkbarns, dig down,\nand ye will find a stone (if ye have not found it already) with the\nshape of a spoon and the letters A.D.L.L. on it--that is to say Aiken\nDrum's Lang Ladle.\"\n\nThe Antiquary blushed crimson with anger and mortification. For indoors\nhe had just been showing that identical stone to Lovel as his chiefest\ntreasure, and had interpreted the ladle as a Roman sacrificing vessel,\nand the letters upon it as a grave Latin inscription, carved by Agrippa\nhimself to celebrate his victory.\n\nLovel was inclined to be amused by the old beggar's demolishing of all\nthe Antiquary's learned theories, but he was speedily brought to himself\nby Edie Ochiltree's next words.\n\n\"That young gentleman, too, I can see, thinks little o' an auld carle\nlike me, yet I'll wager I could tell him where he was last night in the\ngloaming, only maybe he would not like to have it spoken of in company!\"\n\nIt was now Lovel's turn to blush, which he did with the vivid crimson of\ntwo-and-twenty.\n\n\"Never mind the old rogue,\" said Mr. Oldbuck, \"and don't think that I\nthink any the worse of you for your profession. They are only prejudiced\nfools and coxcombs who do that.\"\n\nFor, in spite of Lovel's interest in ancient history, it still remained\nin the Antiquary's mind that his young friend must be an actor by\nprofession.\n\nBut to this Lovel paid no attention. He was engaged in making sure of\nEdie's silence by the simple method of passing a crown-piece out of his\nown pocket into the Blue-Gown's hand; while Monkbarns, equally willing\nto bridle his tongue as to the building of the praetorian, was\nsending him down to the mansion house for something to eat and a bottle\nof ale thereto.\n\n * * * * *\n\n\nII. THE NIGHT OF STORM\n\nThe Antiquary continued to hear good reports of his young friend, and,\nas it struck him that the lad must be lonely in such a place as\nFairport, he resolved to ask Lovel to dinner, in order to show him the\nbest society in the neighbourhood--that is to say, his friend, Sir\nArthur Wardour of Knockwinnock, and his daughter Isabella.\n\nSir Arthur was something of an antiquary also, but far less learned and\nserious than Mr. Oldbuck. Living so near each other the two quarrelled\noften about the Pictish Kings of Scotland, the character of Queen Mary,\nand even other matters more modern--such as the lending of various sums\nof money. For Sir Arthur always wanted to borrow, whereas the Antiquary\ndid not always want to lend. Sir Arthur was entirely careless as to\npaying back, while Mr. Oldbuck stood firmly rooted upon the rights of\nprincipal and interest. But on the whole they were good friends enough,\nand the Baronet accordingly accepted, in a letter written by his\ndaughter, the invitation to Monkbarns.\n\nLovel arrived punctually on the afternoon appointed, for, in the\nAntiquary's day, dinners took place at four o'clock! It was a brooding,\nthundery day, sultry and threatening--the 17th of July, according to the\ncalendar.\n\nMr. Oldbuck had time to introduce his \"most discreet sister Griselda\" as\nhe called her, who came arrayed in all the finery of half a century\nbefore, and wearing a mysterious erection on her head, something between\na wedding-cake and the Tower of Babel in a picture Bible, while his\nniece, Miss MacIntyre, a pretty young woman with something of bright wit\nabout her, which came undoubtedly from her uncle's family, was arrayed\nmore in the fashion of the day.\n\nSir Arthur, with his daughter on his arm, presently arrived, and\nrespects, compliments, and introductions were interchanged. The dinner\nwas made up chiefly of Scottish national dainties, and everything went\nwell, save that the solan goose, a fragrant bird at all times, proved so\nunderdone that Mr. Oldbuck threatened to fling it at the head of the\nhousekeeper.\n\nAs soon as the ladies left the dining room, Sir Arthur and the Antiquary\nplunged into their controversies, with a bottle of good port wine\nbetween them, while Lovel set himself to listen with much amusement.\n\nThe language of the Picts, the building of the earliest Edinburgh\nCastle, with other subjects, on none of which they agreed, made the two\nwiseacres grow hotter and hotter, till at last the wrath of the man of\npedigree was roused by a chance statement of the Antiquary's that the\nBaronet's famous ancestor, Gamelyn de Guardover, who had signed the\nRagman Roll, showed thereby a mean example of submitting to Edward of\nEngland.\n\n\"It is enough, sir,\" said Sir Arthur, starting up fiercely. \"I shall\nhereafter take care how I honour with my company one who shows himself\nso ungrateful for my condescension.\"\n\n\"In that you will do as you find most agreeable, Sir Arthur,\" returned\nthe Antiquary. \"I hope that, as I was not aware of the full extent of\nthe obligation you had done me by visiting my poor house, I may be\nexcused for not having carried my gratitude to the extent of\nservility.\"\n\n\"Mighty well--mighty well, Mr. Oldbuck--I wish you a good evening,\nMr.--ah--ah--Shovel--I wish you a very good evening.\"\n\nAnd so saying Sir Arthur flounced out, and with long strides traversed\nthe labyrinth of passages, seeking for the drawing-room of Monkbarns.\n\n\"Did you ever see such a tup-headed old ass?\" said the Antiquary, \"but I\nmust not let him burst in on the ladies in this mad way either.\"\n\nSo Mr. Oldbuck ran after his adversary, who was in great danger of\ntumbling down the back stairs and breaking his shins over various\ncollections of learned and domestic rubbish piled in dark corners.\n\n\"Stay a minute, Sir Arthur,\" said the Antiquary, at last capturing him\nby the arm; \"don't be quite so hasty, my good old friend! I _was_ a\nlittle rude to you about Sir Gamelyn--why, he is an old acquaintance of\nmine--kept company with Wallace and Bruce, and only subscribed the\nRagman Roll with the just intention of circumventing the Southern--'twas\nright Scottish craft--hundreds did it! Come, come--forget and\nforgive--confess we have given the young fellow here a right to think us\ntwo testy old fools.\"\n\n\"Speak for yourself, Mr. Jonathan Oldbuck,\" said Sir Arthur, with much\nmajesty.\n\n\"Awell--awell,\" said the Antiquary, with a sigh, \"a wilful man must have\nhis way!\"\n\nAnd the Baronet accordingly stalked into the drawing-room, pettishly\nrefused to accept either tea or coffee, tucked his daughter under his\narm, and, having said the driest of good-byes to the company at large,\noff he marched.\n\n\"I think Sir Arthur has got the black dog on his back again!\" said Miss\nOldbuck.\n\n\"Black dog! Black deil!\" cried her brother; \"he's more absurd than\nwomankind. What say you, Lovel? Why, the lad's gone too.\"\n\n\"Yes,\" said Miss MacIntyre, \"he took his leave while Miss Wardour was\nputting on her things.\"\n\n\"Deil's in the people!\" cried the Antiquary. \"This is all one gets by\nfussing and bustling, and putting one's self out of the way to give\ndinners. O Seged, Emperor of Ethiopia,\" he added, taking a cup of tea in\none hand and a volume of the _Rambler_ in the other, \"well hast thou\nspoken. No man can presume to say, 'This shall be a day of happiness.'\"\n\nOldbuck had continued his studies for the best part of an hour, when\nCaxton, the ancient barber of Fairport, thrusting his head into the\nroom, informed the company--first, that it was going to be \"an awfu'\nnicht,\" secondly, that Sir Arthur and Miss Wardour had started out to\nreturn to Knockwinnock Castle _by way of the sands!_\n\nInstantly Miss MacIntyre set off to bear the tidings to Saunders\nMucklebackit, the old fisherman, while the Antiquary himself, with a\nhandkerchief tied round his hat and wig to keep them from being blown\naway, searched the cliffs for any signs of his late guests.\n\nNor was the information brought by Caxton one whit exaggerated. Sir\nArthur and his daughter had indeed started out to reach their home by\nthe sands. On most occasions these afforded a safe road enough, but in\ntimes of high tide or when the sea was driven shoreward by a wind, the\nwaves broke high against the cliffs in fury.\n\nTalking earnestly together as they walked, Sir Arthur and Miss Wardour\ndid not observe the gathering of the tempest till it had broken upon\nthem. They had reached a deep sickle-shaped bay, and having with\ndifficulty passed one headland, they were looking with some anxiety\ntoward the other, hoping to reach and pass it before the tide closed in\nupon them, when they saw a tall figure advancing toward them waving\nhands and arms. Their hearts rejoiced, for, they thought, where that man\nhad passed, there would still be a road for them.\n\nBut they were doomed to be disappointed. The figure was no other than\nthat of the old Blue-Gown Edie Ochiltree. As he advanced he continued to\nsign to them and to shout words which were carried away by the blast,\ntill he had arrived quite close.\n\n\"Turn back! Turn back!\" he cried, when at last they could hear. \"Why did\nyou not turn back when I waved to you?\"\n\n\"We thought,\" said Sir Arthur, much disturbed, \"that we could still get\nround Halket Head.\"\n\n\"Halket Head!\" cried the vagrant; \"why, the tide will be running on\nHalket Head by this time like the Falls of Foyers. It was all I could\ndo to get round it twenty minutes since.\"\n\n[Illustration: \"THE figure was no other than that of the old Blue-Gown\nEdie Ochiltree. As he advanced he continued to sign to them and to shout\nwords which were carried away by the blast, till he had arrived quite\nclose.\n\n\"'Turn back! Turn back!' he cried, when at last they could hear. 'Why\ndid you not turn back when I waved to you?'\"]\n\nIt was now equally impossible to turn back. The water was dashing over\nthe skerries behind them, and the path by which Miss Wardour and her\nfather had passed so recently was now only a confusion of boiling and\neddying foam.\n\nThere was nothing for it but to try to climb as far up the cliffs as\npossible, and trust that the tide would turn back before it reached\nthem. With the help of the old beggar, they perched themselves upon the\nhighest shelf to which, on that almost perpendicular wall of rock, they\ncould hope to attain. But, nevertheless, as the waves leaped white\nbeneath, it seemed very far indeed from safety.\n\nSir Arthur, struck with terror, offered lands and wealth to the\nBlue-Gownsman if he would only guide them to a place of safety.\n\nBut the old beggar could only shake his head and answer sadly: \"I was a\nbold enough cragsman once. Many a kittywake's and seagull's nest have I\ntaken on these very cliffs above us. But now my eyesight and my footstep\nand my handgrip all have failed this many and many a day! But what is\nthat?\" he cried, looking eagerly upward. \"His Name be praised! Yonder\ncomes some one down the cliff, even now.\"\n\nAnd taking heart of grace, he cried directions up through the gathering\ndarkness to the unseen helper who was descending toward them.\n\n\"Right! Right! Fasten the rope well round the Crummie's Horn--that's the\nmuckle black stone yonder. Cast two plies about it! That's it! Now creep\na little eastwards, to that other stone--the Cat's Lug, they call it.\nThere used to be the root of an old oak tree there. Canny now! Take\ntime! Now ye maun get to Bessie's Apron--that's the big, blue, flat\nstone beneath ye! And then, with your help and the rope, I'll win at ye,\nand we will be able to get up the young lady and Sir Arthur!\"\n\nThe daring adventurer, no other than Lovel himself, soon reached the\nplace pointed out, and, throwing down the rope, it was caught by Edie\nOchiltree, who ascended to the flat blue stone formerly spoken of. From\nthis point of vantage the two of them were able by their united strength\nto raise Miss Wardour to safety. Then Lovel descended alone, and\nfastening the rope about Sir Arthur (who was now utterly unable, from\nfear and cold, to do anything for himself), they soon had him beside\nthem on Bessie's Apron.