{"collection":"myth-cosmogony","full_text_available":true,"graph_url":"https://unchartedknowledge.5gfusion.net/v2/api/page/gutenberg_58913/graph","html_url":"https://unchartedknowledge.5gfusion.net/v2/page/gutenberg_58913","id":"gutenberg_58913","license":"Public Domain (US)","rights_basis":"gutenberg_metadata_copyright_false","source":"gutenberg","source_url":"https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/58913","summary":null,"tags":["Category: Mythology, Legends & Folklore","Highlands (Scotland) -- Fiction","Legends -- Scotland"],"text":"Produced by Jeroen Hellingman and the Online Distributed\nProofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net/ for Project\nGutenberg (This file was produced from images generously\nmade available by The Internet Archive/American Libraries.)\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n                               LEGENDARY\n                        TALES OF THE HIGHLANDS.\n\n                              A SEQUEL TO\n                           HIGHLAND RAMBLES.\n\n\n                                   BY\n                     Sir THOMAS DICK LAUDER, Bart.\n\n            AUTHOR OF \"LOCHANDHU,\" \"THE WOLFE OF BADENOCH,\"\n                        \"THE MORAY FLOODS,\" ETC.\n\n\n                           IN THREE VOLUMES.\n\n                               VOLUME I.\n\n\n                                LONDON:\n                       HENRY COLBURN, PUBLISHER,\n                       GREAT MARLBOROUGH STREET.\n                              M.DCCC.XLI.\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\nCONTENTS OF THE FIRST VOLUME.\n\n\n    DEDICATION,                                             vii\n\n    INTRODUCTION,                                            xi\n\n    STRATHDAWN,                                               1\n\n    THE WATER-KELPIE'S BRIDLE AND THE MERMAID'S STONE,       13\n\n    THE DOMINIE DEPARTS,                                     25\n\n    HISTORY OF SERJEANT ARCHY STEWART,                       32\n\n    GALLANTRY OF THE SEVENTY-FIRST HIGHLAND LIGHT INFANTRY,  62\n\n    LEGEND OF THE CLAN-ALLAN STEWARTS,                       77\n\n    FATE OF THE OULD AUNCIENT MONUMENTS,                    261\n\n\n\nILLUSTRATIONS.\n\n    SUMMARY JUSTICE OF A HIGHLAND CHIEF,                    113\n\n    THE TABLES TURNED,                                      223\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n                                   TO\n                               HIS GRACE\n                          JOHN DUKE OF ARGYLL.\n\n\nMy Dear Duke,\n\nThe permission which you have so kindly given me to dedicate these\nVolumes to you, affords me a double source of gratification.\n\nIn the first place, it recalls and strengthens the recollection of\nthe first formation of that, which may now be called an old friendship\nbetween us; from the continuance of which I have, from time to time,\nderived so much valuable scientific and general information, as well\nas so much rational recreation of mind, and which has, moreover,\nproduced some of the happiest hours of my life.\n\nSecondly, I am thus allowed to attach to my Highland Legends the name\nof Mac Chailein Mh\u00f2ir, which is certainly, of all others, that most\nfitted to be associated with Highland story.\n\nWith my best thanks, therefore, and with every wish for your Grace's\nhealth and happiness, as well as for those of all you hold dear, I\nbeg that you will always believe me to be, with the highest respect\nand regard,\n\n    My dear Duke,\n\n        Most sincerely and affectionately yours,\n\n            THOS. DICK LAUDER.\n\n                                                       The Grange House,\n                                                        19th March 1840.\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\nNOTE EXPLANATORY OF THE ARGYLL PATRONIMIC OF MAC CHAILEAN MHOIR.\n\n\nThis patronimic of the noble family of Argyll has been strangely\nchanged by Sir Walter Scott, and others, into MacCallum More. The\ntrue orthography and reading of it is Mac Chailein, that is, the\nson or descendant of Colin. M\u00f2r signifies great; and when used in\nthe genitive case as above, it is written Mhoir--pronounced V\u00f2r,\nor rather Vore--having much the same sound as More in English.\n\nMac Chailein Mhoir, the son of the Great Colin, or Mac Chailean, is\nsynonymous in Gaelic with Argyll; and M\u00f2r, great, makes it, in fact,\nthe Great Argyll.\n\nCalain M\u00f2r--so called from his stature or his actions--was the eighth\nknight of Lochow of the name of Campbell. He commanded the right wing\nof the Scottish army at the battle of Largs, in the year 1263. His\nfather Archibald was in life at the time, though Colin led on the\nmen of Argyll. Colin Mor was knighted by Alexander III. in the year\n1280. He was killed in a fight with John Bachach (that is, Lame John)\nMacDougald of Lorn about the year 1293, in forcing a pass called the\nAth-dearg, or the Bloody Ford, in Lorn. His remains were carried to\nKilchrennan, on Lochow side, and interred in the parish churchyard,\nwhere his tombstone is still a conspicuous object. From him the family\nof Argyll have the patronimic of Mac Chailean Mhoir, or, as generally\npronounced, Mac Calain M\u00f2r.\n\nThe Author has to thank the Rev. Dr. Norman MacLeod of Glasgow\nfor having afforded him the information which has enabled him to\ngive this explanation, and he is the more grateful for it from the\ninterest he personally takes in the memory of the heroic Sir Colin,\nfrom whose great grand-daughter, Alicia, he has himself the honour\nof being descended.\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\nTO THE READER.\n\n\nThese three volumes of Highland Legends are published in continuation\nof those which appeared in 1837, and in pursuance of a plan--long\ncherished by the Author--of collecting, and preserving in print,\nall the more interesting of the traditional and local histories of\nthe Highlanders that yet remain, but which, to the regret of all\nantiquaries, are fast melting away. Not a year passes over us, that\ndoes not see some ancient Seanachaidh, whom perhaps we may have known\nas the venerable historian of the district where he lived,--to whose\ntales of love, strife, or peril, we may have often listened with eager\nattention,--borne to his silent grave in the simple churchyard of some\nlonely Highland parish, where his snow-white head is consigned to\nits parent earth, and there left to moulder into dust and oblivion,\ntogether with all the legendary lore which it contained. The Author\nhas always had great pleasure in availing himself of every opportunity\nthat occurred to him, of conversing with those living records of the\nglens, and he has never failed to write down whatsoever curious matter\nit may have been his good fortune to gather from them. By such means,\nas well as by the assistance of many kind friends, he has been enabled\nto make a very considerable collection of these traditions, from all\nparts of the Highlands of Scotland; and, like all other collectors,\nhe has become only just so much the more insatiably avaricious to\nincrease his store, the larger that he sees the heap becoming.\n\nSuch legends are not only curious and interesting in themselves,\nbut they will often prove to be helps to history, from the little\nincidents which they furnish, that may throw light upon it. But,\nhowever they are to be estimated in this respect, they must always be\nconsidered as having some value, from the pictures which they afford\nof the manners of the times to which they belong.\n\nIt is quite possible that many of these Traditions, in the course of\ntheir long descent through successive ages, during which they have\nbeen distilled and redistilled through the poetical imaginations\nof so many narrators, may have undergone considerable alteration,\nand even, perhaps, in some instances, exaggeration. To many fervid\nminds such an effect produced by their antiquity, may not render them\none whit less palatable; whilst people of a less romantic and more\ncommon-sense cast, will always be able to winnow out for themselves\nthe more solid grains from the glittering but empty chaff. But any\none, who, from the apparent improbability of some of their attendant\ncircumstances, should assert that such legends have no foundation in\nfact, would fall, it is apprehended, into a very grievous error. The\nAuthor thinks that no legend, however improbable, can have been\ncreated, without having had some foundation in reality,--some germ,\nin short, from which it had its origin,--and perhaps he cannot better\nillustrate this observation, or prove its truth, than by narrating\na circumstance with the particulars of which he was favoured by his\nfriend the Venerable Archdeacon Williams, which shows this connexion\nin the strongest light. What he has to tell, it is true, belongs more\nparticularly to the Principality of Wales, but it only furnishes a\nmore than ordinarily curious and striking example of a class, of which\nmany similar samples might be easily produced from the Highlands of\nScotland, as well as from many other parts of the world.\n\nSome of the Welsh legendary historians tell us, that in the year\n500, there flourished a renowned chief called Benlli Gawr. His\nusual residence was where the present town of Mold now stands, and\nhis hill-fort, or place of strength was erected on the highest of\nthe Clwydian range, nearly due west from Mold, and about half way\nbetween that place and Ruthin. The hill on which the remains of this\nfortalice still exist, is called Moel Benlli, or the conical hill\nof Benlli, and it presents a conspicuous object from Mold, Ruthin,\nand Denbigh. An immense carnedd or cairn of stones, which was still\nto be seen some years ago in an entire state in a field about half\na mile from the town of Mold, was supposed to have been the place\nof this hero's interment; and if we may believe what we read in the\nWelsh verses on the graves of the warriors of the Isle of Britain,\nhis son's place of sepulture was in a spot about eight miles distant,\nand is thus noticed in the following rhymes:--\n\n\n   \"Pian y bedhd yn y Maes Mawr,\n    Balen a law ar ei larn awr:\n    Bedhd Beli ab Benlli Gawr.\"\n\n\nThat is,--\n\n\n   \"He who owns the grave in the large field,\n    Proud his hand on his blade:\n    The grave of Beli, son of Benlli Gawr.\"\n\n\nBut to return to the great Carnedd of Benlli himself in the field\nnear Mold. It was always called Tomen y r Ellyllon, or the Tumulus\nof the Goblins, and for this reason, that from time immemorial it\nwas believed that the grim ghost of Benlli, in the form of a knight\nclad in splendid gear, and especially wearing a Celain Aur, or golden\ncorselet, appeared after sunset, standing on the cairn, or walking\nround it, and that there he continued to maintain his cold post,\ntill the scent of the morning air, or the crowing of the cock, drove\nhim to the necessity of retiring from it to some more comfortable\nquarters. This legend had for generations so terrified the people,\nthat no bribe could have tempted any one to have passed by that way\nafter nightfall. Yet, though nobody went thither, and that every\npossibility of having anything like direct evidence as to what the\nspectre knight's personal appearance and dress really were, had been\nthus precluded by the circumstance that every one shunned his dreaded\npresence, the most wonderful and incredible accounts of his stern\ncountenance and terrific bearing, together with the most fearful\nstories of their effects upon people who had beheld them, continued\nto be propagated, although no one could specify the individuals who\nhad seen them, or been so affected by them.\n\nTowards the end of the year 1833, it happened that the occupier of\nthe field where the carnedd stood, took it into his head, that the\nstones of which it was composed might be of use for the construction\nof a road, or for filling drains, or for some such rural purpose. It\nwas with some difficulty that he could procure workmen bold enough to\nmake such an assault on the very castle of the goblin, even although\nit was to be carried on during the hours that the blessed sun was\nabroad. But having at last succeeded in obtaining these, he proceeded\nto work, and soon drove away some four or five hundred cart-loads of\nstones from the cairn, when, at last, the workmen came upon something\nof a strange shape, which was manifestly constructed of some sort of\nmetal. It was with no little dread that they ventured to touch it,\nbut their observation having led them to believe that it was some\nold brass pot-lid or frying-pan, it ceased to be an object either\nof dread or of interest in their unlearned eyes, and they threw it\ncarelessly into a hedge, where it lay all night neglected.