\n\nYet, even so, it seemed impossible that they could remain there all\nnight. The wind and the dashing spray every moment threatened to sweep\nthem from the narrow ledge they had reached. Besides, how was one so\ndelicate as Miss Wardour to stand out such a night? Lovel offered, in\nspite of the gathering darkness, once more to climb the cliff, and to\nseek further assistance. But the old Blue-Gown withheld him.\n\nNo cragsman in broadest daylight could do such a thing, he asserted.\nEven he himself, in the fullest of his strength, would never have\nattempted the feat. It was death to ascend ten yards. Miss Wardour\nbegged that neither of them should try. She was already much better, she\nsaid. Besides, their presence was needed to control her father, who was\nclearly not responsible for his actions.\n\nJust then a faint halloo came from high above. Edie answered it with a\nshout, waving at the same time Miss Wardour's handkerchief at the end of\nhis long beggar's staff, as far out from the cliff as possible. In a\nlittle while the signals were so regularly replied to, that the forlorn\nparty on Bessie's Apron knew that they were again within hearing, if not\nwithin reach, of friendly assistance.\n\nOn the top of the cliffs Monkbarns was heading the party of searchers.\nSaunders Mucklebackit, an old fisherman and smuggler, had charge of the\nrescue apparatus. This consisted of the mast of a boat, with a yard\nfirmly fixed across it. Through the ends of the yard a rope ran in two\nblocks, and by this Saunders hoped to lower a chair down the cliffs, by\nmeans of which (said the old smuggler) the whole party would presently\nbe \"boused up and landed on board, as safe as so many kegs of brandy.\"\n\nThe chair was accordingly let down, together with a second rope--which,\nbeing held by some one below, would keep the chair from dashing about in\nthe wind against the rock. This Saunders called the \"guy\" or guide rope.\n\nMiss Wardour, after some persuasion, mounted first, being carefully\nbound in the rude seat by means of Lovel's handkerchief and neckcloth,\nin addition to the mendicant's broad leathern belt passed about her\nwaist.\n\nSir Arthur, whose brain appeared quite dazed, continued loudly to\nprotest. \"What are you doing with my bairn?\" he cried. \"What are you\ndoing? She shall not be separated from me. Isabel, stay with me--I\ncommand you!\"\n\nBut the signal being given to hoist away, the chair mounted, intently\nwatched by Lovel, who stood holding the guide rope, to the last flutter\nof the lady's white dress. Miss Wardour was duly and safely landed. Sir\nArthur and Edie followed, and it remained for Lovel to make the more\nhazardous final ascent. For now there was no one left below to help him\nby holding the \"guy\" rope. Nevertheless, being young and accustomed to\ndanger, he managed, though much banged and buffeted about by the wind,\nto fend himself off the rocks with the long pike-staff belonging to the\nbeggar, which Edie had left him for that purpose.\n\nIt was only when Lovel reached the safety of the cliff that he felt\nhimself for a moment a little faint. When he came to himself Sir Arthur\nhad already been removed to his carriage, and all that Lovel saw of the\ngirl he had rescued from death was the last flutter of her dress\nvanishing through the storm.\n\n\"She did not even think it worth while waiting to see whether I was dead\nor alive--much less to thank me for anything I had done!\"\n\nAnd he resolved to leave Fairport on the morrow, without visiting\nKnockwinnock, or again seeing Miss Wardour. But what he did not know was\nthat Miss Wardour had waited till she had been assured that Lovel was\nsafe and sound, having sent Sir Arthur on before her to the carriage.\n\nBut as the young man was not aware that she had shown him even this\nlimited sympathy, his heart continued to be bitter within him.\n\nIt was arranged that he was to sleep that night at Monkbarns. Indeed Mr.\nOldbuck would hear of no other way of it. The Antiquary had looked\nforward to the chicken pie and the bottle of port which Sir Arthur had\nleft untasted when he bounced off in a fume. What then was his wrath\nwhen his sister, Miss Grizel, told him how that the minister of\nTrotcosey, Mr. Blattergowl, having come down to Monkbarns to sympathise\nwith the peril of all concerned, had so much affected Miss Oldbuck by\nhis show of anxiety that she had set the pie and the wine before\nhim--which he had accordingly consumed to show his good-will.\n\nBut after some very characteristic grumbling, cold beef and hard-boiled\neggs did just as well for the two friends, and while Lovel partook of\nthem, Miss Grizel entertained him with tales of the Green Room in which\nhe was to sleep. This apartment was haunted, it seemed, by the spirit of\nthe first Oldenbuck, the celebrated printer of the Augsburg Confession.\nHe had even appeared in person to a certain town-clerk of Fairport, and\nshowed him (at the point of his toe) upstairs to an old cabinet in which\nwas stored away the very document for the want of which the lairds of\nMonkbarns were likely to be worsted in a famous lawsuit before the Court\nof Session in Edinburgh. Furthermore, a famous German professor, a very\nlearned man, Dr. Heavysterne by name, had found his rest so much\ndisturbed in that very room that he could never again be persuaded to\nsleep there.\n\nLovel, however, laughed at such fears, and was accordingly shown by the\nAntiquary up to the famous Green Room, a large chamber with walls\ncovered by a tapestry of hunting scenes,--stags, boars, hounds, and\nhuntsmen, all mixed together under the greenwood tree, the boughs of\nwhich, interlacing above, gave its name to the room.\n\nLovel fell asleep after a while, still bitterly meditating on how\nunkindly Miss Wardour had used him, and his thoughts, mixed with the\nperilous adventures of the evening, made him not a little feverish. At\nfirst his dreams were wild, confused, and impossible. He flew like a\nbird. He swam like a fish. He was upborne on clouds, and dashed on rocks\nwhich yet received him soft as pillows of down. But at last, out of the\ngloom a figure approached his bedside, separating himself from the wild\nrace of the huntsmen upon the green tapestry,--a figure like that which\nhad been described to him as belonging to the first laird of Monkbarns.\nHe was dressed in antique Flemish garb, a furred Burgomaster cap was on\nhis head, and he held in his hands a black volume with clasps of brass.\n\nLovel strove to speak, but, as usual in such cases, he could not utter a\nword. His tongue refused its office. The awful figure held up a warning\nfinger, and then began deliberately to unclasp the volume he held in his\nhands. He turned the leaves hastily for a few minutes; then, holding the\nbook aloft in his left hand, he pointed with his right to a line which\nseemed to start forth from the page glowing with supernatural fire.\nLovel did not understand the language in which the book was printed, but\nthe wonderful light with which the words glowed impressed them somehow\non his memory. The vision shut the volume. A strain of music was heard,\nand Lovel awoke. The sun was shining full into the Green Room, and\nsomewhere not far away a girl's voice was singing a simple Scottish air.\n\n\nINTERLUDE OF WARNING\n\n It was the spinner of yarns himself who broke the\n silence which fell on the party at the close of the\n first tale told out of the treasure-house of _The\n Antiquary_.\n\n \"If I catch you,\" were the words of warning which\n fell from his lips, \"you, Hugh John, or you, Toady\n Lion, trying to hoist one another up a cliff with a\n rope and a chair--well, the rope will most\n certainly be used for quite another purpose, and\n both of you will just hate to look at a chair for a\n fortnight after! Do you understand?\"\n\n They understood perfectly.\n\n \"It was me they were going to hoist,\" confided Maid\n Margaret, coming a little closer. \"I saw them\n looking at me all the time you were telling the\n story!\"\n\n \"Well,\" I said, \"just let me catch them at it,\n that's all!\"\n\n This caution being necessary for the avoidance of\n future trouble, I went on to read aloud the whole\n of the Storm chapters, to the children's\n unspeakable delight. Hugh John even begged for the\n book to take to bed with him, which privilege he\n was allowed, on the solemn promise that he would\n not \"peep on ahead.\" Since Sweetheart's prophecies\n as to Die Vernon, such conduct has been voted\n scoundrelly and unworthy of any good citizen of the\n nursery.\n\n On the whole, however, I could not make out\n whether _The Antiquary_ promised to be a favourite\n or not. The storm scene was declared \"famous,\" but\n the accompanying prohibition to break their own or\n their family's necks, by pulling chairs up and down\n rocks, somewhat damped the ardour of the usual\n enthusiasts.\n\n As, however, the day was hopeless outside, the snow\n beating more and more fiercely on the windows, and\n hanging in heavy fleecy masses on the smallest\n twigs of the tree-branches and leafless rose stems,\n it was decided that nothing better could be\n imagined, than just to proceed with our second tale\n from _The Antiquary_. But before beginning I\n received two requests, somewhat difficult to\n harmonize the one with the other.\n\n \"Tell us all about Miss Wardour and Lovel. He's\n nice!\" said Sweetheart.\n\n \"Skip ALL the love-making!\" cried Hugh John and Sir\n Toady in a breath.\n\n * * * * *\n\n\n\n\nTHE SECOND TALE FROM \"THE ANTIQUARY\"\n\n\nI. LOVEL FIGHTS A DUEL\n\nTHE Antiquary, to whom Lovel told his dream, promptly pulled out a\nblack-letter volume of great age and, unclasping it, showed him the very\nmotto of his vision. So far, however, from glowing with fire now, the\nwords remained in the ordinary calm chill of type. But when the\nAntiquary told him that these words had been the Printer's Mark or\nColophon of his ancestor, Aldobrand Oldenbuck, the founder of his house,\nand that they meant \"SKILL WINS FAVOUR,\" Lovel, though half ashamed of\ngiving any credit to dreams, resolved to remain in the neighbourhood of\nKnockwinnock Castle and of Miss Wardour for at least some time longer.\n\nIn vain Oldbuck made light of his vision of the Green Room. In vain he\nreminded him that he had been showing that very volume to Sir Arthur the\nnight before in his presence, and had even remarked upon the appropriate\nmotto of old Aldobrand Oldenbuck.\n\nLovel was resolved to give his love for Miss Wardour one more chance.\nAnd indeed at that very moment, under the lady's window at Knockwinnock\nCastle, a strange love messenger was pleading his cause.\n\nMiss Wardour had been trying to persuade old Edie Ochiltree to accept a\ngarden, a cottage, and a daily dole, for his great services in saving\nher own and her father's life. But of this Edie would hear nothing.\n\n\"I would weary,\" he said, \"to be forever looking up at the same beams\nand rafters, and out upon the same cabbage patch. I have a queer humour\nof my own, too, and I might be jesting and scorning where I should be\nsilent. Sir Arthur and I might not long agree. Besides, what would the\ncountry do for its gossip--the blithe clatter at e'en about the fire?\nWho would bring news from one farm-town to another--gingerbread to the\nlassies, mend fiddles for the lads, and make grenadier caps of rushes\nfor the bairns, if old Edie were tied by the leg at his own cottage\ndoor?\"\n\n\"Well, then, Edie,\" said Miss Wardour, \"if this be so, if you feel that\nthe folk of the countryside cannot do without you, you must just let me\nknow when you feel old enough to settle, and in the meantime take this.\"\n\nAnd she handed him a sum of money. But for the second time again the\nbeggar refused.\n\n\"Na, na,\" he said, \"it is against our rule to take so muckle siller at\nonce. I would be robbed and murdered for it at the next town--or at\nleast I would go in fear of my life, which is just as bad. But you might\nsay a good word for me to the ground-officer and the constable, and\nmaybe bid Sandy Netherstanes the miller chain up his big dog, and I will\ne'en come to Knockwinnock as usual for my alms and my snuff.\"\n\nEdie paused at this point, and, stepping nearer to the window on which\nMiss Wardour leaned, he continued, speaking almost in her ear.\n\n\"Ye are a bonny young leddy, and a good one,\" he said, \"and maybe a\nwell-dowered one. But do not you sneer away the laddie Lovel, as ye did\na while syne on the walk beneath the Briery bank, when I both saw ye\nand heard ye too, though ye saw not me. Be canny with the lad, for he\nloves ye well. And it's owing to him, and not to anything I could have\ndone, that you and Sir Arthur were saved yestreen!\"\n\nThen, without waiting for an answer, old Edie stalked toward a low\ndoorway and disappeared. It was at this very moment that Lovel and the\nAntiquary entered the court. Miss Wardour had only time to hasten\nupstairs, while the Antiquary was pausing to point out the various\nfeatures of the architecture of Knockwinnock Castle to the young man.\n\nMiss Wardour met the two gentlemen in the drawing-room of the castle\nwith her father's apology for not being able to receive them. Sir Arthur\nwas still in bed, and, though recovering, he continued to suffer from\nthe fatigues and anxieties of the past night.\n\n\"Indeed,\" said the Antiquary, \"a good down pillow for his good white\nhead were a couch more meet than Bessie's Apron, plague on her! But what\nnews of our mining adventure in Glen Withershins?\"\n\n\"None,\" said Miss Wardour, \"or at least no good news! But here are some\nspecimens just sent down. Will you look at them?\"\n\nAnd withdrawing into a corner with these bits of rock, the Antiquary\nproceeded to examine them, grumbling and pshawing over each ere he laid\nit aside to take up another. This was Lovel's opportunity to speak alone\nwith Miss Wardour.\n\n\"I trust,\" he said, \"that Miss Wardour will impute to circumstances\nalmost irresistible, this intrusion of one who has reason to think\nhimself so unacceptable a visitor.\"\n\n\"Mr. Lovel,\" said Miss Wardour, in the same low tone, \"I am sure you are\nincapable of abusing the advantages given you by the services you have\nrendered us--ah, if I could only see you as a friend--or as a sister!\"\n\n\"I cannot,\" said Lovel, \"disavow my feelings. They are well known to\nMiss Wardour. But why crush every hope--if Sir Arthur's objections could\nbe removed?\"\n\n\"But that is impossible,\" said Miss Wardour, \"his objections cannot be\nremoved, and I am sure you will save both of us pain by leaving\nFairport, and returning to the honourable career which you seem to have\nabandoned!\"\n\n\"Miss Wardour,\" said Lovel, \"I will obey your wishes, if, within one\nlittle month I cannot show you the best of reasons for continuing to\nabide at Fairport.\"\n\nAt this moment Sir Arthur sent down a message to say that he would like\nto see his old friend, the Laird of Monkbarns, in his bedroom. Miss\nWardour instantly declared that she would show Mr. Oldbuck the way, and\nso left Lovel to himself. It chanced that in the interview which\nfollowed Sir Arthur let out by accident that his daughter had already\nmet with Lovel in Yorkshire, when she had been there on a visit to her\naunt. The Antiquary was at first astonished, and then not a little\nindignant, that neither of them should have told him of this when they\nwere introduced, and he resolved to catechise his young friend Lovel\nstrictly upon the point as soon as possible. But when at last he bade\nfarewell to his friend Sir Arthur and returned below, another subject\noccupied his mind. Lovel and he were walking home over the cliffs, and\nwhen they reached the summit of the long ridge, Oldbuck turned and\nlooked back at the pinnacles of the castle--at the ancient towers and\nwalls grey with age, which had been the home of so many generations of\nWardours.\n\n\"Ah,\" he muttered, sighing, half to himself, \"it wrings my heart to say\nit--but I doubt greatly that this ancient family is fast going to the\nground.\"\n\nThen he revealed to the surprised Lovel how Sir Arthur's foolish\nspeculations, and especially his belief in a certain German swindler,\nnamed Dousterswivel, had caused him to engage in some very costly mining\nventures, which were now almost certain to result in complete failure.\n\nAs the Antiquary described Dousterswivel, Lovel remembered to have seen\nthe man in the inn at Fairport, where he had been pointed out to him as\none of the _illuminati_, or persons who have dealings with the dwellers\nin another world. But while thus talking and tarrying with his friend\nMonkbarns, an important letter was on its way to call Lovel back to\nFairport. Oldbuck had so far taken his young friend to his heart, that\nhe would not let him depart without making sure that the trouble he read\non Lovel's face was not the want of money.\n\n\"If,\" he said, \"there is any pecuniary inconvenience, I have fifty, or a\nhundred, guineas at your service--till Whitsunday--or indeed as long as\nyou like!\"\n\nBut Lovel, assuring him that the letter boded no difficulty of the\nkind, thanked him for his offer, and so took his leave.\n\nIt was some weeks before the Antiquary again saw Lovel. To the great\nastonishment of the town the young man hardly went out at all, and when\nhe called upon him in his lodgings at Fairport, Mr. Oldbuck was\nastonished at the change in his appearance. Lovel was now pale and thin,\nand his black dress bore the badge of mourning. The Antiquary's gruff\nold heart was moved toward the lad. He would have had him come instantly\nwith him to Monkbarns, telling him that, as they agreed well together,\nthere was no reason why they should ever separate. His lands were in his\nown power of gift, and there was no reason why he should not leave them\nto whom he would.\n\nLovel, touched also by this unexpected affection, answered that he could\nnot at present accept, but that before leaving Scotland he would\ncertainly pay Monkbarns a long visit.\n\nWhile the Antiquary remained talking thus to Lovel in his lodgings, a\nletter was brought from Sir Arthur Wardour inviting the young man to be\na member of a party which proposed to visit the ruins of St. Ruth's\nPriory on the following day, and afterward to dine and spend the\nevening at Knockwinnock Castle. Sir Arthur added that he had made the\nsame proposal to the family at Monkbarns. So it was agreed that they\nshould go together, Lovel on horseback, and Oldbuck and his womenkind\n(as he called them) in a hired post-chaise.\n\nThe morning of the next day dawned clear and beautiful, putting Lovel in\nbetter spirits than he had known of late. With the Wardour party there\ncame the German adept, Mr. Dousterswivel, to whom, after offering his\nthanks to his preserver of the night of storm, Sir Arthur introduced\nLovel. The young man's instinctive dislike at sight of the impostor was\nevidently shared in by the Antiquary, for the lowering of his shaggy\neyebrow clearly proclaimed as much.\n\nNevertheless, the first part of the day went well on the whole. Oldbuck\ntook upon himself the office of guide, explaining and translating all\nthe while, leading the company from point to point till they were almost\nas much at home as himself among the ruins of the Priory of St. Ruth.\n\nBut the peaceful occupations of the day were interrupted by the arrival\nof a young horseman in military undress, whom the Antiquary greeted with\nthe words, \"Hector, son of Priam, whence comest thou?\"\n\n\"From Fife, my liege,\" answered Captain Hector MacIntyre, Mr. Oldbuck's\nnephew, who saluted the company courteously, but, as Lovel thought,\nseemed to view his own presence with a haughty and disapproving eye.\nCaptain MacIntyre attached himself immediately to Miss Wardour, and even\nappeared to Lovel to take up a privileged position with regard to her.\nBut Miss Wardour, after submitting to this close attendance for some\ntime, presently turned sharply round, and asked a question of the\nAntiquary as to the date at which the Priory of St. Ruth was built. Of\ncourse Mr. Oldbuck started off like a warhorse at the sound of the\ntrumpet, and, in the long harangue which ensued, mixed as it was with\nadditions and contradictions from Sir Arthur and the minister, Captain\nMacIntyre found no further chance of appropriating Miss Wardour. He left\nher, accordingly, and walked sulkily by his sister's side.\n\nFrom her he demanded to know who this Mr. Lovel might be, whom he found\nso very much at home in a circle in which he had looked forward to\nshining alone.\n\nMary MacIntyre answered sensibly that, as to who he was, her brother had\nbetter ask his uncle, who was in the habit of inviting to his house such\ncompany as pleased him; adding that, so far as she knew, Mr. Lovel was a\nvery quiet and gentlemanly young man.\n\nFar from being satisfied, however, from that moment Captain MacIntyre,\nwith the instinct of a dog that returns home to find a stranger making\nfree with his bone and kennel, set himself almost openly to provoke\nLovel. When by chance the latter was called on by the Antiquary to state\nwhether or not he had been present at a certain battle abroad,\nMacIntyre, with an accent of irony, asked the number of his regiment.\nAnd when that had been told him, he replied that he knew the regiment\nvery well, but that he could not remember Mr. Lovel as an officer in it.\n\nWhereupon, blushing quickly, Mr. Lovel informed Captain MacIntyre that\nhe had served the last campaign on the staff of General Sir Blank Blank.\n\n\"Indeed,\" said MacIntyre, yet more insolently, \"that is still more\nremarkable. I have had an opportunity of knowing the names of all the\nofficers who have held such a situation, and I cannot recollect that of\nLovel among them.\"\n\nLovel took out of his pocket-book a letter, from which he removed the\nenvelope before handing it to his adversary.\n\n\"In all probability you know the General's hand,\" he said, \"though I own\nI ought not to show such exaggerated expressions of thanks for my very\nslight services.\"\n\nCaptain MacIntyre, glancing his eye over it, could not deny that it was\nin the General's hand, but drily observed, as he returned it, that the\naddress was wanting.\n\n\"The address, Captain MacIntyre,\" answered Lovel, in the same tone,\n\"shall be at your service whenever you choose to inquire for it.\"\n\n\"I shall not fail to do so,\" said the soldier.\n\n\"Come, come,\" exclaimed Oldbuck, \"what is the meaning of this? We'll\nhave no swaggering, youngsters! Are you come from the wars abroad to\nstir up strife in a peaceful land?\"\n\nSir Arthur, too, hoped that the young men would remain calm. But Lovel,\nfrom that moment, felt that he was to some extent under suspicion, and\nso, in a short time, he took the opportunity of bidding the company\ngood-bye, on the plea of the return of a headache which had lately\ntroubled him. He had not ridden far--rather loitering, indeed, to give\nMacIntyre a chance of overtaking him--when the sound of horse's hoofs\nbehind told him that his adversary had returned to find him. The young\nofficer touched his hat briefly, and began in a haughty tone, \"What am I\nto understand, sir, by your telling me that your address was at my\nservice?\"\n\n\"Simply,\" answered Lovel, \"that my name is Lovel, and that my residence\nis, for the present, Fairport, as you will see by this card!\"\n\n\"And is this,\" said the soldier, \"all the information you are disposed\nto give me?\"\n\n\"I see no right you have to require more.\"\n\n\"I find you, sir, in company with my sister,\" said MacIntyre, \"and I\nhave a right to know who is admitted to her society.