\n\nSome person of education having come to the spot next morning, who\nhad heard of such a thing having been found, was led by curiosity\nto examine it, when, to the astonishment of all who heard of it, the\nbrazen frying-pan was discovered to be a lorica, or corselet of gold.\n\nThe metal was found to be of about the same degree of purity as our\npresent coin. It was so thin, that it weighed altogether no more than\nsixty sovereigns, and therefore it appears evident that it could\nnot have been used as armour of defence in combat. It is more than\nprobable that it must have been worn merely as an ornamental piece of\narmour on occasions of state or parade, in which case it was, very\nlikely, originally lined with leather. It was embossed all over it,\nof a simple pattern, but it was not perforated.\n\nThe obliging correspondent through whose kindness, and that of his\nfriends, I have become possessed of these very remarkable facts,\namuses himself by calculating the immense value which such a piece\nof dress must have had in the time of Benlli-Gawr, its wearer, that\nis, in the year 500. \"This,\" says he, \"may be done by referring\nto the ancient laws of Wales, now publishing under the Government\nCommission. In these laws, the average price of a cow was five\nshillings, and allowing for the difference in the value of money,\na cow would now cost about ten pounds. Then one pound at that time\nwould buy four cows, and the ten pounds would buy forty cows, and the\nsixty sovereigns would be the value of two hundred and forty cows,\nor two thousand four hundred pounds sterling.\"\n\nThis curious and highly valuable morceau of antiquity was immediately\nclaimed by the Honourable Edward Mostyn Lloyd Mostyn as lord of the\nmanor, and by Colonel Salusbury of Gallbfarnan as the possessor of\nthe field where it was found, and the law having determined that it\nshould belong to the former gentleman, it is now in his possession. It\nis gratifying to the Author to think, that it should have fallen into\nthe hands of Mr. Mostyn, with whom he has since had the honour of\nbecoming acquainted, during the Welsh Eisteddvod, held at Liverpool,\nwhere, as President of that body, his high attainments--his courteous\nmanners--and his ardent devotion to the cause of the preservation of\nWelsh literature and antiquities, gave universal satisfaction to all\npresent, and afforded a sufficient assurance for the safety of the\ninteresting relic, of which an account has been given.\n\nThis is certainly a very powerful instance of the soundness of the\nproposition, that legendary tales, however incredible many of their\ncircumstances may be, have always some foundation in truth. It appears\nto be by no means difficult to speculate reasonably enough on the\nprobabilities of the matter in this case; and it would seem that they\nhave in all likelihood been these:--In the year 500 or thereabouts,\nthe renowned hero, Benlli, died, and in obedience to his own last\ninstructions, or of those of his son, Beli, or of some other relative\nor friend, he was buried in the tumulus with his golden corselet on,\nand then the carnedd was heaped up over his remains. To prevent the\nrisk of any avaricious follower or serf, or any other promiscuous\npilferer, uncovering his body during the night, in order to possess\nhimself of the glittering prize, his surviving friends circulate the\nstory that his ghost, frowning fearfully, as such ghosts are wont, is\nseen nightly to guard the tumulus, girt in the golden armour. Terror\nfills the superstitious minds of the inhabitants of the district,\nand no man for his life will venture to approach the Carnedd after\nsunset. This lie protective is thus very naturally and innocently\nhanded down from one generation of the superstitious people of the\nneighbourhood to that which succeeds it, and implicitly believed; and\nso the story is traditionally preserved for about fourteen hundred\nyears, until it is now at last unravelled, in our own time, by the\nremoval of the Carnedd of stones, and the discovery of the golden\ncorselet itself.\n\nLet not any one refuse then to give credence to the main circumstances\nof these our Highland Legends, because they may perhaps be somewhat\noverlaid with circumstances of a romantic or doubtful nature, but let\nthe judgment rather be exercised to discover, and to discriminate,\nbetween the thread of the true and original history, and those\nadventitious filaments of later manufacture which have from time to\ntime been introduced and interwoven with it. This will generally\nbe found to be no very difficult task, and there are many by whom\nit will be considered rather as an agreeable amusement, than as an\nirksome occupation.\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\nHIGHLAND RAMBLES.\n\nSTRATHDAWN.\n\n\nWe left the Highland village of Tomantoul after an early breakfast,\nand proceeded to wend our way slowly up the pastoral valley of\nAven. The scenery as yet had nothing peculiarly striking about it,\nbut our faces were turned towards the Cairngorm group of mountains,\nand the closing in of the hills forming the termination of our present\nview, already excited interesting expectation regarding those higher\nregions which arose beyond them. This was especially the case with\nmy fellow-travellers, who had not previously visited this elevated\ndistrict. A certain air of tranquil repose that hung over every thing\naround us, and gave an indescribable charm to the simple features of\nnature, rather disposed our minds to quiet and passive enjoyment,\nso that we walked leisurely along for some time, less inclined to\ntalk than to ruminate each within himself. Our young friend Clifford\nwas the first to break silence.\n\nClifford.--What a beautiful little plain!--How animating the clear\nriver that waters it, with its stream sparkling under the bright\nmorning sun!--And see how appropriate the few figures that give life\nto it. Those cattle there, so agreeably disposed, cropping the fresh\nherbage, with that boy so intent upon plaiting a cap of rushes for the\ninnocent little girl who sits beside him. It would make a subject for\na Cuyp or a Paul Potter. What a scene of simple happiness, contentment,\nand peace!\n\nDominie Macpherson.--It is indeed a quiet enough scene at this moment,\nsir. But peaceful as it is at this present time, it hath not been\nalways so, for it hath more than once had its green turf trodden\ninto black and dusty earth by the thundering hoof of the neighing\nbattle-steed. The day has been, Mr. Clifford, when, as Maro has it:--\n\n\n    -----------------------------------\"Agmine facto\n    Quadrupedante putrem sonitu quatit ungula campum.\"\n\n\nHere it was, sir, that Montrose encampit with his army in 1645, alter\nhaving defeated the godly sons of the covenant in the bloody field of\nAuldern, and before marching to glut his cruel spirit by massacring\nmore of them at Alford on the Don. And, as if the soil of this fair\nspot had not been thus sufficiently polluted, it so chanced that,\nin June 1689, the bloody Clavers also cumbered it with himself and\nhis followers on his way to the Pass of Killiecrankie, where, on the\n16th of July thereafter, praise be to the Lord, his wicked existence\nwas at last put an end to.\n\nGrant.--Ha! These historical recollections do indeed give a new\ninterest to the scene.\n\nClifford.--Only fancy the motley troops, in the varied military\ncostume of the time, drawn up here in their lines, the tents and huts\nstretching along yonder in regular order,--the mingled sounds arising\nfrom the busy camp followers,--the trumpets clanging,--and the bold\nDundee scampering across the plain on his gallant black charger! What\na contrast to the figures which are now before us!\n\nDominie.--Aye; and if all tales be true, he was but an uncanny beast\nthat black hone of his. But, my certy! the beast and the man were\nwell matched.\n\nClifford.--You seem to have a great distaste at the Viscount Dundee,\nMr. Macpherson, and yet he was followed by the great mass of your\nHighland clans.\n\nDominie.--That may be, Mr. Clifford; but that makes no odds to me,\nsir. I am in no ways answerable for the deeds of my forebears. If\nthey turned out to support popery and yepiscopacy, that is not what I\nwould have done. I reverence the manes of those sainted heroes who drew\ntheir good broadswords for God and the Covenant, and who suffered all\nmanner of tortures and all kinds of cruel deaths rather than abandon\nso glorious a cause,--a cause, let me tell you, with all due respeck\nto you, Mr. Clifford,--a cause in which I should be proud to die at\nthis moment.\n\nClifford.--Your enthusiasm is not only excusable, but honourable\nto you, Mr. Macpherson. But will you tell me the name of this spot,\nthat I may endeavour to remember it?\n\nDominie.--It is called Dell-a-Vorar, or the Lord's-haugh, a name which\nit got from one, or may be from both of these two lords I have named,\nthough it is more probable that it was from Clavers, seeing that the\nplace in Braemar to which he marched from here has ever since borne\nthe same name.\n\nGrant.--I know there is a place in Braemar so called.\n\nAuthor.--By the bye, Mr. Macpherson, does not the dwelling of Willox\nthe wizard lie somewhere in this neighbourhood?\n\nDominie.--Yes, sir, it does. Gaulrig, as the place is called, lies\nup beyond yon hollow in the hill on the right side of the glen which\nyou see before us yonder, dipping into the valley of the Aven from\nthe north.\n\nClifford.--Let us visit the old fellow by all means, Mr. Macpherson.\n\nDominie.--We may easily do that, sir, for the house is not much out\nof your way, and we are pretty sure of finding him, for he is too\nold now to be often or far from home.\n\nA walk of some couple of miles brought us to the place where we found\nthe residence of this extraordinary man, standing on the sloping side\nof the northern hill, immediately below a small tributary ravine, which\nancient popular superstition has very appropriately consigned to the\ndominion of the fairies, and other beings belonging to the world of\nspirits, and in which there is one of those green artificial-looking\nknolls called shians, from their being supposed to be places of\nespecial fairy resort. His cottage hangs on the edge of the bank\nfacing the Aven, is of the most primitive architecture, composed of\ndrystones and sods, and forms, with its humble out-houses, two sides\nof a small square. Near one angle of the house there is a rude stone,\non which the old warlock is in the habit of sitting to enjoy the sun.\n\nUnderstanding that Willox was at all times rather flattered by a\nvisit from strangers, we made no scruple in requesting an interview\nwith him; and, accordingly, he soon appeared from the door of his\ndwelling. Notwithstanding all that Mr. Macpherson had said to the\ncontrary, I had found it a difficult matter to persuade myself that I\nwas not to see a vulgar countenance, strongly marked with that species\nof sordid cunning, which one might suppose sufficient to enable a\nknave, of the lowest description, to impose on the most ignorant class\nof rustics. The figure of the man, indeed, who now showed himself,\nhad nothing about it to do away with this preconceived notion of\nmine. He was rather under the middle size, and was dressed in the\nordinary hodden grey clothes, which have now so generally usurped the\nplace of the gayer tartans, and more picturesque highland dress. But\nI at once perceived that his low stature was to be attributed to the\ndecrepitude of old age, for he was probably above ninety. The moment\nhe put forth his head from the threshold, and perceived those who\nsought for an interview with him, an inconceivable expression flashed\nfrom his eyes, which, I might almost say, threw over him a certain\nlight of dignity. We were all of us at once convinced that this was\nno common man, and our regard was riveted upon him. It seemed as if\nthe native lightnings of an uneducated, but naturally very powerful\nmind, were bursting through the obscurity of those grey orbs, which\nhad been dimmed by the gathering mists of many a long year. The half\ndormant spirit appeared to have been suddenly summoned to the portal\nof the eye, by this anticipated interview with people whom he had\nnever seen before, just as, in the olden time, the jealous captain\nof a fortress might have been brought to its barbican by the bugle\ncall of some knight of doubtful mien who wished to hold parley.