\"\n\n\"I shall take the liberty of disputing that right,\" replied Lovel, to\nthe full as haughty in tone and manner.\n\n\"I presume then,\" said the young officer, \"since you _say_ you have\nserved in his Majesty's army, you will give me the satisfaction usual\namong gentlemen.\"\n\n\"I shall not fail,\" said Lovel.\n\n\"Very well, sir,\" rejoined Hector, and turning his horse's head he\ngalloped off to rejoin the party.\n\nBut his uncle suspected his purpose, and was determined to prevent a\nduel at all risks. He demanded where his nephew had been.\n\n\"I forgot my glove, sir,\" said Hector.\n\n\"Forgot your glove! You mean that you went to throw it down. But I will\ntake order with you, young gentleman. You shall return with me this\nnight to Monkbarns.\"\n\nYet in spite of the Antiquary the duel was easily enough arranged\nbetween these two over-hasty young men. It was the custom of the time to\nfight about trifles, and it seemed to Lovel that as a soldier he had\nreally no honourable alternative. He was fortunate enough to find a\nsecond in the Lieutenant-commander of one of the King's gun-brigs,\nwhich was stationed on the coast to put down smuggling. Lieutenant\nTaffril only put one question to Lovel before offering him every\nassistance. He asked if there was anything whereof he was ashamed, in\nthe circumstances which he had declined to communicate to MacIntyre.\n\n\"On my honour, no,\" said Lovel, \"there is nothing but what, in a short\ntime, I hope I may be able to communicate to the whole world.\"\n\nThe duel thus insolently provoked was to be fought with pistols within\nthe ruins of St. Ruth, and as Lovel and his second came near the place\nof combat, they heard no sound save their own voices mingling with those\nof the sheep bleating peacefully to each other upon the opposite hill.\nOn the stump of an old thorn tree within the ruins sat the venerable\nfigure of old Edie Ochiltree. Edie had a message to deliver.\n\nHe told Lovel that he had been at the Sheriff's that very day, and had\ngot it from the clerk himself that a warrant had been issued on\nMonkbarns's demand for the apprehension of Lovel. The old beggar had\ncome hastily to warn the young man, thinking that perhaps it might be\nsome matter of debt. But the appearance of Captain MacIntyre and his\nsecond, Mr. Lesley, soon informed him otherwise.\n\nThe antagonists approached and saluted with the stern civility of the\nplace and occasion. MacIntyre instantly ordered the old fellow off the\nfield.\n\n\"I _am_ an auld fellow,\" said Edie, \"but I am also an auld soldier of\nyour father's, and I served with him in the 42nd.\"\n\n\"Serve where you please,\" said MacIntyre, hotly, \"you have no title to\nintrude on us. Be off with you--or--\"\n\nHe lifted his cane as if to threaten the old man. But the insult roused\nEdie's ancient courage.\n\n\"Hold down your switch, Captain MacIntyre! I am an auld soldier, and\nI'll tak' muckle from your father's son--but not a touch o' the wand\nwhile my pike-staff will hold together!\"\n\n\"I was wrong--I was wrong,\" said MacIntyre, relenting, \"here is a crown\nfor you--go your ways.\"\n\nBut Edie refused the money, exhorting the young men to go and fight the\nFrench instead of each other, if they were so fighting hot. But neither\nhis words nor the efforts of the seconds could reconcile MacIntyre to\nthe man with whom he had from the first resolved to quarrel.\n\nThe ground was measured out by the seconds, while old Edie stood\nunheeded at the side muttering, \"Bairns, bairns--madmen, I should rather\nsay! Weel, your blood be on your heads!\"\n\nThe fatal signal was given. Both fired almost at the same moment.\nCaptain MacIntyre's ball grazed the side of his opponent, but failed to\ndraw blood. That of Lovel was more true to the aim. MacIntyre reeled and\nfell. Raising himself on his arm, his first exclamation was: \"It is\nnothing--it is nothing! Give us the other pistols!\"\n\nBut the moment after he added in a lower tone: \"I believe I have enough,\nand what's worse, I fear I deserve it. Mr. Lovel, or whatever your name\nis, fly and save yourself. Bear witness all of you, I alone provoked the\nquarrel.\"\n\nThen raising himself on his arm, he added: \"Shake hands, Lovel. I\nbelieve you to be a gentleman--forgive my rudeness, and I forgive you my\ndeath!\"\n\nLovel stood dizzy and bewildered, while the ship's surgeon approached to\ndo his part. But presently his arm was grasped by Edie, who hurried him\noff the field with the assistance of Lieutenant Taffril, his late\nsecond.\n\n\"He is right--he is right!\" exclaimed Taffril, \"go with him--there, into\nthe wood--not by the highroad. Let him bring you to the sands at three\nof the morning. A boat will be in waiting to take you off to my brig,\nwhich will sail at once.\"\n\n\"Yes--fly--fly!\" said the wounded man, his voice faltering as he spoke.\n\n\"It is madness to stay here,\" added Taffril.\n\n\"It was worse than madness ever to have come!\" said Lovel, following his\nuncouth guide into the thicket. As he went up the valley he realised the\nbitterness of remorse that comes too late. He had passed that way in the\nmorning, innocent, and now--he had the stain of blood upon his hands.\n\n\nII. THE SEEKERS OF TREASURE\n\nEdie guided him along a deep ravine till they came to a precipice of\nrock overhung with brushwood and copse. Here completely concealed was\nthe mouth of a cave, where, as Edie said, they would be in perfect\nsafety. Only two other persons knew of its existence, and these two were\nat present far away. The cavern was in the shape of a cross, and had\nevidently been the abode of some anchorite of a time long past. In the\ncorner was a turning stair, narrow but quite passable, which\ncommunicated with the chapel above--and so, by a winding passage in the\nthickness of the wall, with the interior of the priory of St. Ruth.\n\nTwilight faded into night, and the night itself wore away, while Edie\nsat telling Lovel all the old-world tales he could lay his tongue to, in\norder to keep the mind of the young man from brooding over his\nsituation. They sat close together on a little watch-tower niched deep\nin the wall, and breathed the night air, while waiting for the hour at\nwhich they must betake them to the beach, to meet the boat which\nLieutenant Taffril was to have in readiness.\n\nMidnight approached, the moon rose high in the sky above, but the voice\nof the Blue-Gown still droned on, telling his tales of old time, when\nsuddenly Lovel, whose ears were quicker, laid his hand on his\ncompanion's arm.\n\n\"Hush,\" he whispered, \"I hear some one speaking!\"\n\nSo saying Lovel pointed in the direction of the sound,--toward the door\nof the chancel at the west end of the building, where a carved window\nlet in a flood of moonlight upon the floor.\n\nTwo human figures detached themselves from the darkness and advanced.\nThe lantern which one of them carried gleamed pale in the bright\nmoonlight. It was evident in a moment by their motions that they could\nnot be officers searching for Lovel. As they approached nearer, the\nbeggar recognised the two figures as those of Dousterswivel and Sir\nArthur.\n\nLovel was about to retreat, but a touch on the arm from the old\nBlue-Gown convinced him that his best course was to remain quiet where\nhe was. In case of any alarm, there was always the passage behind, and\nthey could gain the shelter of the wood long before any pursuit would be\npossible.\n\nDousterswivel was evidently making some proposition about which Sir\nArthur was uncertain.\n\n\"Great expense--great expense!\" were the first words they heard him\nmutter.\n\n\"Expenses--to be sure,\" said Dousterswivel; \"there must be great\nexpenses. You do not expect to reap before you do sow the seed. Now, Sir\nArthur, you have sowed this night a little pinch of ten guineas, and if\nyou do not reap the big harvest, it is because you have only sowed a\nlittle pinch of seed. Much seed sown, much harvest reaped. That is the\nway to find treasure. You shall see, Sir Arthur, mine worthy patron!\"\n\nThe German now put before his dupe a little silver plate engraved\nwith strange signs, squares of nine times nine figures, flying\nserpents with turkey-cocks' heads, and other wonderful things.\nThen having professed to lay out the baronet's ten guineas in what he\ncalled \"suffumigations,\"--that is, to scare away the demons which kept\nguard over the treasures,--he informed him that he was ready to proceed.\nThe treasure itself could not be obtained till the stroke of midnight.\nBut in the meanwhile he was willing to show Sir Arthur the guardian\ndemon of the treasure-house, which, \"like one fierce watchdog\" (as the\npretended wizard explained), could be called up by his magic power.\n\nBut Sir Arthur was not particularly keen to see such marvels. He thought\nthey had little enough time as it was, and if he could get the\ntreasures, he preferred, supposing it to be the same thing to his guide,\nto let sleeping demons lie.\n\n\"But I could show you the spirit very well,\" said Dousterswivel. \"I\nwould draw a circle with a pentagon, and make my suffumigation within\nit, while you kept the demon at bay with a drawn sword. You would see\nfirst a hole open in the solid wall. Then through it would come one stag\npursued by three black greyhounds. They would pull him down, and then\none black ugly negro would appear and take the stag from them. Then,\npaff! all would be gone. After that horns would be winded, and in would\ncome the great Peolphan, the Mighty Hunter of the North, mounted on his\nblack steed--but you are sure that you do not care to see all this?\"\n\n\"Why, I am not afraid,\" said the poor baronet, \"that is, if--do any\nmishaps ever happen on such occasions?\"\n\n\"Bah--mischiefs, no!\" said the German. \"Sometimes if the circle be no\nquite just, or the beholder be frightened and not hold the sword firm\nand straight toward him, the Great Hunter will take his advantage, and\ndrag him exorcist out of the circle and throttle him. That happen\nsometimes.\"\n\nThis was quite enough for Sir Arthur, who did not desire any intercourse\nwith demons on such terms.\n\nWhereupon Dousterswivel, the time of midnight being near, set fire to a\nlittle pile of chips, which instantly burned up with a bright light.\nThen when the flame was at its highest, he cast into the blaze a handful\nof perfumes which smoked with a strong and pungent odour. This made both\nDousterswivel and his pupil cough and sneeze heartily, and by and by,\nthe vapour mounting upward, it found out Lovel and Edie in their high\nwatch-tower, making them also sneeze loudly in their turn.\n\n\"Was that an echo? Or are there others present in this place?\" cried the\nbaronet, astonished at the sound.\n\n\"No, no,\" said the German, who had so long employed himself with magic\nthat he had grown half to believe in it, \"no--at least, I hope not!\"\n\nHere a complete fit of sneezing, together with a kind of hollow\ngrunting cough from Edie Ochiltree, so alarmed the wizard that he would\nhave fled at once, had not Sir Arthur prevented him by force.\n\n\"You juggling villain,\" cried the baronet, whom impending ruin made\ndesperate, \"this is some trick of yours to get off fulfilling your\nbargain. Show me the treasure you have promised, or by the faith of a\nruined man, I will send you where you will see spirits enough!\"\n\n\"Consider, my honoured patron,\" said the now thoroughly frightened\ntreasure-seeker, \"this is not the best treatment. And then the demons--\"\n\n[Illustration: \"AT this moment Edie Ochiltree, entering fully into the\nspirit of the scene, gave vent to a prolonged and melancholy howl.\n\nDousterswivel flung himself on his knees.\n\n'Dear Sir Arthurs,' he cried, 'let us go--or at least let _me_ go!'