\n\nAs he advanced to meet us, I was struck with the corselike paleness\nof his face, to which the glaze of his eyeballs, and the grizzly\nand tangled locks that strayed from beneath his bonnet, gave an\ninexpressibly ghastly effect. A transient gleam of electric fire shot\nfrom within his eyeballs into each of our countenances individually, as\nhe was introduced to us in succession. We felt as if it had penetrated\ninto the inmost recesses of our very souls. It appeared to us as if he\nhad thereby been enabled, from long practice in the study of mankind,\nat once to read our several characters and thoughts, like so many\nlines of the great book of nature hastily skimmed over. To each of\nus in turn he bowed with a polished air, and a manner like that of a\nfaded courtier of the age of Louis Quatorze, than the inhabitant of\nso humble a dwelling, in the simple and pastoral valley of Strathdawn;\nand strangely indeed did it contrast with the coarseness and poverty of\nhis dress, and the squalid impropret\u00e9 of his whole personal appearance.\n\nAfter the usual preliminary salutations were over, I expressed a wish\nto see the far-famed magical kelpie's bridle and mermaid's stone, for\nthe possession of which he is so celebrated in all the neighbouring\ndistricts.\n\n\"You shall see them both, sir,\" said he, after eyeing me for a moment\nwith a searching look. \"To such gentlemen as you, I cannot refuse a\nsight of them, though they are hardly to be seen by vulgar eyes, and\nnever to be handled by vulgar hands;\" and, with a marked politeness\nof manner, he returned into the cottage to bring them out.\n\n\"Now,\" said I to my companions, \"you must keep him in talk, whilst\nI endeavour to steal a sketch of him.\"\n\n\"Here are the wonderful implements of my art,\" said he, as he returned,\nholding them up to our observation.\n\n\"They are very curious,\" said I; \"perhaps you will have the goodness\nto allow me to make a hasty drawing of them. I hope it will have no\neffect in taking away their virtues.\n\n\"Their virtues cannot be taken away by human hands,\" replied Willox,\ngravely. \"You are welcome to draw them if you please, sir, and I\nshall hold them for you so that you may best see them.\"\n\nI thanked him, and proceeded instantly to my work. My friends\nfollowed my injunctions so well as fully to occupy his attention in\nreplying to their cross fire of queries, whilst I was myself obliged\nto interject a question now and then, in order to get him to turn\nhis countenance towards me. The wonderful expression I have already\nalluded to appeared even yet more striking, on these occasions, by\nhis ghost-like features being brought so closely and directly opposite\nto my eyes. I then looked in as it were upon his spirit,--and it was\nmanifestly a spirit which, in ancient days, when superstition brooded\nas much over the proud castle of the bold baron, as it did over the\nhumble cot of the timid peasant, might well enough have domineered\nover the minds of nobles and princes, nay subjected even crowned\nheads to its powerful control.\n\nI did make sketches of the mermaid's stone and the water-kelpie's\nbridle, the two grand instruments of his art. As already described\nto us by Mr. Macpherson, we found the stone to be a circular and\nflattish lens, three inches diameter, of semi-opaque crystal, somewhat\nresembling, in shape and appearance, what is called a bull's eye, used\nfor transmitting light through the deck of a vessel into its smaller\napartments below. The water-kelpie's bridle consists of a flat piece\nof brass, annular in the middle, and having two lobe-like branches\nspringing from it in two curves outwards, the wider part of each lobe\nbeing slightly recurved inwards, so that they present the appearance\nof two leaves when they are held flat. Attached to the ring part,\nbut loose upon it, are two long doubled pieces of flat brass, and,\nbetween these, a short leathern thong is attached by a fastening so\nintricate that it might have rivalled the Gordian knot. It has not\nthe most distant resemblance to any part of a bridle, and none of us\ncould guess to what purpose, either useful or ornamental, it could\nhave ever been applied. Willox's own account of the acquirement of\nthese two wonderful engines of his supernatural power, elicited by\nour repeated questions, was nearly as follows:--\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\nTHE WATER-KELPIE'S BRIDLE AND THE MERMAID'S STONE.\n\n\nMy grand-uncle Macgregor, was so much devoted to the study of that\nmysterious and unpronounceable art which gives man control over\nthe world of spirits, that he ultimately became a powerful adept in\nit. He lived on the banks of the river Dulnan, in Strathspey, and his\nfame went so much abroad, that his name was never mentioned without\nreverential awe. Whilst involved in the pursuit of these studies, he\nwas much used to take solitary walks, during which it was believed\nthat he held high converse with beings rarely brought within the\nreach of human communing.\n\nHe was walking one evening on the lonely shore of Loch-an-dorbe. The\nsky was calm, but the air was hot and sulphurous, and the sun went\ndown in a blood-red haze, that the gifted eye of Macgregor knew\nto be portentous. Wrapped in his plaid, he leaned against a huge\nstone, and stood earnestly gazing at the sinking orb till it had\naltogether disappeared. He read therein that some mighty deed was to\nbe achieved, and he wound himself up to encounter whatever adventure\nmight befall him.\n\nSuddenly the black waters of the lake began to heave from their centre\nwithout any seeming cause. Not a breath of wind stirred them, yet they\ncame boiling outwards, so as at once to dash their waves on every part\nof the surrounding shores. A dark object was seen to bound forth upon\nthe beach at no great distance from the spot where Macgregor stood. A\nless strongly fortified heart would have quailed with fear, but his\nwas armed with potent spells. He stretched his eyeballs towards the\nobject, when, less to his astonishment than delight, he beheld a black\nhorse, of immense size, and of beautiful proportions, approaching him\nthrough the lurid twilight. On he came, prancing proudly along the\nstrand, pawing the ground from time to time, and neighing aloud with\na voice of thunder, while blue lightnings were ever and anon darting\nfrom his expanded nostrils, and his eyes were shining like stars. It\nrequired not Macgregor's skill to know that this was no ordinary horse,\nbut his superhuman knowledge made him at once aware that it was the\nwater-kelpie himself, and he watched his coming with a heart beating\nhigh with hope. Well instructed as to the measures which it now became\nnecessary for him to adopt, he stood aside behind the large stone, and\nemployed certain charms which he knew would aid in his concealment;\nand as this terrific incarnation of the spirit of the waters was\ncurvetting grandly past him, he sprang suddenly out upon him, and,\nseizing his bridle with his left hand, he raised aloft his gleaming\nclaymore with his right, and cut it out of the water-kelpie's head\nat one blow. In an instant the terrible spirit was metamorphosed into\nthe shape of a man of huge and very formidable appearance.\n\n\"Give me back my bridle, thou son of earth!\" cried he, in a voice\nlike the roaring of a cataract.\n\n\"No!\" said Macgregor, boldly; \"I have won it, and I shall keep it.\"\n\n\"Then,\" roared the enraged spirit, \"you and it shall never enter your\nhouse together!\"\n\nMacgregor staid not to hear more, but ran off in the direction\nof his home, from which he was then distant a good many miles. The\nenraged spirit came roaring and howling after him. Ten thousand floods\npouring down over the rocky ridge of Ben Nevis could not have created\nso appalling a combination of terrific sounds. The hot breath of the\nfiend came about Macgregor as he flew, as if it would have threatened\nsuffocation. Lucky was it for my granduncle that the kelpie, in losing\nhis bridle, had also lost with it, for the time at least, the power of\nbecoming a horse, else had his chance of escape been small indeed. As\nit was, however, it seemed as if Macgregor had suddenly acquired a\nlarge proportion of those racing qualities which were derived from\nthat magical virtue so strongly inherent in the bridle which he bore;\nfor he appeared, even to himself, rather to skim than to run over the\nvast extent of moors, hills, and bogs that lay between him and his\nown home, scarcely bending the heather tops in his way, so lightly\nand rapidly did his feet fly over the ground. But great as was the\nsupernatural speed he had acquired, that of the water-kelpie was so\nlittle short of it, that the wicked spirit was close at his heels when\nhe reached his own house. With a presence of mind, and an adroitness,\nwhich no one but an experienced and expert adept in the management\nof a contest with powers naturally so superior to man, could have\ncommanded or exercised, he avoided entering by the door, although it\nstood yawning temptingly wide to receive him. Luckily a window was\nopen. \"Hulloo!\" cried he hastily to his wife, whom he happily observed\nwithin, \"catch this in your apron!\" And, throwing the bridle to her\nthrough the window, he cunningly avoided the denunciation which the\nkelpie had uttered against him.\n\nNo sooner did the kelpie perceive that he was thus outwitted, than\nhe shrieked so loud that all the hills of Strathspey re-echoed\nagain.--Yes, you need not stare, gentlemen; I tell you that the\nmountains echoed again, as if the lofty Craig Ellachie had rent itself\nfrom its foundations, and rolled itself into the river Spey. The\nwater-kelpie disappeared, and, what is strange, he has never since\nbeen seen by mortal man. But my grand-uncle Macgregor had his bridle,\nwhich, as you see, afterwards descended from him to me.\n\nThe story of the acquirement of the Mermaid's Stone is no whit less\nextraordinary than that of the bridle. The stone came to me from my\nmaternal grandfather, who gained it by the superhuman powers which\nhe possessed; for in my veins two most potent streams of necromantic\nblood have united themselves, though it would ill become me to say\nthat I have ever equalled my ancestors. After having made frequent\nvisits to the sea coast, my grandfather at last found out the spot\nwhere a beautiful mermaid was wont to sport amid the shallows,\nand sit on a rock, to comb her long hair, and to sing the most\nexquisite melodies. Long and anxiously did he watch her motions,\ntill he perceived her one day combing her lovely tresses over her\nface and bosom, altogether unconscious that she was observed. Arming\nhimself with certain spells which he possessed, which gave him\nsuperhuman powers, he crept into the sea from the rocky point where\nhe lay concealed, and wading silently towards the stone where she\nsat, he came behind her, and clasping her eagerly in his arms, he\nheld her fast, and, in spite of all her wailings, her lamentations,\nand her struggles, he succeeded in carrying her on shore. When fairly\non land, she became exceedingly helpless, so that he had no farther\ntrouble with her, and, delighted with his fair prize, he brought her\nhome in triumph. There he made a soft bed for her upon the rafters\nof the house; and although he was unwillingly compelled by prudence\nto make sure of her by subjecting her to the restraint of tying her\nto the couples of the roof, he in all other respects lavished the\nutmost kindness upon her.