\n\n'No, you cheating scoundrel,' cried the knight, unsheathing his sword,\n'that shift shall not serve you. I will see the treasure before I leave\nthis place--or I will run my sword through you as an impostor, though\nall the spirits of the dead should rise around us!'\"]\n\nAt this moment Edie Ochiltree, entering fully into the spirit of the\nscene, gave vent to a prolonged and melancholy howl.\n\nDousterswivel flung himself on his knees.\n\n\"Dear Sir Arthurs,\" he cried, \"let us go--or at least let _me_ go!\"\n\n\"No, you cheating scoundrel,\" cried the knight, unsheathing his sword,\n\"that shift shall not serve you. I will see the treasure before I leave\nthis place--or I will run my sword through you as an impostor, though\nall the spirits of the dead should rise around us!\"\n\n\"For the love of Heaven, be patient, mine honoured patron,\" said the\nGerman, \"you shall have all the treasure I knows of--you shall, indeed!\nBut do not speak about the spirits. It makes them angry!\"\n\nMuttering exorcisms and incantations all the while, Dousterswivel\nproceeded to a flat stone in the corner, which bore on its surface the\ncarved likeness of an armed warrior.\n\nHe muttered to Sir Arthur: \"Mine patrons, it is here! God save us all!\"\n\nTogether they managed to heave up the stone, and then Dousterswivel with\na mattock and shovel proceeded to dig. He had not thrown out many\nspadefuls, when something was heard to ring on the ground with the sound\nof falling metal. Then the treasure-seeker, snatching up the object\nwhich his mattock had thrown out, exclaimed: \"On mine dear word, mine\npatrons, this is all. I mean all that we can do to-night!\"\n\n\"Let me see it,\" said Sir Arthur, sternly, \"I will be satisfied--I will\njudge with my own eyes!\"\n\nHe held the object up in the light of the lantern. It was a small case\nof irregular shape, which, from the joyful exclamation of the baronet,\nseemed to be filled with coin.\n\n\"Ah!\" said Sir Arthur; \"this is good luck, indeed. This is a beginning.\nWe will try again at the very next change of the moon. That six hundred\npounds I owe to Goldieword would be ruin indeed unless I can find\nsomething to meet it. But this puts new hope into me!\"\n\nBut now Dousterswivel was more than ever eager to be gone, and he\nhurried Sir Arthur away with his treasure, having only taken time to\nthrust back the earth and replace the tombstone roughly in its place, so\nas to leave no very obvious traces of the midnight search for treasure.\n\n\nIII. MISTICOT'S GRAVE\n\nThe hour of going to meet the boat was now approaching, and Edie\nconducted Lovel by a solitary path through the woods to the sea-shore.\nThere in the first level beams of the rising sun, they saw the little\ngun-brig riding at anchor in the offing. Taffril himself met his friend,\nand eased Lovel's mind considerably by telling him that Captain\nMacIntyre's wound, though doubtful, was far from desperate, and that he\ntrusted a short cruise would cover all the consequences of his\nunfortunate encounter.\n\nLovel offered gold to the beggar, but Edie once more refused it,\ndeclaring that he thought all the folk had \"gone clean daft.\"\n\n\"I have had more gold offered to me these last two or three weeks,\" he\nsaid, \"than I have seen in all my life before. Na, na, take back your\nguineas, and for luck let me have but one lily-white shilling!\"\n\nThe boat put off toward the lieutenant's brig, impelled by six stout\nrowers. Lovel saw the old beggar wave his blue bonnet to him, before\nturning slowly about as if to resume his customary wanderings from farm\nto farm, and from village to village.\n\n * * * * *\n\nSo excellently well did Captain MacIntyre progress toward recovery that\nin a little while the Antiquary declared it clean impossible for him to\nget a single bite of breakfast, or have his wig made decent, or a slice\nof unburnt toast to eat--all because his womenfolk were in constant\nattendance upon the wounded Captain, whose guns and spaniels filled the\nhouse, and for whom even the faithful Caxon ran messages, while his own\nmaster waited for him in his chamber, fuming and stamping the while.\n\nBut as his sister often said, and as all who knew him,\nknew--\"Monkbarns's bark was muckle waur than his bite.\"\n\nBut an unexpected visit from Sir Arthur soon gave the Antiquary other\nmatters to think about. The Baronet came, so he said, to ask his old\nfriend's advice about the disposal of a sum of money. The Antiquary\ndrew from a right-hand corner of his desk a red-covered book, of which\nSir Arthur hated the very sight, and suggested that if he had money to\ndispose of, it might be as well to begin by clearing off encumbrances,\nof which the debt marked in his own red book accounted for no less than\neleven hundred and thirteen pounds. But Sir Arthur put away the red book\nas if Monkbarns had offered him so much physic, and hastened to say that\nif the Antiquary would wait a few days, he would have the sum in\nfull--that is, if he would take it in bullion.\n\nThe Antiquary inquired from what Eldorado this treasure was forthcoming.\n\n\"Not far from here,\" said Sir Arthur, confidently, \"and now I think of\nit, you shall see the whole process in working, on one small condition.\"\n\n\"And what is that?\" inquired the Antiquary.\n\n\"That it will be necessary to give me your friendly assistance, by\nadvancing the small sum of one hundred pounds.\"\n\nThe Antiquary, who had been rejoicing in the hope of getting both\nprincipal and interest of a debt which he had long thought desperate,\ncould only gasp out the words, \"Advance one hundred pounds!\"\n\n\"Yes, my good sir,\" said Sir Arthur, \"but upon the best possible\nsecurity of having it repaid in the course of a few days.\"\n\nTo this the Antiquary said nothing. He had heard the like before from\nSir Arthur's lips. So the Baronet went on to explain. \"Mr. Dousterswivel\nhaving discovered--\"\n\nBut the Antiquary would not listen. His eyes sparkled with indignation.\n\"Sir Arthur,\" he said, \"I have so often warned you against that rascally\nquack, that I wonder you quote him to me!\"\n\nBut this time Sir Arthur had something to show for his faith in the\nexpert. He placed a large ram's horn with a copper cover in his friend's\nhand. It contained Scottish, English, and foreign coins of the fifteenth\nand sixteenth centuries. Most were silver but some were of gold, and, as\neven the Antiquary allowed, of exceeding rarity.\n\n\"These,\" said the Baronet, \"were found at midnight, at the last full\nmoon, in the ruins of St. Ruth's Priory, in the course of an experiment\nof which I was myself the witness.\"\n\n\"Indeed,\" said Oldbuck, \"and what means of discovery did you employ?\"\n\n\"Only a simple suffumigation,\" said the Baronet, \"accompanied by\navailing ourselves of a suitable planetary hour.\"\n\n\"Simple suffumigation! Simple nonsensification! Planetary\nhour--planetary fiddlestick! My dear Sir Arthur, the fellow has made a\ngull of you under ground, and now he would make a gull of you above\nground!\"\n\n\"Well, Mr. Oldbuck,\" said the Baronet, \"I am obliged to you for your\nopinion of my discernment, but you will at least give me credit for\nseeing what I say I saw!\"\n\n\"I will give you credit for saying that you saw what you _thought_ you\nsaw!\"\n\n\"Well, then,\" said the Baronet, \"as there is a heaven above us, Mr.\nOldbuck, I saw with my own eyes these coins dug out of the chancel of\nSt. Ruth's at midnight! And if I had not been there, I doubt if\nDousterswivel would have had the courage to go through with it!\"\n\nThe Antiquary inquired how much the discovery had cost.\n\n\"Only ten guineas,\" said the Baronet, \"but this time it is to cost a\nhundred and fifty pounds, but of course the results will be in\nproportion. Fifty I have already given him, and the other hundred I\nthought you might be able to assist me with.\"\n\nThe Antiquary mused.\n\n\"This cannot be meant as a parting blow,\" he said; \"it is not of\nconsequence enough. He will probably let you win this game also, as\nsharpers do with raw gamesters. Sir Arthur, will you permit me to speak\nto Dousterswivel? I think I can recover the treasure for you without\nmaking any advance of money.\"\n\nDousterswivel had on his part no desire to see the Laird of Monkbarns.\nHe was more in fear of him than even of the spirits of the night. Still\nhe could not refuse, when summoned to leave Sir Arthur's carriage and\nface the two gentlemen in the study at Monkbarns.\n\nThe Antiquary then and there told him that he and Sir Arthur proposed to\ntrench the whole area of the chancel of St. Ruth, in plain daylight,\nwith good substantial pickaxes and shovels, and so, without further\nexpense, ascertain for themselves the truth as to the existence of this\nhidden treasure.\n\n\"Bah,\" said the German, \"you will not find one copper thimble. But it is\nas Sir Arthur likes--once I have showed him the real method. If he likes\nto try others, he only loses the gold and the silver, that is all!\"\n\nThe journey to the Priory was made in silence, each of the party having\nenough on his mind to employ his thoughts. Edie Ochiltree joined them at\nthe ruins, and when the Antiquary pulled out of his pocket the ram's\nhorn in which the coins had been found, Edie claimed it at once for a\nsnuff-box of his which he had bartered with a miner at Mr.\nDousterswivel's excavations in Glen Withershins.\n\n\"And that brings it very near a certain friend of ours,\" said the\nAntiquary to Sir Arthur. \"I trust we shall be as successful to-day\nwithout having to pay for it.\"\n\nIt was decided to begin operations at the tomb with the carven figure\non top--the same which Sir Arthur and Dousterswivel had disturbed on a\nformer occasion, but which neither the Antiquary nor Edie ever\nremembered to have seen before. It appeared, however, that a large pile\nof rubbish, which had formerly filled up the corner of the ruins, must\nhave been dispersed in order to bring it to light.\n\nBut the diggers reached the bottom of the grave, without finding either\ntreasure or coffin.\n\n\"Some cleverer chield has been before us,\" said one of the men.\n\nBut Edie pushed them impatiently aside, and leaping into the grave, he\ncried, \"Ye are good seekers, but bad finders!\"\n\nFor the first stroke of his pike-staff into the bottom of the pit hit\nupon something hard and resisting.\n\nAll now crowded around. The labourers resumed their task with good-will,\nand soon a broad surface of wood was laid bare, and a heavy chest was\nraised to the surface, the lid of which, being forced with a pickaxe,\ndisplayed, beneath coarse canvas bags and under a quantity of oakum, a\nlarge number of ingots of solid silver.\n\nThe Antiquary inspected them one by one, always expecting that the lower\nlayers would prove to be less valuable. But he was at last obliged to\nadmit that the Baronet had really and truly possessed himself of\ntreasure to the amount of about one thousand pounds.\n\nIt chanced that Edie Ochiltree had observed Dousterswivel stand somewhat\ndisconsolate and sad, looking into the open grave. Age had not dulled\nEdie's wit, nor caused him to relish less a boyish prank. His quick eye\nhad caught some writing on the lid of the box of treasure, and while all\nwere admiring the solid ingots of precious metal laid bare before them,\nEdie kicked the piece of wood aside without being observed by any one.\n\nThen, with all due caution, he whispered to Dousterswivel that there\nmust certainly be more and better treasure yet to be brought to light in\nthe place where the silver had been found, and that if he would wait\nonly a little behind the others he would show him proof of it. When they\nwere alone he showed him on the lid of the treasure-chest the words,\nwritten in black letter:\n\n \"=Search--Number One=\"\n\nDousterswivel at once agreed to meet Edie at midnight within the ruins\nof the Priory, and he kept his word. It was a stormy night, great clouds\nbeing hurried across the face of the moon, and the woods were bending\nand moaning in the fierce blast. Edie marched up and down while he\nwaited for the German, shouldering his pike-staff, and dreaming that he\nwas back again on the outposts with a dozen hostile riflemen hidden in\nfront of him.