\n\nSo very much, indeed, was my grandfather taken up with his\nnew acquisition, that my grandmother began to grow jealous of\nhis attentions to the fair sea nymph; and, more out of spite,\nperhaps, than from any real wickedness, she began to encourage the\nvisits of a young man who had been formerly attached to her. Now,\nstrange as it may seem, it is no less true, that, great as were my\ngrandfather's powers in the art magic, he was yet unable thereby to\ndiscover the fact, that his wife received the visits of this lover,\non certain occasions, when his trifling affairs required his absence\nfrom home. Now, it happened one day that my grandfather returned so\nsuddenly, and so unexpectedly, that his wife was compelled to conceal\nthe youth hastily behind a bed. The lady was in a terrible taking,\nyou may believe; but she so far subdued her agitation as to receive\nher husband with every possible appearance of kindness and affection.\n\n\"I dreamed a strange dream last night,\" said she, after fully\nrecovering her presence of mind, and smiling gaily. \"I dreamed that I\nput both my hands over your eyes, and yet you saw as well as if they\nhad not been there.\"\n\n\"Come try, then!\" replied her husband sportively, taking what she\nsaid as the mere prelude to some little innocent matrimonial frolic;\n\"come try then, my dear. I believe I can see as far into a millstone\nas most people.\"\n\n\"No doubt you can,\" said his spouse, laughing outright, and approaching\nhim with a merry air, she clapped her hands so firmly over his eyes\nthat he was completely blindfolded, \"now can you see?\" exclaimed she.\n\n\"No!\" replied the husband, \"not one whit.\"\n\n\"Stay a little,\" cried his wife, laughing heartily again, \"depend\nupon it this miraculous light will come to you at last!\"\n\n\"Aye, aye!\" cried he, struggling till he escaped from her hands, and\nthen kissing her heartily, \"I see now well enough.\" But, alas! my\ngrandfather's vision had come too late, for the lover had availed\nhimself of this brief opportunity, so cunningly afforded him, to make\nhis escape.\n\nThe mermaid, who was seated on the rafters above, laughed aloud with an\nunearthly laughter, as she witnessed the trick that had been played to\nmy grandfather. To divert her husband's attention from a mirth that at\nfirst appalled her, the lady, with great presence of mind, threw down\nthe girdle-stone, a flat stone, which in those primitive times was used\nfor firing the oaten cakes, instead of the iron plate of that name,\nwhich now forms so important an article of furniture in the kitchen\nof every Scottish cottage. The stone was broken to pieces, and the\nlady's loud lamentation for this apparently accidental misfortune,\nquickly diverted her husband's attention from the mysterious merriment\nof the mermaid, and having thus effected her purpose, she threw the\nfragments of the stone out on the dunghill.\n\nThe poor mermaid pined and sighed for her native element, until she\nwrung the heart of her captor to pity.\n\n\"Take me but down to the sea,\" said she with her sweet voice, \"take\nme but down to the sea, and put me but into the waves--but three\nyards from the shore--and it shall be better for thee than all the\ngood thou can'st gain by keeping me here.\"\n\nSoftened to compliance at last, my grandfather did take her down from\nthe rafters, and carrying her to the coast, he waded into the sea\nwith her, the three yards she had specified, and put her gently down\namid the waves, near the very stone where he had originally caught\nher. The joy of this beautiful marine spirit in finding herself thus\nagain bathing in the invigorating waters of her own native ocean,\nafter having been so long hung up, as it were, on the rafters of a\nHighland cottage, to be smoked like an Aberdeen haddock, or a kipper\nsalmon, may be easily imagined. But, although wicked people might\nperhaps impute her parting speech more to that natural love of scandal\nwhich is said to belong to her sex, than to any strong feeling for my\ngrandfather, yet we must say, that her words and her counsel shewed\nthat her gratitude was no less abundant than her joy. Turning to him\nwho had treated her so compassionately, she passed her taper fingers\ngracefully through her long silken tresses, and thus addressed him\nwith her siren tongue:--\n\n\"Travel not so oft nor so far from home again! Ill luck attends\nthat home whence the master often wanders. Dost thou remember my\nloud laugh on that day when thy wife broke the girdle stone? It\nwas because she made a fool of thee by blinding thine eyes that her\nlover might escape unseen. Be wiser in future, and never leave home;\nand when you go back now, look among the straw where the broken bits\nof the girdle stone were thrown, and you will find that which will\nbe a treasure to you and to your children for ever.\"\n\nWith these words she dived among the breakers and was seen by him no\nmore. My grandfather returned home rather chopfallen; but on searching\nwhere the mermaid had indicated to him, he found that very stone,\nwhich has now, for three generations, been the agent in performing\nso many wonders.\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\nTHE DOMINIE DEPARTS.\n\n\nSoon after quitting the dwelling of the Warlock, we were doomed to lose\nthe company of one, with whom we were all much more unwilling to part.\n\nDominie Macpherson.--I can hardly bring myself to tell you, gentlemen,\nthat I must now--sore against my will--take my humble leave of you. My\nroad to my brother's house lies north over the hill there. But ere\nI go, I am truly glad to have it in my power to put you under the\nguidance of my good friend, Serjeant Archy Stewart. I sent him a\nmessage last night to come and meet us here; and there is the very\nman coming over the knoll, with his Sabbath-day's jacket and bonnet\non.--How is all with you, Serjeant? My certy, I need not ask, for\nyou look stout and hearty.\n\nSerjeant Archy Stewart.--Thank ye, Mr. Macpherson, I cannot complain. I\nam a little the worse for the wear--but my old legs, such as they be,\nare fit enough for the hill yet. I am glad to see you well back in\nthe country again.\n\nDominie.--Thank ye, Serjeant. Now, my good man, these are the three\ngentlemen you are to guide. Three better gentlemen you never fell\nin with in all your travels. You must do all you can for them; and,\nabove all things, be sure to give them plenty of your cracks. They\nlike to hear all manner of auld-warld stories; so, as you must put on\na budget of their provisions on your back--which, by the bye, will\nbe like \u00c6sop's burden, always growing less,--you may e'en lighten\nyourself as you go of as many of the auncient legends which you carry\nin your head as may help to ease your travel.\n\nSerjeant.--Uh! I'll not be slack at that, Mr. Macpherson, I promise\nye, if it be the pleasure of the gentlemen.\n\nI shall not attempt to describe the scene of our parting with the\nworthy schoolmaster. It threw a gloom over us all. As for the good\nman himself, his voice trembled--his lip quivered--and his eyes\nfilled with moisture, when he pronounced that most unpleasant of\nall words--farewell--and gave us the last cordial shake of the hand,\npouring out his best wishes and blessings upon us. He then put his\nstick firmly to the ground, as if to help his failing resolution,\nand, as he took his way over the hill, he turned and waved--and turned\nand waved, twenty times at least, e'er he disappeared from our sight.\n\nOur attention was now directed towards Serjeant Archy Stewart,\nwho was cheerfully occupying himself in shouldering a portion of\nour necessaries. He was a veteran of about sixty years of age, of\nmiddle size, and of a hardy, wiry, though not very robust frame. His\nfresh coloured countenance was lighted up by a pair of small, grey,\nand very intelligent eyes; and its bold forehead, aquiline nose, high\ncheek-bones, and prominent chin and lips, exhibited traits of a very\nundaunted and indomitable resolution, which his whole appearance showed\nhad been well tried by hardships. All this, however, was tempered and\nsweetened with so perfect an expression of courtesy and good humour,\npervading every line of his weather-beaten features, that he instantly\ngained the golden opinions of our party. After adjusting the wallet\nto his back, he pointed his hazel stick to the grass, and led the\nway before us with an activity much beyond his years.\n\nClifford.--Capital fishing hereabouts, no doubt, Mr. Stewart?\n\nSerjeant.--Just grand, sir--no better in this, or any other country\nside.\n\nClifford.--You know the river well, I suppose?\n\nSerjeant.--Few should know it better, sir--for I've known it ever\nsince I could look out over the nest.\n\nClifford.--You are a native of these mountains, then?--Come! we have\nbeen told that you are full of their legendary lore, and we look to\nhave much of it out of you ere we part.\n\nSerjeant.--I am sure your honor is welcome to as much as you can take\nand I can give you.\n\nClifford.--Come away then--you shall begin, if you please, by giving\nus your own history.\n\nSerjeant.--Oh troth, sir, my history is little worth; but, such as\nit is, you shall have it. I was born in this very glen here--for I am\ncome of the Clan-Allan Stewarts, who were the offspring of Sir Allan\nStewart, who was said to have been a natural son of the Yearl of Moray.\n\nAuthor.--What Earl of Moray was that, Archy?\n\nSerjeant.--Really and truly I cannot tell you, sir. But this I know\nwell enough, that them Clan-Allan Stewarts were a proud, powerful,\ndomineering race, and always reported to have been very troublesome\ncustomers to those who happened to have any feud with them. I've heard\nsay, indeed, that while they boore sway here away, fint a man of any\nother name dared to blow his nose throughout the whole of Strathdawn\nwithout their leave being first asked and granted. Wild chields they\nwere, I'll warrant ye.\n\nAuthor.--That may be, Serjeant; but I shrewdly suspect that you are\nnot altogether right in your genealogy. My belief is, that it does\nin reality go somewhat farther back than you suppose.\n\nSerjeant.--Do you think so, sir? Well it may be so.\n\nAuthor.--I am inclined to think that you must be come of the old\nStewarts, Earls of Atholl.\n\nSerjeant.--Aye, aye!--Yearls of Athol!--that would be strange. But\nwhat makes you think that, sir?\n\nAuthor.--Why, we know that it was through the marriage of Alexander,\nthird Earl of Huntly, with the Lady Johanna Stewart, daughter of one\nof these Earls, in 1474, that Strathdawn first came into the family\nof the Gordons, with whom it still remains. It is therefore clear that\nSir Allan, your ancestor, must have come here considerably before that\nperiod; and if your forefathers, the Clan-Allan Stewarts, were such\nhard-headed, knock-me-down, domineering fellows as you would seem to\nsay they were, it is by no means improbable that they may have managed,\nby the use of their swords, to bear sway here for many a long day,\nafter the lands were chartered to the Gordons.\n\nSerjeant.--I have little doubt that your honor is perfectly\nright; and now I think on't, I remember an auncient legend of the\nStewarts of Clan-Allan, in which a speech of the old Lord of Cargarf\nstrongly supports the very view of the matter which you have so well\nexplained. I never could very well understand it before--but now, when\nI put that and that together, I see the truth as clear as day light.\n\nClifford (taking out his tablets and writing.)--I shall put you down\nfor that same legend, Mister Serjeant; but in the meanwhile proceed\nwith your own history, if you please.\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\nHISTORY OF SERJEANT ARCHY STEWART.\n\n\nWell, Gentlemen--as I was telling you, I was born in Strathdawn\nhere--as pretty a glen as there is in all Scotland. Oh, what a bonny\nglen it was in my young days! You see plain enough, without my telling\nyou, that there are no trees now in it to speak of--none, indeed,\nbut a parcel of straggling patches and bushes of aller and birch\nand hazel about the bit water-runs and burnies, or hanging here and\nthere on the brae sides. But when I was a boy, the hills were all one\nthick wood of tall trees, that gave shelter to great herds of deer in\nthe winter. Now, alas! the trees have fallen, and the deer, annoyed\nand persecuted by sheep, shepherds, and sheep-dogs, have longsyne\nretreated to the upper mountains and vallies of the Cairngorms, save\nmay be, at an anterin [1] time, when severe weather on the heights,\nmay drive an odd few of them down upon us for a short season.