\n\nAfter a little, Dousterswivel arrived, having brought with him a horse\nand saddle-bags in which to carry away the expected treasure. Edie led\nhim once more to the place of the former search--to the grave of the\nArmed Knight. On the way he told his companion the tale of that Malcolm\nMisticot whose treasure was supposed to have been found and rifled that\nday.\n\n\"There is a story that the Misticot walks,\" said Edie; \"it's an awesome\nnicht and an uncanny to be meeting the like of him here. Besides he\nmight not be best pleased to come upon us when we were trying to lift\nhis treasure!\"\n\n\"For the love of Heaven,\" said Dousterswivel, \"say nothing at all,\neither about somebodies or nobodies!\"\n\nEdie leaped into the grave and began to strike; but he soon tired or\npretended to tire. So he called out to the German that turn and turn\nabout was fair play. Whereupon, fired with the desire for wealth,\nDousterswivel began to strike and shovel the earth with all his might,\nwhile Edie encouraged him, standing very much at his ease by the side of\nthe hole.\n\n\"At it again,\" he cried; \"strike--strike! What for are ye stopping,\nman?\"\n\n\"Stopping,\" cried the German, angrily, looking out of the grave at his\ntormentor; \"I am down at the bed-rock, I tell you!\"\n\n\"And that's the likeliest place of any,\" said Edie; \"it will just be a\nbig broad stone laid down to cover the treasure. Ah, that's it! There\nwas a Wallace stroke indeed! It's broken! Hurrah, boys, there goes\nRingan's pickaxe! It's a shame o' the Fairport folk to sell such frail\ngear. Try the shovel; at it again, Maister Dousterdeevil!\"\n\nBut this time the German, without replying, leaped out of the pit, and\nshouted in a voice that trembled with anger, \"Does you know, Mr. Edie\nOchiltree, who it is you are putting off your gibes and your jests upon?\nYou base old person, I will cleave your skull-piece with this shovels!\"\n\n\"Ay,\" said Edie, \"and where do ye think my pike-staff would be a' the\ntime?\"\n\nBut Dousterswivel, growing more and more furious, heaved up the broken\npickaxe to smite his tormentor dead--which, indeed, he might have done\nhad not Edie, suddenly pointing with his hand, exclaimed in a stern\nvoice, \"Do ye think that heaven and earth will suffer ye to murder an\nauld man that gate--a man that might be your father? _Look behind you,\nman!_\"\n\nDousterswivel turned, and beheld, to his utter astonishment, a tall dark\nfigure standing close behind him. Whether this was the angry Misticot or\nnot, the newcomer certainly lifted a sturdy staff and laid it across the\nrascal's back, bestowing on him half-a-dozen strokes so severe that he\nfell to the ground, where he lay some minutes half unconscious with pain\nand terror.\n\nWhen the German came to himself, he was lying close to Misticot's open\ngrave on the soft earth which had been thrown out. He began to turn his\nmind to projects of revenge. It must, he thought, be either Monkbarns or\nSir Arthur who had done this, in order to be revenged upon him. And his\nmind finally deciding upon the latter, as most likely to have set Edie\nOchiltree on to deceive him, he determined from that moment to achieve\nthe ruin of his \"dear and honoured patron\" of the last five years.\n\nAs he left the precincts of the ruined Priory, he continued his vows of\nvengeance against Edie and all associated with him. He had, he declared\naloud, been assaulted and murdered, besides being robbed of fifty pounds\nas well. He would, on the very next day, put the law in motion \"against\nall the peoples\"--but against Edie Ochiltree first of all.\n\n\nA QUITE SUPERFLUOUS INTERLUDE\n\n The snow was now deep in the woods about the\n library. It lay sleek and drifted upon the paths,\n a broad-flaked, mortar-like snow, evidently\n produced on the borderland between thawing and\n freezing.\n\n \"It is fine and buttery,\" said Hugh John, with a\n glance of intention at Sir Toady Lion, which was\n equal to any challenge ever sent from Douglas to\n Percy--or even that which Mr. Lesley carried for\n Hector MacIntyre to Mr. Lovel's Fairport lodgings.\n\n Sir Toady nodded with fierce willingness. He\n scented the battle from afar.\n\n \"Ten yards then, twenty snowballs made before you\n begin, and then go as you please. But no rushing\n in, before first volley!\"\n\n \"And no holding the balls under the drip of the\n kitchen roof!\" said Hugh John, who had suffered\n from certain Toady Lionish practices which\n personally he scorned.\n\n \"Well, then,\" said I, \"out you go in your jerseys\n for one hot half-hour. But no standing about,\n mind!\"\n\n Sweetheart and Maid Margaret looked exceedingly\n wistful.\n\n \"Of course,\" I said, \"Sweetheart will want to go on\n with her knitting, but if she likes, the Maid can\n watch them from the window.\"\n\n \"Oo-oh!\" said Maid Margaret, \"I _should_ like to go\n too!\"\n\n \"And I should not mind going either,\" admitted\n Sweetheart, \"just to see that they did not hurt the\n Maid. They are such rough boys!\"\n\n So it was arranged, as I had known it would be from\n the first. The snow was still falling, but the wind\n had gone down. There was to be no standing still,\n and afterward they were to change immediately for\n dinner. These were the conditions of permitted\n civil strife.\n\n \"Please, is rolling in the snow permitted?\" said\n Hugh John, to whom this was a condition of\n importance.\n\n \"Why, yes,\" said I, \"that is, if you catch the\n enemy out of his intrenchments.\"\n\n \"Um-m-m-m!\" said Hugh John, grimly rubbing his\n hands, \"I'll catch him.\" In a lower tone he added,\n \"And I'll teach him to put snowballs in the drip!\"\n\n As he spoke, he mimicked the motions of one who\n shoves snow down inside the collar of his\n adversary.\n\n The cover of a deal box, with a soap advertisement\n on it, made a very fair intrenching tool, and soon\n formidable snow-works could be seen rising rapidly\n on the slopes of the clothes' drying ground,\n making a semicircle about that corner which\n contained the big iron swing, erect on its two tall\n posts. Hugh John and Maid Margaret, the attacking\n party, were still invisible, probably concocting a\n plan. But Sweetheart and Sir Toady, laughing and\n jesting as at some supreme stratagem, were busily\n employed throwing up the snow till it was nearly\n breast-high. The formation of the ground was in\n their favour. It fell away rapidly on all sides,\n except to the north, where the position was made\n impregnable by a huge prickly hedge.\n\n Nominally they were supposed to be enacting _The\n Antiquary_, but actually I could not see that the\n scene without bore any precise relation to what\n they had been hearing within. Perhaps, however, the\n day was too cold and stormy for standing upon the\n exactitudes of history.\n\n I did not remain all the time a spectator of the\n fray. The stated duel of twenty balls was over\n before I again reached the window. The combatants\n had entered upon the go-as-you-please stage.\n Indeed, I could gather so much even at my desk, by\n the confusion of yells and slogans emitted by the\n contending parties.\n\n Presently the cry of \"It's not fair!\" brought me to\n the window.\n\n Hugh John and Maid Margaret had evidently gained a\n certain preliminary success. For they had been able\n to reach a position from which (with long poles\n used at other times for the protection of the\n strawberry beds) they were enabled, under shelter\n themselves, to shake the branches of the big tree\n which overshadowed the swing and the position of\n the enemy. Every twig and branch was, of course,\n laden with snow, and masses fell in rapid\n succession upon the heads of the defenders. This\n was annoying at first, but at a word from Sir\n Toady, Sweetheart and he seized their intrenching\n tools, calling out: \"Thank you--thank you! It's\n helping us so much! We've been wanting that badly!\n All our snow was gone, and we had to make balls off\n the ramparts. But now it's all right. Thank\n you--thank you!\"\n\n The truth of this grew so evident that the baffled\n assailants retired to consult. Nothing better than\n a frontal attack, well sustained and driven home to\n the hilt, occurred to Hugh John; and, indeed, after\n all, that was the best thing that could happen on\n such a day. A yell, a charge, a quick batter of\n snowballs, and then a rush straight up the\n bank--Maid Margaret, lithe as a deer-hound,\n leading, her skirts kilted \"as like a boy\" as on\n the spur of the moment she could achieve with a\n piece of twine. Right on Sweetheart she rushed,\n who,--as in some sort her senior and legal\n protector,--of course, could not be very rough with\n her, nor yet use the methods customary and licensed\n between embattled brothers.\n\n But while the Maid thus held Sweetheart in play,\n Hugh John developed his stratagem. Leaning over the\n ramparts he seized Sir Toady by the collar, and\n then, throwing himself backward down the slope,\n confident in the thick blanketing of snow\n underneath, he dragged Sir Toady Lion along with\n him.\n\n \"A prisoner--a prisoner!\" he cried, both of them,\n captor and captive alike, being involved in a misty\n flurry of snow, which boiled up from the snowbank,\n in the midst of which they fraternally embraced, in\n that intimate tangle of legs and arms which only\n boys can achieve without breaking bones.\n\n \"Back--come back!\" rang out the order of the\n victorious Hugh John. \"Sit on him--sit on him\n hard!\"\n\n Thus, and not otherwise, was Sir Toady captured\n and Sweetheart left alone in the shattered\n intrenchments, which a little before had seemed so\n impregnable. Now in these snow wars, and, indeed,\n in all the combattings of the redoubtable four, it\n was the rule that a captive belonged to the side\n which took him, from the very moment of his giving\n in. He must utterly renounce his former allegiance,\n and fight for his new party as fiercely as formerly\n he had done against them. This is the only way of\n decently prolonging strife when the combatants are\n well matched, but various prejudices stand in the\n way of applying it to international conflicts.\n\n In this fashion was Sweetheart left alone in the\n fort which she and Sir Toady had constructed with\n such complete confidence. She did not, however,\n show the least fear, being a young lady of a\n singularly composed mind. On the other hand, she\n set herself to repair the various breaches in the\n walls, and so far as might be to contract them, so\n that she would have less space to defend. Then she\n sat sedately down on the swing and rocked herself\n to and fro to keep warm, till the storm should\n break on her devoted head.\n\n It broke! With unanimous yell, an army, formidable\n by being exactly three times her own numbers,\n rushed across the level space, waving flags and\n shouting in all the stern and headlong glory of the\n charge. Snowballs were discharged at the bottom of\n the glacis, the slope was climbed, and the enemy\n arrived almost at the very walls, before Sweetheart\n made a motion. There was something uncanny about\n it. She did not even dodge the balls. For one thing\n they were very badly aimed, and her chief safety\n was in sitting still. They were, you see, aiming at\n her.\n\n It soon became evident, however, that the works\n must be stormed. Still Sweetheart had made no\n motion to resist, except that, still seated on the\n broad board of the swing, she had gradually pushed\n herself back as far as she could go without losing\n her foothold on the ground.