\n\nWell, gentlemen--not to detain you with my school-boy days--(for I was\nat school, gentlemen--and not so bad a scholar neither)--when I grew\nup to be a stout lad, I left the glen, with six others of my own age,\nto go and seek for work in the south country. I shall never forget\nthat day that we left it. We went off full of life and joy--for we\nthought but little of leaving our friends or the scenes of our youth,\nsince we trusted that the same firm legs that were carrying us away\ncould at any time bring us back to them the moment we had the will\nto return. We panted to see the world, and it was now opening before\nus. All the fanciful dreams of our boyhood were, as we thought, now\nabout to be realized. Light, I trow, were our hearts, and full were we\nof hopes, as we made our way across the Grampians, and in a few days\nthese hopes were realized, by our finding ourselves busily employed,\nand working hard, though at good wages, in a quarry near Cupar in Fife.\n\nThere we continued for some time perfectly contented with our labour,\nas well as with the price of it, till John Grant of Lurg, grandson of\nthe famous Robert of Lurg, well known by the nick-name of Old Stachcan,\nor the stubborn----\n\nClifford (breaking in on the Serjeant's narrative.)--What! the fierce\nlooking fellow whose picture we saw at Castle Grant with a pistol in\nhis hand?\n\nSerjeant.--Just exactly--the very same, sir--he has a pistol in his\nhand in the picture, and well, I promise you, did he know how to\nuse it when he was in the body. Well, it was his grandson, John of\nLurg, who, some how or other, smelt us out in the place where we then\nwere in Fife; and as he was at that time raising men for a company,\nyou may well believe that his joy was not small when he thus came,\nlike a setting dog, to a dead point on such a covey of stout young\nHillantmen in a quarry. He soon contrived to get about us altogether,\nand with a hantel of fair words, and mony a bonny speech about our\nHillant hills--Hillant glens--Hillant waters--Hillant lasses--and,\nwhat was more to his purpose at the time, about Hillant deeds of\narms--all of which, observe ye, gentlemen, were made over a reeking\nbowl of punch that you might have swum in, he very soon succeeded in\nstirring up the fire of military ambition within our souls, until\nhe ultimately so inflamed us, that, with all the ease in life, he\nquickly converted us, who were nothing unwilling, from hard-working\nquarriers, into gentlemen sodgers, by enlisting us, all in a bunch,\ninto the ninety-seventh regiment, or Inverness Highlanders.\n\nI need not tell you all the outs-and-ins of adventures that befel me\nwhile I was in the ninety-seventh, in which corps I remained about\ntwo years and a half. But I may mention to you, that I was serving\nwith it when I got my first wound--I mean this bit crack here,\ngentlemen--(and he pulled up his trews, and shewed his right leg\nimmediately below the knee, which was shrunken up to half the thickness\nof the other, from having had the greater part of the muscles utterly\ndestroyed.)--Some way or another, they took it into their heads to\nput us on board of the Orion, one of the ships of Lord Bridport's\nsquadron, to act as marines--an odd sort of duty truly for Hillantmen,\nand one, I'll assure you, that we by no means liked over much, seeing\nthat, on board of a ship, we were obliged to stand to be peppered\nat like brancher crows on a tree, without the power of having our\nwill out against the villains, by charging them with the baggonet,\nas we should have done had we been opposed to them on dry land; and,\nindeed, we soon felt the frost of this, when we came to be engaged\nin the action fought with the French fleet on the 23d of June 1795.\n\nOn that day, the French had twelve line-of-battle ships, besides a\nnumber of frigates and other smaller vessels. From all their manoeuvres\nit was very clear that they did not wish to face us--for they stole\noff in a very dignified manner, never looking over their shoulders all\nthe time, as they were fain to have made us believe that they never\nsaw us at all, or that we were quite beneath their notice. But it\nwas no time for us to stand upon ceremony.--We after them full sail,\nand we soon made them condescend to attend to us. In spite of all\nthey could do we brought them to action in L'Orient Bay. There we\nlethered them handsomely, and we very speedily took from them three\ngreat ships, the Alexander, the Formidable, and the Tigger; and,\nif it had not been for the batteries on shore, there was no doubt\nthat we should have had every keel of them. Well, you see, gentlemen,\na large splinter of oak--rent away from the ship's side by a cannon\nshot--took me just below the knee, and demolished the shape of my leg\nin the ugly fashion I showed you this moment. But I was young then,\nand hearty, and no very easily daunted or cast down, so that I was\nsoon out of the doctor's list, and on duty again.\n\nBut what was far worse than all the wounds that my body could have\nsuffered, though it had been shot and drilled through and through like\na riddle, was that which befel me at Hilsea barracks after we returned\nto Britain. You know very well, gentlemen, that the Bible says, \"a\nwounded speerit who can bear?\" Now, you may guess what were the wounds\nof my speerit, and, consequently, what were my sufferings, when I and\nsome of my Hillant comrades were told, that we were to be immediately\ndrafted into the ninth, or East Norfolk--an English regiment!\n\nIt was with sore hearts, and no little indignation, that we heard of\nthe odious order for this cruel separation from our beloved native\nregiment--a corps in which we had all been like bairns of the same\nfamily in the bosom of our common mother--where our officers had\nbeen more like elder brothers to us than superiors--cracking with us,\nat times, in Gaelic, over all our old Hillant stories--and enjoying,\nas much as we did, our Hillant songs and Hillant dances--and many of\nthem, having known sundry individuals among us when at home in boyhood,\nwere as familiar and easy with us, at any ordinary bye-hour, as you,\ngentlemen, are pleased to be with me at this precious moment--and\nyet the di'el ae bit was our discipline any the waur o' that,\nwhatever his Grace the gallant Duke of Wellington may say against\nsuch a system--and, for aught I know, he may be right enough as to\nthe English, who have not been brought up as we were in the allowance\nof such liberties,--but, as for us, when the parade hour came, or the\ntime for duty, all such familiarities ceased, and every one filled his\nown place, like the wheel of a watch, to be turned at the will of him\nwho was above him.--You may easily conceive, then, that banishment,\nor even death itself, would have been better to us than the being\nthus torn from such a regiment for the express purpose of being\njoined to a corps composed of Englishmen, with whom we could neither\ncrack of our homes, nor of our Hillant hills, nor sing Gaelic songs,\nnor tell auncient stories, nor speak about Ossian, nor hear the pipes\nplay, nor dance the Hillant-fling.--And then, instead of the kind and\nbrotherly correction of our Hillant officers, the very slightest sound\nof whose word of reproof brought the blush of shame into our cheeks,\nand was as effectual a punishment to us as if we had been brought\nto the halberts--think what it was to us to be snubbed by some cross\ntempered upsetting Sassenach, who could know nothing of our nation's\ntemper or disposition, and who might perhaps, of a morning, order\nour backs to be scored, with as little remorse as he would order a\nbeef-steak to be brandered for his breakfast.--Oh it was a terrible\nchange!--Our very speerits were just altogether broken at the very\nthought of it, and we actually ceased to be the same men.\n\nBut, gentlemen, if this was the effect produced on our minds by\nthe mere anticipation of this most bitter change in our fate, what\nthink ye was the misery of body which we sustained, and, especially,\nwhat think ye was my misery, when I, who never wore aught else but a\nkilt from the day I was born till that accursed moment, was crammed,\nin spite of all I could say or do to the contrary, hip and thigh, into\na pair of tight regimental small-clothes!--Aye, you may laugh indeed\ngentlemen--but if anybody was to tie your legs together with birken\nwoodies, as they have tied the fore-legs of yon pouny that you see\nfeeding yonder in the bit meadow at the foot of the brae, and if you\nwere then to be bidden to climb up the steepest face of Ben-Machduie,\nyou could not be more helpless, or more ill at ease than I was. As\nfor drilling, you might as well have set up a man in a sack to march.\n\n\"Step out!\" cried they eternally--\"why the devil don't you step out?\"\n\nBut it was just altogether ridiculous to cry out any such thing to\nme, for fint a step could I take at all, unless they had letten me\nstep out of my breeks.--I was in perfect torture with them.--The\nvery circulation of my blood was stopped--my nether man was rendered\nentirely numb and powerless. Nay, had I been built up mid man into\na brick-wall I might have stepped out just as well.\n\nNow, I would have you to understand, gentlemen, that especially and\nabove all things, the confounded articles grippit and pinched me most\ndesperately over the henches. The joints of my henches were so bound\ntogether in their very sockets by their pressure as to be rendered\naltogether useless; and the torture I endured in these quarters became\nso great, that I felt I could bear it no longer. I sat down, therefore,\nto hold a consultation with myself what was best to be done; and, after\nas cool and calm a consideration of my lamentable case as my extreme\nstate of misery would allow, I came, in my own private council of war,\nto the determination, that I had only three things to choose from, and\nthese were,--to desert--to cut my throat--or to cut my breeches; and,\nafter having much and duly weighed these different evil alternatives,\nI finally resolved to adopt the last of them.\n\nHaving come to this resolution, I then began, like a skilful engineer,\nnarrowly to examine the horrid instruments of my sufferings, in order\nto ascertain how and where I could most easily make a breach in them,\nand one that was most likely to give the greatest ease to myself. A\nlittle farther thought and observation soon convinced me, that, as\nthe parts most grievously afflicted, were those which your masters of\nfortification would have called the sailliant angles of my henches to\nright and left, and especially as on these hinged much of the motion\nof the whole man, it was clear that the proposed attempt to work myself\nrelief should be first tried in those two points. I lost not a moment,\ntherefore, in carrying my plan into execution. I immediately borrowed\na pair of shears from a sodger's wife; and, sitting down regularly\nbefore my breeches, like an experienced general about to besiege a\nfortress, I fairly attacked the two sailliant angles of the bastion,\nand carried them by storm; and having, with the greatest nicety,\ncut out a round piece of the cloth of three or four inches in width,\ndirectly over each hip-joint, I ventured to thrust my limbs within\nthe very garrison of my breeches; and really, gentlemen, the ease I\nobtained in consequence of this bold operation is not to be described.\n\nSo innocent was I, and so utterly unconscious of even a suspicion\nthat I had done any thing wrong, that when the drum beat, I went off\nto the private parade of the company I had been attached to, with\nmy heart almost as much eased as my henches; nay, it was absolutely\nbounding with benevolence, and brimful with the earnest desire and\nintention of spreading the blessed discovery I had made, and making\nit widely known among my Hillant comrades, so that all of them who\nmight be in the same state of misery as I had been, might forthwith\nproceed to benefit themselves, as I had done, by the bright discovery\nI had made. Rejoicing in my ease, therefore, I strode across the\nbarrack-square, with a step so much wider and grander than any I\nhad lately been able to use, that I felt a pride in the excellence\nof my invention which I cannot possibly describe. I halted for a\nmoment--stretched out, first my right leg, and then my left, just as\nI have seen a fowl do upon its perch--and then, clapping my hand upon\nthe new made hole on either side of me, I chuckled for joy.\n\n\"Hah!\" cried I; \"breeches do they call you? By my faith, then, but I\nhave made you more like your name by these well-imagined breaches of\nmy own contrivance, which I have so ingeniously opened through your\naccursed sides.\"\n\nI then bent myself down, and made a spring into the air; after which,\nbeing quite satisfied that a paring or two more off the edges of the\nround holes would make all nearly right, I walked on with an air of\ndignified self-satisfaction that was not to be mistaken. But I had not\ncome within ten yards of the spot where the company was falling in,\nwhen I heard the serjeant exclaim,--\n\n\"My heyes! look at that ere Ighland savage! I'm damned if he arn't\nbeen cutting big oles in his Majesty's rigimental breeches!\"\n\nA loud horse-laugh burst out from among the men, and the serjeant\njoined heartily in it. But it was no laughing matter to me; I was\ncut to the soul. All our horrible anticipations of English officers,\nhalberds, and cat-o'-nine-tails, came smack upon me at once. I was\noverwhelmed--I grew dizzy--and, before I had well recovered myself,\nI was marched off to the guard-house under the charge of a corporal\nand a file of men, and a written crime was given in against me in\nthese terms.\n\n\"Privut Archbauld Stewart of Captin Ketley's compnay, confined by order\nof Sargunt Nevett, for aving cut two big oles in the ipps of a pair of\nriggimental britches belonghing too is Magesty King George the Third.\"\n\nWell, gentlemen, there was I left in the guard-house for some hours\na prisoner. But if I was confined in one way, I took good care to put\nmyself very much at my ease in another; for I pulled off my tormentors\naltogether, and sat quite coolly and comfortably without them. But\nI was sore enough at heart, for all that; for, independent of the\nfearful prospect of the unrelenting punishment that awaited me, the\ndisgrace of confinement to which I had thus, for the first time in\nmy life, been subjected, and that so unjustly, stung me to the very\nheart. For a good hour or more I could do nothing but grind my teeth\nwith absolute vexation and rage; but at length I began to gather some\ncommand of myself, and to think of the necessity of making up my mind\nas to what was to be done. I recalled the three evil alternatives,\nfrom which I had already made that which had now proved to be so\nunfortunate a selection, and as that had so miserably failed me, I\ncontinued for sometime swinging backwards and forwards, like a bairn\nin a shuggy-shue, [2] between the two that yet remained to be tried,\nand I had not yet made up my mind on the subject, when the serjeant\nappeared, and ordered me to put on my breeches and follow him. I obeyed\nlike a man who gets up from his straw to go out and be hanged. But\nthere was one great difference between such a poor wretch and me,\nvery much in his favour, for as his fetters in such a case are taken\noff, I was on the contrary condemned to buckle on mine.\n\nI did follow the serjeant as he bade me, but notwithstanding the\noutlets I had made in the breeches for the joints of my hench bones,\nand the comparative ease I had thereby formerly enjoyed, yet the few\nhours I had had in the guardhouse of a freedom of limb resembling that\nwhich I was wont to enjoy in my old kilt, made me feel so strange upon\nthus recommitting my joints to the thraldom of the accursed garments,\nthat I went shaughling along after him, as if they had undergone no\nimprovement at all. He took me directly to Captain Ketley's quarters,\nand whilst I was on my way thither, I was compelled to bring my doubts\nto a hasty conclusion, and so I resolved that of the two plans now\nonly remaining for me to choose from, desertion should be first tried,\nseeing that if it should fail me, I might cut my throat afterwards, for\nthat if I should cut my throat first, I should not afterwards find it\nan easy matter to desert. I had no more time than just enough to settle\nthis point with myself, when the serjeant rapped at our captain's door.\n\n\"Come in!\" cried Captain Ketley, in what sounded in my ear like a\ntremendous voice.\n\n\"Privut Archbauld Stewart and his cut breeches, your honour!\" cried\nthe serjeant, ushering me without ceremony into the middle of the room.\n\nThere I stood with my head up, and in the military attitude of\nattention, the which, as you will naturally observe, gentlemen, was,\nof all others, out of all sight the most convenient and best chosen\nattitude for me at the time; for, as you will understand, the palms of\nmy two hands were thus exactly applied to the two holes I had made,\nthough the size of the holes themselves was so great that I could by\nno means entirely cover them. But if I could have done so, this well\nconceived manoeuvre of mine would have been of no avail.\n\n\"Stand at ease!\" cried the serjeant, giving me at the same time a\nsmart tap on the back with his rattan cane.\n\n\"Serjeant,\" said I impatiently, \"you know very well that it's not\npossible for me to stand at ease in thir fashious breeks of mine.\"\n\nI saw that Captain Ketley had a hard task of it to keep his gravity.\n\n\"What is this which has been reported to me of you, sir?\" demanded he\nwith as stern a look as he could possibly assume; \"how comes it that\nyou have taken upon you to destroy a pair of new regimental breeches\nin that manner?\"\n\n\"Captain,\" said I, now quite brought to bay, and making up my mind\nto go through with it, whatever the consequences might be; \"Captain,\nif your honor will but hear me, I will speak.\"\n\n\"Speak on then,\" said Captain Ketley, \"provided you say nothing that\nas an officer I may not listen to. Serjeant Nevett, you may retire.\"\n\n\"You need not fear that I shall offend you, Captain Ketley,\" said I,\n\"I have been over long accustomed to speak to officers to forget the\nrespect and duty I owe to them as a sodger, and since your honour is\nso kind, I will be as short as I can. I enlisted, you see, to serve in\nthe Inverness Highlanders, and in so doing I covenanted to fight in\ncompany with my own countrymen, and in the freedom of a kilt. Now,\nagainst all bargain--against all manner of justice--against my\nwill--and against the very nature of a Hillantman, I have been thrust,\nfirst into this English regiment, and then into this pair of English\nsmall clothes--well may they be so called, I'm sure. Captain Ketley,\nall this is most unreasonable. You might as well put a deer of the\nmountains into a breachame, and expect to plough the land with him,\nas to put a Hillantman into such cruel harness as thir things, with the\nhope that he can do his work in them; and, although I am as wishful as\nany man that serves King George can be, to spend the last drop of my\nblood, as some of it has flowed already in the cause of his Majesty,\nGod bless him! and for our common country, yet I will just tell your\nhonour plainly and honestly--though with all manner of respect--that\nI will not stay in this Ninth Regiment to be kept in the eternal\ntorture of thir breeks, though I should see the men drawn out to\nshoot me for trying to desert--for death itself is desirable rather\nthan that I should longer endure such misery as this. So I say again,\nthat although I am quite willing to serve King George in any regiment\nhe may be pleased to put me into that wears the kilt, yet I will take\nthe first moment I can catch, to run away from such disgraceful and\nheartbreaking bondage as this to which I am now subjected.\"\n\n\"No, no, my good fellow,\" said Captain Ketley, who had all this time\nhad his own share of trouble in keeping himself from laughing, and\nwho now gave way and laughed outright; \"you must not run away from\nus, Archy. We cannot afford to lose so good a man. We must do all we\ncan to put you at your ease with us. Your complaints are certainly\nnot altogether unreasonable. But you should not have cut holes in\nyour breeches--you should have come and stated your grievances to\nme. Remember in future, that you will always find me ready to listen\nto any well-founded complaint you may have to make. Meanwhile,--see\nhere,\" said he, taking a pair of old loose trowsers out of his chest,\nand tossing them to me,--\"wear these for a few days, till your limbs\nget somewhat accustomed to the thraldom of small clothes, and until\nwe can get you fitted with a better and easier pair of your own. I\nshall see about your immediate release from confinement, and that\nyou and your Highland comrades be excused from duty until you are\nmore at home in your new clothing. If you behave yourself well,\nyou shall always find a friend in me.\"\n\n\"God bless your honour!\" cried I, with a joyful and grateful heart,\nand, if you will believe me, gentlemen, almost with the tears in my\neyes; \"your honour has spoken to me just like one of our own kind\nHillant officers of the Ninety-seventh. I'll go all the world over\nwith you, though my breeks were of iron!\"\n\nWell, gentlemen, Captain Ketley was as good as his word--he was a\nkind and steady friend to me as long as he lived. He inquired of me\nwhether I could read and write; and, finding that I could do both--aye,\nand spell too--and that somewhat better, as I reckon, than Serjeant\nNevett,--and, moreover, that I was not a bad hand at counting,--he got\nme made a corporal in less than a fortnight, and, very soon after that,\na serjeant. But, woe's me! a few months had hardly passed away when\nCaptain Ketley died. Many were the salt tears I shed over his grave,\nafter we had given him our parting vollies, and no wonder, for he was\none of the best friends I ever had in my life. I cannot think of him,\neven yet, without regret. Willingly would I have given my life for\nhis at any time. But what is this miserable world, gentlemen, but a\nvalley of sorrow?\n\nWell, I got fond enough, after all, of the Holy Boys, as the old\nNinth lads were called.\n\nClifford (interrupting.)--How did they get that name, Archy?\n\nSerjeant.--Oh, I'll tell you that, sir.--You see, when they came from\nthe West Indies, as a skeleton regiment, they were made up again with\ngrowing boys. Colonel Campbell of Blythswood tried to do them some\ngood by getting them schoolmasters and Bibles. But the young rogues\nhad been ill nurtured in the parent nest, and they used to barter their\nBibles for gin and gingerbread. The Duke of York used to say of them,\nthat they were every thing that was bad but bad sodgers--ha! ha! ha!\n\nAnd now, gentlemen, I believe I have little more to tell you about\nmyself, except that I got my jaw broken in two places by a musket\nball in Holland, on the 19th of September 1799. See what a queer kind\nof a mouth it has made me in the inside here. You see I had been out\nsuperintending the working party in the redoubts, and I had returned,\ntired as a dog, to the barn where the light company were quartered,\nand had just laid my head on my wife's knee to take a nap--for I\nwas married by this time--when a terrible thumping came to the door,\nand Corporal Parrot ran to see who was there. Now, it happened that\none of our serjeants was sick, and the other had been killed.--It\nwas Adjutant Orchard who knocked so loud.\n\n\"Where is Serjeant Stewart?\" demanded he, in a terrible hurry, the\nmoment he entered the place.\n\n\"Can't I do instead of him?\" replied Corporal Parrot; \"for he is just\nnew out of the trenches.\"\n\n\"No!\" replied the Adjutant; \"if he was new out of hell, I must have\nhim directly.\"\n\n\"What's ado, sir?\" demanded I, jumping up.\n\n\"You know as much as I do,\" replied the Adjutant; \"but, depend upon\nit, we are not wanted to build churches. Get you out the light bobs\nas fast as you can.