\n\n \"She's afraid!--She is retreating! On--on!\"\n\n No, Hugh John, for once your military genius has\n been at fault. For at the very moment when the\n snowy walls were being scaled, Sweetheart suddenly\n lifted her feet from the ground. The swing, pushed\n back to the limit of its chains, glided smoothly\n forward. One solidly shod boot-sole took Hugh John\n full on the chest. Another \"plunked\" Sir Toady in a\n locality which he held yet more tender, especially,\n as now, before dinner. Both warriors shot backward\n as if discharged from a petard, disappearing from\n view down the slope into the big drifts at the\n foot. Maid Margaret, who had not been touched at\n all, but who had stood (as it were) in the very\n middle of affairs, uttered one terrified yell and\n bolted.\n\n \"Time!\" cried the umpire, appearing in the\n doorway.\n\n The baffled champions entered first. While\n changing, they had got ready at least twenty\n complete explanations of their downfall.\n Sweetheart, coming in a little late, sat down to\n her sewing, and listened placidly with a faint,\n sweet, far-away smile which seemed to say that\n knitting, though an occupation despised by boys,\n does not wholly obscure the intellect. But she did\n not say a word.\n\n Her brothers somehow found this attitude\n excessively provoking.\n\n * * * * *\n\n Thus exercised in mind and body, and presently also\n fortified by the mid-day meal, the company declared\n its kind readiness to hear the rest of _The\n Antiquary_. It was not _Rob Roy_, of course--but a\n snowy day brought with it certain compensations. So\n to the crackle of the wood fire and the click and\n shift of the knitting needles, I began the final\n tale from _The Antiquary_.\n\n\n\n\nTHE THIRD TALE FROM \"THE ANTIQUARY\"\n\n\nI. THE EARL'S SECRET\n\nON the seashore not far from the mansion-house of Monkbarns stood the\nlittle fisherman's cottage of Saunders Mucklebackit. Saunders it was who\nhad rigged the mast, by which Sir Arthur and his daughter were pulled to\nthe top of the cliffs on the night of the storm. His wife came every day\nto the door of Monkbarns to sell fish to Miss Griselda, the Antiquary's\nsister, when the pair of them would stand by the hour \"skirling and\nflyting beneath his window like so many seamaws,\" as Oldbuck himself\nsaid.\n\nBesides Steenie Mucklebackit, the eldest son, the same who had assisted\nEdie Ochiltree to bestow a well-deserved chastisement upon\nDousterswivel, and a number of merry half-naked urchins, the family\nincluded the grandmother, Elspeth Mucklebackit--a woman old, but not\ninfirm, whose understanding appeared at most times to be asleep, but the\nstony terror of whose countenance often frightened the bairns more than\ntheir mother's shrill tongue and ready palm.\n\nElspeth seldom spoke. Indeed, she had done little for many years except\ntwirl the distaff in her corner by the fire. Few cared to have much to\ndo with her. She was thought to be \"far from canny,\" and certainly she\nknew more about the great family of Glenallan than it was safe to speak\naloud.\n\nIt chanced on the very night when Edie and Steenie had given a skinful\nof sore bones to the German impostor Dousterswivel, that the Countess of\nGlenallan, mother of the Earl, was brought to be buried at midnight\namong the ruins of St. Ruth.\n\nSuch had been the custom of the family from ancient times--indeed, ever\nsince the Great Earl fell fighting at the Red Harlaw against Donald of\nthe Isles. More recently there had been another reason for such a\nstrange fashion of burial. For the family were Catholics, and there had\nlong been laws in Scotland against the holding of popish ceremonials\neven on an occasion so solemn.\n\nThe news of the death of her ancient mistress, coming at last to the\nears of old Elspeth, took such hold upon her, that she could not rest\ntill she had sent off Edie Ochiltree to the Earl of Glenallan, at\nGlenallan House, with a ring for a token and the message that Elspeth of\nthe Craigburnfoot must see him before she died. She had, Edie was to\nsay, a secret on her soul, without revealing which she could not hope to\ndie in peace.\n\nAccordingly Edie set off for the castle of Glenallan, taking the ring\nwith him, but with very little hope of finding his way into the Earl's\npresence; for Lord Glenallan had been long completely withdrawn from the\nworld. His mother was Countess in her own right, and so long as she\nlived, her son had been wholly dependent upon her. In addition to which\nsome great sorrow or some great crime, the countryside was not sure\nwhich, pressed sore upon his mind, and being a strict Catholic he passed\nhis time in penance and prayer.\n\nHowever, by the help of an old soldier, one Francie Macraw, who had been\nhis rear-rank man at Fontenoy, Edie Ochiltree was able after many delays\nto win a way to the Earl's presence--though the priests who were about\nhis person evidently tried to keep everything connected with the outer\nworld from his knowledge. The Earl, a tall, haggard, gloomy man, whose\nage seemed twice what it really was, stood holding the token ring in his\nhand. At first he took Edie for a father of his own church, and demanded\nif any further penance were necessary to atone for his sin. But as soon\nas Edie declared his message, at the very first mention of the name of\nElspeth of the Craigburnfoot, the Earl's cheek became even more\ndeathlike than it had been at Edie's entrance.\n\n\"Ah,\" he said, \"that name is indeed written on the darkest page of a\nterrible history. But what can the woman want with me? Is she dead or\nliving?\"\n\n\"She is living in the body,\" said Edie, \"and at times her mind lives\ntoo--but she is an awfu' woman.\"\n\n\"She always was so,\" said the Earl, answering almost unconsciously. \"She\nwas different from other women--likest, perhaps, to her who is no\nmore--\"\n\nEdie knew that he meant his own mother, so lately dead.\n\n\"She wishes to see me,\" continued the Earl; \"she shall be gratified,\nthough the meeting will be a pleasure to neither of us.\"\n\nLord Glenallan gave Edie a handful of guineas, which, contrary to his\nusage, Edie had not the courage to refuse. The Earl's tone was too\nabsolute.\n\nThen, as an intimation that the interview was at an end, Lord Glenallan\ncalled his servant.\n\n\"See this old man safe,\" he said; \"let no one ask him any questions. And\nyou, my friend, be gone, and forget the road that leads to my house!\"\n\n\"That would indeed be difficult,\" said the undaunted Edie, \"since your\nlordship has given me such good cause to remember it.\"\n\nLord Glenallan stared, as if hardly comprehending the old man's boldness\nin daring to bandy words with him. Then, without answering, he made him\nanother signal to depart by a simple movement of his hand, which Edie,\nawed far beyond his wont, instantly obeyed.\n\n\nII. THE MOTHER'S VENGEANCE\n\nThe day of Lord Glenallan's visit to the cottage where dwelt old Elspeth\nof the Craigburnfoot seemed at first ill timed. That very day Steenie\nMucklebackit, the young, the gallant, the handsome eldest son of the\nhouse had been carried to his grave. He had been drowned while at the\nfishing, though his father had risked his life in vain to save him. The\nfamily had now returned home, and were sitting alone in the first\nbenumbing shock of their grief.\n\nIt was some time before the Earl could make good his entrance into the\ncottage. It was still longer before he could convince the old woman\nElspeth that he was really Lord Glenallan, and so obtain an opportunity\nof speaking with her. But at last they were left alone in the cottage,\nand the thick veil which had fallen upon Elspeth's spirit seemed for a\nwhile to be drawn aside. She spoke like one of an education far superior\nto her position, clearly and calmly, even when recounting the most\nterrible events.\n\nHer very first words recalled to the Earl the fair young wife, whom he\nhad married long ago, against his mother's will and without her\nknowledge.\n\n\"Name not her name,\" he cried, in agony, \"all that is dead to me--dead\nlong ago!\"\n\n\"I MUST!\" said the old woman; \"it is of her I have to speak.\"\n\nAnd in the fewest and simplest words she told him how, when his mother\nthe Countess had found means to separate husband and wife, while he\nhimself was fleeing half mad, none knew whither, the young wife had\nthrown herself in a fit of frenzy over the cliffs into the sea. It was\nto Elspeth's cottage that she and her babe had been brought.\n\n\"And here,\" said the terrible old woman, suddenly thrusting a golden\nbodkin into his hand, \"is the very dagger which your mother the Countess\ngave me in order that with it I might slay your infant son.\"\n\nThe Earl looked at the gold bodkin or dagger, as if in fancy he saw the\nblood of his child still red upon it.\n\n\"Wretch!\" he cried; \"and had you the heart?\"\n\n\"I kenna whether I would or not,\" said Elspeth. \"My mistress commanded\nand I obeyed. So did I ever. But my obedience was not to be tried that\ntime. For when I returned, the babe had gone. Your younger brother had\nbeen called up to the castle. The child had been left in the care of the\nCountess's Spanish maid, and when I returned to my cottage, both she and\nthe babe were gone. The dead body of your young wife alone remained. And\nnow,\" concluded Elspeth, abruptly, \"can you forgive me?\"\n\nLord Glenallan was going out of the hut, overwhelmed by the disclosure\nto which he had been listening. He saw his young wife hounded to death\nby his fierce and revengeful mother. He thought of the living child so\nwonderfully left to him as a legacy from the dead. Yet he turned at\nElspeth's last words.\n\n\"May God forgive thee, miserable woman,\" he said. \"Turn for mercy to\nHim. He will forgive you as sincerely as I do.\"\n\nAs Lord Glenallan went out into the sunlight, he met face to face with\nthe Antiquary himself, who was on his way to the cottage to offer what\nconsolation or help might be in his power. The Earl and he recognised\none another, but the Antiquary's greeting was hard and cold. As a\nmagistrate he had made, on his own responsibility and against all the\npower of the Glenallan family, the legal inquiries into the death of the\nEarl's young wife. Indeed, during a residence which she had made at\nKnockwinnock Castle with the Wardour family twenty years ago, and while\nshe was still only known as Miss Eveline Neville, the Antiquary had\nloved her and had asked her to be his wife. It was, indeed, chiefly on\nher account that he had never married. Mr. Oldbuck had never ceased to\nmourn her, and now, believing as he had good reason to do, that the Earl\nwas the cause of her untimely death, and of the stigma which rested upon\nher name, it was little wonder that he should wish to have no dealings\nwith him.\n\nBut the Earl had a great need in his heart to speak to some one. In a\nmoment the whole world seemed to have changed for him. For the first\ntime he knew the truth about a dark deed of cruelty. For the first time,\nalso, he knew that he had a son. He desired above all else the wise\ncounsel of a true friend. In his heart he had admired the fearlessness\nof the Antiquary in the bold inquiry he had made at the time of Eveline\nNeville's death, and now, refusing to be rebuffed, he followed Mr.\nOldbuck as he was turning away, and demanded that he should not deny him\nhis counsel and assistance at a most terrible and critical moment.\n\nIt was not in the good Antiquary's nature to refuse such a request from\nEarl or beggar, and their interview ended in the Earl's accepting the\nhospitality of Monkbarns for the night, in order that they might have\nplenty of time to discuss the whole subject of Elspeth's communication.\n\nOn his own part Mr. Oldbuck had some comfort to give Lord Glenallan. He\nhad kept the papers which concerned the inquiry carefully, and he was\nable to assure his lordship that his brother had carried off the babe\nwith him, probably for the purpose of having it brought up and educated\nupon the English estates he had inherited from his father, and on which\nhe had ever afterward lived.\n\n\"My brother,\" said Lord Glenallan, \"is recently dead, which makes our\nsearch the more difficult. Furthermore, I am not his heir. He has left\nhis property to a stranger, as indeed he had every right to do. But as\nthe heir is like himself a Protestant, he may be unwilling to aid the\ninquiry--\"\n\n\"I trust,\" interrupted Mr. Oldbuck, with some feeling, \"that you will\nfind a Protestant can be as honest and honourable as a Catholic.\"\n\nThe Earl protested that he had no idea of supposing otherwise.\n\n\"Only,\" he continued, \"there was an old steward on the estate who in all\nprobability is the only man now living who knows the truth. But it is\nnot expected that any man will willingly disinherit himself. For if I\nhave a living son, my father's estates are entailed on him, and the\nsteward may very likely stand by his master.\"\n\n\"I have a friend in Yorkshire,\" said Mr. Oldbuck, \"to whom I can apply\nfor information as to the character of your brother's heir, and also as\nto the disposition of his steward. That is all we can do at present. But\ntake courage, my lord. I believe that your son is alive.\"\n\nIn the morning Lord Glenallan returned to the castle in his carriage,\nwhile Mr. Oldbuck, hearing from Hector that he was going down to\nFairport, in order to see that old Edie Ochiltree had fair play before\nthe magistrates, offered to bear him company.\n\nEdie Ochiltree--in prison for thwacking the ribs of Dousterswivel, which\nhe had done (or at least poor Steenie Mucklebackit for him), and for\nstealing the German's fifty pounds, which he had not done--willingly\nrevealed to Monkbarns what he had refused to breathe to Bailie\nLittlejohn of the Fairport magistracy. After some delay Edie was\naccordingly liberated on the Antiquary's bail, and immediately\naccompanied his good friend to the cottage of old Elspeth Mucklebackit,\nwhere, by the Earl's request, Oldbuck was to take down a statement from\nher lips, such as might be produced in a court of law. But no single\nsyllable would the old beldame now utter against her ancient mistress.\n\n\"Ha,\" she said, at the first question put to her by the Antiquary; \"I\nthought it would come to this. It's only sitting silent when they\nquestion me. There's nae torture in our days, and if there was, let them\nrend me! It ill becomes a vassal's mouth to betray the bread which it\nhas eaten.\"\n\nThen they told her that her mistress, the Countess Jocelin, was dead,\nhoping this might bring her to confession. But the news had quite an\nopposite effect.\n\n\"Dead!\" cried Elspeth, aroused as ever by the sound of her mistress's\nname, \"then, if she be gone before, the servant must follow. All must\nride when she is in the saddle. Bring my scarf and hood! Ye wadna hae me\ngang in the carriage with my lady, and my hair all abroad in this\nfashion!\"\n\nShe raised her withered arms, and her hands seemed busied like those of\na woman who puts on a cloak to go a journey.\n\n\"Call Miss Neville,\" she continued; \"what do you mean by Lady Geraldin?\nI said Eveline Neville. There's no Lady Geraldin. But tell her to change\nher wet gown and not to look so pale. Bairn--what should she do wi' a\nbairn? She has nane, I trow! Teresa--Teresa--my lady calls us! Bring a\ncandle! The grand staircase is as black before me as a Yule midnight!\nComing, my lady, we are coming!\"\n\nWith these words, and as if following in the train of her mistress, old\nElspeth, once of the Craigburnfoot, sunk back on the settle, and from\nthence sidelong to the floor.\n\n\nIII. THE HEIR OF GLENALLAN\n\nMeanwhile doom was coming fast upon poor Sir Arthur Wardour. He seemed\nto be utterly ruined. The treachery of Dousterswivel, the pressing and\nextortionate demands of a firm called Goldiebirds, who held a claim over\nhis estate, the time-serving of his own lawyers, at last brought the\nofficers of the law down upon him. He found himself arrested for debt in\nhis own house. He was about to be sent to prison, when Edie Ochiltree,\nwho in his day had been deep in many plots, begged that he might be\nallowed to drive over to Tannanburgh, and promised that he would\ncertainly bring back some good news from the post-office there.\n\nIt was all that Oldbuck, with his best tact and wisdom, could do to keep\nHector MacIntyre from assaulting the officers of the law during the\nabsence of Edie. Two long hours they waited. The carriage had already\nbeen ordered round to the door to convey Sir Arthur to prison. Miss\nWardour was in agony, her father desperate with shame and grief, when\nEdie arrived triumphantly grasping a packet. He delivered it forthwith\nto the Antiquary. For Sir Arthur, knowing his own weakness, had put\nhimself unreservedly into the hands of his abler friend. The packet,\nbeing opened, was found to contain a writ stopping the proceedings, a\nletter of apology from the lawyers who had been most troublesome, and a\nnote from Captain Wardour, Sir Arthur's son, enclosing a thousand pounds\nfor his father's immediate needs. It also declared that ere long he\nhimself would come to the castle along with a distinguished officer,\nMajor Neville, who had been appointed to report to the War Office\nconcerning the state of the defences of the country.\n\n\"Thus,\" said the Antiquary, summing up the situation, \"was the last\nsiege of Knockwinnock House laid by Saunders Sweepclean, the bailiff,\nand raised by Edie Ochiltree, the King's Blue-Gown!\"\n\nThere was, at the time when the story of the Antiquary and his doings\ndraws to a close, a daily expectation of a French invasion. Beacons had\nbeen prepared on every hill and headland, and men were set to watch. One\nof these beacons had been intrusted to old Caxon the hairdresser, and\none night he saw, directly in the line of the hill to the south which he\nwas to watch, a flame start suddenly up. It was undoubtedly the token\nagreed upon to warn the country of the landing of the French.\n\nHe lighted his beacon accordingly. It threw up to the sky a long\nwavering train of light, startling the sea-fowl from their nests, and\nreddening the sea beneath the cliffs. Caxon's brother warders, equally\nzealous, caught and repeated the signal. The district was soon awake and\nalive with the tidings of invasion.\n\n[Illustration: \"ONE night he saw, directly in the line of the hill to\nthe south which he was to watch, a flame start suddenly up. It was\nundoubtedly the token agreed upon to warn the country of the landing of\nthe French.\n\n\"He lighted his beacon accordingly.\"]\n\nFrom far and near the Lowland burghers, the country lairds, the Highland\nchiefs and clans responded to the summons. They had been drilling for\nlong, and now in the dead of the night they marched with speed upon\nFairport, eager to defend that point of probable attack.\n\nLast of all the Earl of Glenallan came in with a splendidly mounted\nsquadron of horse, raised among his Lowland tenants, and five hundred\nHighland clansmen with their pipes playing stormily in the van.\nPresently also Captain Wardour arrived in a carriage drawn by four\nhorses, bringing with him Major Neville, the distinguished officer\nappointed to the command of the district. The magistrates assembled at\nthe door of their town-house to receive him. The volunteers, the\nyeomanry, the Glenallan clansmen--all were there awaiting the great man.\n\nWhat was the astonishment of the people of Fairport, and especially of\nthe Antiquary, to see descend from the open door of the carriage,--who\nbut the quiet Mr. Lovel.\n\nHe had brought with him the news that the alarm of invasion was false.\nThe beacon which Caxon had seen was only the burning of the mining\nmachinery in Glen Withershins which had been ordered by Oldbuck and Sir\nArthur to make a final end of Dousterswivel's plots and deceits.\n\nBut there was yet further and more interesting private news. The proofs\nthat Lovel was indeed the son of the Earl of Glenallan were found to be\noverwhelming. His heirship to the title had been fully made out. The\nchaplain who had performed his father's wedding had returned from\nabroad, exiled by the French Revolution. The witnesses also had been\nfound. Most decisive of all, among the papers of the Earl's late\nbrother, there was discovered a duly authenticated account of his\ncarrying off the child, and of how he had had him educated and pushed on\nin the army.\n\nSo that very night the Antiquary enjoyed in some degree the crowning\npleasure of his whole life, in bringing together father and son for the\nfirst time. That is, if the marriage which took place soon after between\nhis young friend Lovel (or Lord William Geraldin) and Miss Isabella\nWardour of Knockwinnock Castle did not turn out to be a yet greater\npleasure. Old Edie still travels from farm to farm, but mostly now\nconfines himself to the short round between Monkbarns and Knockwinnock.\nIt is reported, however, that he means soon to settle with old Caxon,\nwho, since the marriage of his daughter to Lieutenant Taffril, has been\ngiven a cottage near the three wigs which he still keeps in order in the\nparish,--the minister's, Sir Arthur's, and best of all, that of our good\nand well-beloved Antiquary.\n\n\nTHE END OF THE LAST TALE FROM \"THE ANTIQUARY.\"\n\n * * * * *\n\n\n \"Now,\" said Sweetheart, nodding particular\n approval, \"that is the way a story ought to end\n up--everything going on from chapter to chapter,\n with no roundabouts, and everything told about\n everybody right to the very end!\"\n\n \"Hum,\" said Hugh John, with a curl of his nose;\n \"well, that's done with! But it was good about the\n Storm and the Duel! The rest was--\"\n\n \"Hush,\" said Sweetheart, \"remember, it was written\n by Sir Walter.\"\n\n \"Sir,\" said I to Hugh John, heavily parental,\n \"_The Antiquary_ may not now be much to your\n taste, but the day will come when you may probably\n prefer it to all the rest put together.\"\n\n At these words the young man assumed the expression\n common to boys who are bound to receive the\n wholesome advice of their elders, yet who do so\n with silent but respectful doubt, if not with\n actual disbelief.\n\n \"Well,\" he said, after a long pause, \"anyway, the\n Duel _was_ good. And I'd jolly well like to find a\n treasure in Misticot's grave. Can we have another\n snow fight?\"\n\nTHE END OF THE FIRST SERIES OF RED CAP TALES FROM THE TREASURE-CHEST OF\nTHE WIZARD OF THE NORTH.\n\n\nFOOTNOTES:\n\n[1] These were Scottish children to whom the stories were retold, and\nthey understood the Scottish tongue. So the dialect parts were\noriginally told in that speech. Now, however, in pity for children who\nhave the misfortune to inherit only English, I have translated all the\nhard words and phrases as best I could. But the old is infinitely\nbetter, and my only hope and aim is, that the retelling of these stories\nby the living voice may send every reader, every listener, to the Master\nof Romance himself. If I succeed in this, my tale-telling shall not have\nbeen in vain.\n\n[2] _i.e._ scarecrow.\n\n * * * * *\n\nTranscriber's Notes\n\nObvious punctuation errors repaired.\n\nOne reference each of \"lifeblood\" and \"life-blood\" were retained. This\nwas also done with \"sea-shore\" and \"seashore\".\n\nPage 151, \"campanion\" changed to \"companion\" (sole companion a)\n\nPage 180, \"summons\" changed to \"summon\" (would summon all)\n\nPage 324, \"than\" changed to \"then\" (and then began)\n\nPage 374, \"hims\" changed to \"his\" (mounted on his)","title":"Red Cap Tales, Stolen from the Treasure Chest of the Wizard of the North","tradition":"myth-cosmogony","translated_text":null,"word_count":85870}