\"\n\nWell, I hurried about and got out the light company with as little\ndelay as possible; and no very easy matter it was to get hold of the\npoor fellows, knocked up as they were. Some of them I actually pulled\nout of hay stacks by the legs, as you would pull out periwinkles from\ntheir shells. The troops marched fifteen miles without a halt. We found\nthe French and Russians hard at it, blazing away so that we could see\nthe very straws at our feet as we marched over the sand. The balls\ncame whistling about us like hail as we advanced. First came one,\nand knocked away the hilt of my sword; then came another, and cracked\noff the iron head of my halberd.\n\n\"If you go on at this rate, you villains,\" said I, \"you'll disarm\nus altogether.\"\n\nThen smack came another, whack through my canteen, and spilt all\nmy brandy.\n\n\"Ye rascals!\" said I, trying at the same time to save as much of it\nas I could in my mouth, \"that is most uncivil. Ye are no gentlemen,\nye scoundrels, to spill a poor fellow's drop of comfort in this way.\"\n\nBy and bye, half-a-dozen of balls or so went through the blanket I\ncarried on my shoulders.\n\n\"By my faith,\" said I, \"it's time now that I should return you my\ncompliments for all your civilities, you vagabonds.\"\n\nI stooped to take a musket from a dead Russian for my own defence. The\npiece was a rifle, and it was yet warm in his hand from the last\ndischarge.\n\n\"By your leave, my poor fellow,\" said I, \"I'll borrow your firelock\nfor a shot or two, seeing that you have no farther use for it at this\npresent time.\"\n\nBut dead as he was, the last gripe of departing life had made him hold\nit so fast, that I was obliged to twist it round ere I could make him\npart with it. I took off his cartridge-box by pulling the belt over his\nhead. He had fired but two cartridges, and eighteen still remained. I\nloaded and fired twice; and I was just in the act of biting off the\nend of my third cartridge to fire again, when a musket ball took me\nin the left cheek, and knocked me over as flat as a sixpence on the\nground. The captain of the company looked behind him, and seeing that\nI was still able to move my hands, he very humanely ordered a file\nof men to carry me to the rear. They lifted me up from the ground,\nand the whole world seemed to be going round with me. They supported\nme under the arms, and I staggered along like a drunk man. They took\nme to a barn, where I lay insensible for some time, until coming to\nmyself somewhat, as I lay there, I saw two surgeons employed with the\nwounded. \"You will have little trouble with me, gentlemen,\" thought\nI within myself; \"I shall be dead before you can get at me.\" Just at\nthis moment I heard one of the surgeons say to the other,--\n\n\"I believe I shall die of hunger.\"\n\n\"I am like to faint from absolute want,\" said the other.\n\nI could not speak, but I beckoned.\n\n\"By and bye,\" said one of the surgeons, shaking his head.\n\n\"Your turn is not come yet,\" said the other.\n\nI beckoned again, and pointed to the wallet at my side.\n\n\"Oh ho!\" said the first surgeon crossing the place, and rapidly\nfollowed by the other,--\"Oh ho! I comprehend you now. Let's see what\nyou have got in your larder.\"\n\nHe put his hand into the wallet, and found some balls of oatmeal,\nwhich my wife, honest woman, had made by rolling them up with water,\nand then giving them a roast among the ashes. The two gentlemen\ndevoured them with great glee. They then looked at my chafts, put\nsome lint into the wound, and bound it up.\n\n\"Well,\" thought I to myself, \"a leaden ball made the wound, and\na ball of oatmeal has doctored it. Many thanks to my worthy wife,\nGod bless her!\"\n\nAfter the doctors left us, the place, which was pitch dark, became\nhot and pestiferous, and the groans that came from some of the poor\nwretches put me in mind of pandemonium. I was for some time feverish\nand restless. I tried to stretch myself out at length, but I felt some\none at my feet who would not stir all I could do. Though I could not\nspeak, I was not sparing of my kicks, but still the person regarded\nme not. Next to me was Serjeant Wilson with a broken leg, and he was\npressed upon by some one at his side. But the Serjeant had the full\nuse of his tongue.\n\n\"Sir,\" said he to his neighbour, for he was noted for being a very\npolite man, \"will you do me the favour to lie a little farther over,\nand take your elbow out of my stomach.\"\n\nHis civil request was disregarded, and there was no reply.\n\n\"Oh!\" said the serjeant, \"perhaps the gentleman is a furreiner; but\nall them furreiners understands French, so I'll try my hand at that\nwith him:--Moushee wooly wous have the goodness to takee your elbow\nout of my guts. Confound the fellow, what an edification he has had\nthat he does not understand French. I've heard Ensign Flitterkin\nsay that it is the language of Europe. Pray, sir, may I ax if you\nbe a European? No answer,--by my soul then I may make bold to say\nthat you are any thing but a civilian. Sir,\" continued the serjeant,\nbeginning now to lose patience altogether, and to wax very wroth,\n\"I insist on your removing your elbow. I say, rascal! take your elbow\nout of my stomach this moment!\"\n\nAnd so the serjeant went on from bad to worse, till he swore, and\nwent on to swear, at the poor man more and more bloodily the whole\nnight. But neither his swearing, nor my kicking, could rid either\nof us of our troublesome companions. And it was no great wonder\nindeed--for when the day-light came, we discovered that they were\ntwo dead Russians!\n\n\"This is a horrible place!\" exclaimed the principal surgeon when he\ncame back in the morning. \"As near as I can guess, one hundred and\nfifty-two men have died in this wretched barn since last night!--we\nmust have the wounded out of this.\"\n\nThanks to my wife's oatmeal balls, which the grateful surgeons had\nnot forgotten, my wounds were dressed the very first man. We were\nsoon afterwards carried on hand-barrows by a Russian party down to\nthe flat-bottomed boats, and so we were conveyed to the Texel. I bore\nthe bullet home in my chafts, and it was cut out by an English doctor\nin Deal hospital. I was discharged on the 23d of June 1800. But my\npension was granted before pensions were so big as they are now-a-days,\nso that I am but ill off compared to some who have come home from\nthe late wars. But, thank God, I am contented, since I cannot make\na better of it.\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\nGALLANTRY OF THE SEVENTY-FIRST HIGHLAND LIGHT INFANTRY.\n\n\nClifford.--How little known are the miseries to which the brave\ndefenders of Britain's glory are subjected!--and how meagre is\ntheir reward, and how poor is their harvest of individual fame!--Our\nNelsons and our Wellingtons, to be sure, are as certainly, as they are\ndeservedly, destined to immortality of name. But is it not most painful\nto think that so many of our bravest hearts have gallantly fallen,\nto sleep in undistinguished oblivion? Your scene in the old barn,\nSerjeant, reminds me of an anecdote which I had from an officer of the\nNinety-first Regiment.--It has never yet appeared in print, though it\nwell deserves to be so recorded, as being worthy of that distinguished\ncorps, the Seventy-first Highland Light Infantry, to which it belongs.\n\nThe circumstances took place in 1813, during the Peninsular War. The\nSeventy-first were at that time stationed with the Fiftieth and the\nNinety-second, at St. Pierre, on the main road between Bayonne and\nSt. Jean-pied-de-Port.--This was the key of Lord Hill's position\non the river Adour, and the fire of musquetry brought against its\ndefenders on the 13th December, was such as the oldest veterans had\nnever before witnessed. The corps under Lord Hill, indeed, were on\nthat day attacked by Soult's whole force. But so nobly did those\nfine regiments perform their duty, that the late Lieutenant-General\nthe Honourable William Stewart, next day gave out an order, which I\nremember treasuring up in my memory as a masterpiece of soldier-like\ndiction. I think the very words were these:--\"The second Division has\ngreatly distinguished itself, and its gallantry in yesterday's action\nis fully felt by the Commander of the Forces, and the Allied Army.\"\n\nAnd well indeed had they merited this highly creditable testimonial of\ntheir good behaviour. But the carnage was great, and there were many\nwho, alas! did not survive to participate in the honour conferred\nby it. Several of the wounded, belonging to the respective corps,\nwere huddled together in the lower storey of an old house, that stood\nupon the very ground on which the thickest part of the contest had\ntaken place. Now it happened, that certain officers from different\nregiments had taken shelter in a room in the floor above, where they\nwere refreshing themselves, after their fatigue, with such food and\nother restoratives as they could command, and among them was that\nofficer of the Ninety-first who told me the facts to which he was\nan ear-witness.\n\nThe conversation of these gentlemen, though mingled now and then with\nmany regrets for lost companions, had a certain temperate joy in it--a\njoy arising from a conviction that they had behaved like men--and which\nwas tempered by strong feelings of gratitude to a kind Providence,\nwho had preserved them amidst all the perils of the fight. Suddenly\ntheir talk was put an end to by the most heart-rending groans and\nshrieks of agony, that came up from the room below, through the old\ndecayed floor. What mirth or joy there was among them, was altogether\nbanished by the frequency and intensity of the screams, that betokened\nthe mortal sufferings of a dying man. They sat for a time mutely,\nthough deeply sympathizing, with the poor unfortunate from whom they\ncame. At length they distinctly heard another faint, and apparently\nexpiring voice, say, in a tone of rebuke,--\"Haud your tongue, James,\nand bear your fate like a man. We'll soon be baith at ease.--But, in\nthe mean time, haud your tongue, for there are folk aboon us that may\nbe hearin' you; and if you have no respect for yoursell, recollect\nwhat you owe to the gallant Seventy-first Hillant Light Infantry,\nto which we baith belong.\"\n\nThis appeal had the desired effect. All that could now be heard, in\nthe stillness of the night, was a low murmur. A surgeon, who was of\nthe party, immediately went to administer what relief he might to the\nwretched sufferers. But in one short hour these heroic men had ceased\nto exist, and no one can now tell even the name of either of them.\n\nAuthor.--A most touching anecdote!--What magnanimous fellows!\n\nGrant.--Their names should have been written by the hand of Fame\nherself, in letters of the purest and most imperishable gold!--Yet\nthey have been allowed to sink into the sea of forgetfulness, and,\n\n\n   \"Like the snow-falls in the river,\n    A moment white, then gone for ever.\"\n\n\nthey have melted into oblivion--so far, at least, as this world\nis concerned.\n\nClifford.--Yes; they sleep unremembered, whilst every lily-livered\ncobler, or tailor, who has handled his awl, or his bodkin, with no\nmore peril to his person than may have lain on the point of one or\nother of these formidable weapons, has his tombstone--his death's\nhead and cross-bones--and his attendant cherubims--as well as his\ntext and his epitaph.\n\nSerjeant.--Very true, sir--very true. What have such chields as these\nto do with fame? But for all that, we see fame arise to the silliest\nmen, and from the most trifling causes.\n\nGrant.--Right, Archy. For instance, I remember a certain Highlander,\nwho gained his fame in a way that may perhaps make you envious--for\nit is the tale of your unwhisperables that has brought him to my mind.\n\nSerjeant.--Aye, sir!--What was his story?\n\nGrant.--Why, the hero was a certain Rory Maccraw, who, despising\nthe kilt which he had worn all his life, resolved, at all risks,\nto figure in a pair of those elegant emblems of civilization called\nbreeches. At the present day, one may travel from the Tweed to the\nPentland Firth without seeing such a thing as a kilt; but at the time\nof which I am now speaking, anything in the shape of breeches was\njust as rarely to be seen as the kilt is now. Rory had a pair made\nfor him in some distant town, where, as they would say in Ireland,\nhe had not been by when his measure was taken, and having put them on,\nhe left his glen to go to a market. It was observed by his neighbours,\nthat he never before took so long a time to walk the same distance,\nand, from his strange and stately manner of strutting, they attributed\nthis circumstance to the pride he felt in his new garments. Arrived at\nthe market, the expectation he had indulged in, that he was to excite\nthe wonder and envy of all the people there, did not deceive him. He\nwas followed, and stared at, and admired, and questioned wherever he\nwent. If a dancing bear had waddled through the fair, he could not\nhave had half the number of people after him. But like most of those\nwho envy the lot of their neighbours, these good folks only saw the\noutside of things, and knew not the misery which was covered by this\nfair external show. In the midst of their admiration, poor Rory was in\ntorture. He would have given all he was worth, unmentionables and all,\nto have got rid of the admiring crowds that followed him; and at last,\nlong before he had done half his business in the market--for as to\npleasure, he could taste none of it--he, the envied, the observed of\nall observers, watched his opportunity to steal hobbling away down a\nback lane, whence he went limping in agony into the country. There,\nseating himself by the public way-side, regardless of what eyes\nmight behold him, he pulled off the instruments of his suffering, and\nhanging them on the end of his staff, he placed it over his shoulder,\nand so trudged his way homeward, in defiance of the taunts, gibes,\nand laughter of the crowds which he fell in with by the way. But\nhis fame was established; and ever afterwards he went by the name of\nPeter Breeks.\n\nClifford.--Capital!\n\nAuthor.--Well, Archy, to return to your own story, and the\ndisappointment you have met with in the arrestment of your career of\nglory, I would fain comfort you with the old proverb, that a contented\nmind is better than riches.\n\nSerjeant.--That is very true, sir; and I am very thankful that I am\nblessed with that same. And although I got but little in the army but\nhard knocks, yet I would take them all over again, rather than that I\nshould not have seen the many things I did see, as well as the heaps of\nqueer human beings I met with during the few years I served. What is\nman, gentlemen, unless he gets the rust of home, and the reek of his\nown fire-side rubbed off him by travel? He can never be expected to\nspeculate on any thing but the ducks in the dubbs, or the hens on the\nmidden-head. Though I had a tolerable education for the like of me,\nwhat would I have been had I never been out of this valley? Not much\nbetter, I trow, than one of the stirks that are bred in it. Bless you,\nsirs, I saw a vast of human nature in my travels.\n\nGrant.--And thought much and well on it too, Archy, if I mistake not.\n\nSerjeant.--May be I did, sir,--and a very curious nature it is, I'll\nassure you. But, gentlemen, we must cross the water at this wooden\nbridge here.\n\nAuthor.--If you had not seen so much by going into the world as you\nhave done, Archy, I have great doubts whether that curiosity, which\nhas since made you pick up that great store of your native legends\nwhich you are said to possess, might not have lain entirely dormant.\n\nSerjeant.--Oh, bless your honour, I should never have thought of\nsuch things. It was the seeing so much that roused up the spirit of\nenquiry within me. And so it happened, that after I came back from the\nsodgering trade, this spirit could not rest till I had gathered up all\nthe curious stories I could get. And then I fell tooth and nail upon\nbooks, so that, when I was not working, I was always reading histories,\nnovelles, magazines, newspapers, and such like, so that I am not just\naltogether that ill informed. But stop a moment, gentlemen; do you see\nyon bright green spot in the hollow of the hill-side yonder above us?\n\nGrant.--Yes; but what is there wonderful about that, Archy?\n\nSerjeant.--There is nothing very wonderful about itself, indeed,\nbut it is worth your remarking for all that. It is what we call in\nthis country a wallee, that is, the quaking bog out of which a spring\nwells forth.\n\nClifford.--Tut, Archy! There are few grouse shooters who have not\nexperienced the treachery of these smooth-faced, flattering, but most\ndeceitful water-traps.\n\nSerjeant.--Smooth-faced, flattering, and deceitful, indeed, sir. I've\nheard them compared by some to the fair sex, beauteous and smiling\noutside, and cruelly cold-hearted within. But I think any such\ncomparison is most unjust, for my old woman never deceived me; and,\nas I have told you, if it had not been for her oatmeal balls I verily\nbelieve I should not have been here at this moment.\n\nClifford.--It would ill become you, indeed, to slander the fair sex,\nMister Serjeant, and depend upon it, you will not catch me doing so.\n\nSerjeant.--But about the wallee yonder; I was saying----\n\nClifford.--Aye, the wallee; I shall never forget the first cold-bath I\nhad up to the neck in one of them. It was all owing to the spite of a\ncunning old moorcock, which I had severely wounded. Out of revenge,\nI suppose, for the mortal injury I had done him, he chose to come\nfluttering down into the very middle of what I conceived to be a\nbeautiful surface of hard green-sward. Being but a young sportsman at\nthe time, and very eager to secure my bird, who sat most provokingly\ntock-tock-tocking at me, as if he had bid me defiance, I ran down\nthe bank, and made a bound towards him. In I went souse. I shiver\nyet to think of it--my very senses were congealed--and for a moment I\nverily believed that I had been suddenly transformed into the North\nPole, and that the cock-grouse that fluttered around me was Captain\nParry come to explore me. And, i' faith, if it had not been for the\nlight foot and strong arm of the gilly who was with me, I believe I\nmight have been sticking upright there, preserved in ice till this\nmoment. There was a moorish bath for you!\n\nSerjeant.--They are most unchancy bits for strangers; that is certain,\nsir.\n\nClifford.--Unchancy indeed! But if that is all you have to tell us\nabout yonder place in the hill-side, Mr. Archy, you may save yourself\nthe trouble of attempting to astonish me with your information;\nfor, Sassenach though I be, I promise you that I have been long ago\ninitiated into the full depth of the mystery.--Nymphs and Naiads of\nthe crystal Aven, what a beautiful stream there is for fishing!\n\nSerjeant.--'Tis very good, indeed, sir. But yon wallee that I was\nspeaking about would swallow a horse, with you on the top of it. Many\na time have I thrust a long pole down into it without reaching any\nthing the least like firm ground. It would swallow that fishing-wand\nof yours, sir.\n\nClifford.--(Already employed in putting his rod together.)--Plague\nchoke it, I should be sorry indeed to see my rod go in any such way. It\nis one of the best Bond ever made; and though adapted, by means of\nthese different pieces, to any size of stream, it was never intended\nfor such deep sea fishing as you would put it to. I shall apply it to\nanother purpose, my good serjeant. With this sky, the trouts there will\ntake a grey mallard's wing with a yellow silk body, in great style.\n\nSerjeant.--But the wallee up yonder is worth your notice, because of\nan ould auncient monumental stone, that once stood on the dry bank\nbeside it.\n\nGrant.--Ha! a monumental stone!--let us hear about that.\n\nSerjeant.--It was about seven feet high, sir, and the tradition\nregarding it is, that it was set up there in memory of a sad story\nthat is connected with it.\n\nAuthor.--A story, said you?\n\nClifford.--Then, my good fellow, Serjeant Stewart, just have the\nkindness to sit down there, and tell us the particulars of your sad\nstory, while I give a few casts here over this most tempting stream.\n\nSerjeant.--With all manner of pleasure, sir; I shall be happy to tell\nyour honours all I have gathered about it. It is the very legend for\nwhich Mr. Clifford marked me down in his book.\n\nClifford immediately began to fish. Grant and I seated ourselves on the\ndaisied bank of the river, one on each side of the serjeant. The gilly\nstretched himself at length on the grass, and was soon asleep--the\npony with the panniers grazed as far around him as the length of his\nhalter would let him, and my Newfoundland dog Bronte sat watching\nthe trouts leaping, whilst Archy proceeded with his narrative, as\nnearly as I can recollect, in the following words; but if not always\nprecisely in the serjeant's own language, at least I shall give it\nwith a strict adherence to his facts.\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\nLEGEND OF THE CLAN-ALLAN STEWARTS.\n\n\nFrom the important correction which your honour has made upon my\ngenealogy, I think I may now venture to say, with some confidence,\nthat the time of my legend must be somewhere about the fifteenth\ncentury--how early in it I cannot say; but it is pretty clear that my\nancestor, Sir Allan Stewart, must have lived about that period. As\nI have already told you, the whole of this country, hill and glen,\nwas then covered with forests, except in such spots as were kept\nopen by the art of man for pasture or for tillage, but of the latter,\neven of the rudest kind, I suspect there was but little hereaway in\nthose days. I take it for granted that the chief of the Clan-Allan\nmust have had his stronghold at the old tower of Drummin, though I\ndo not mean to say that it was identically the same building that\nnow exists there. It stands, as some of you perhaps know, gentlemen,\na good way down the country from where we now are, on a point of table\nland considerably elevated above the valley, which is there rendered\nwider by the junction of the river Livat with the river Aven, and just\nin the angle between these two streams. When the noble old forests\nwaved over the surrounding hills, leaving the quiet meadows below\nopen in rich pasture, it must have been even yet a more beautiful\nplace for man to dwell in than it is now,--and, let me tell you,\nthat is saying a great deal.\n\nMy history begins towards the end of the life of Sir Allan Stewart,\nwhose term of existence had been long, and no doubt boisterous enough,\nas you may very well guess. He was by this time so old as to be\nconfined to his big oak chair, which was generally placed for him\nunder the projection of the huge chimney of the ancient fire-place,\nor lumm, as we call it in Scotland; and there he sat, propped up with\npillows, crooning over old ballads, and muttering old saws from morn\ntill night, as if he now cared for nothing in this life, but to drone\naway the last dull measure of his time, like the end of some drowsy\nill-composed pibroch, if such a thing there can be. But the lively\ninterest which he took when any stirring event occurred, which in any\ndegree affected the honour or welfare of himself, his family or clan,\nsufficiently showed that all his martial fire was not extinguished;\nfor then would it flash out from beneath his heavy eyelids--his bulky\nform would move impatiently on his seat, and he would turn his eyes\nrestlessly towards his broadsword and targe, that hung conspicuously\namong the deers' heads, wolfs' skins, and the numerous warlike weapons\nthat covered the walls, with an expression so animated, as very plainly\nto speak the ardour of his decaying spirit, which still, like that\nof the old war-horse, seemed thus to snuff up the battle from afar.\n\nSir Allan had two tall strapping sons by his first marriage--Walter and\nPatrick, both of them pretty men. To Walter, as the elder of the two,\nhe looked as his successor, and, accordingly, he already acted in all\nthings, and on all occasions, as his father's representative. After\nthe death of their mother, Sir Allan had married a woman of lower\ndegree, by whom he had a third son, called Murdoch, whose naturally\nbad dispositions had been fostered by the doting fondness of his old\nfather. Murdoch's mother, at the time we are speaking of, was what\nwe would call in our country phrase a handsome boardly-looking dame,\nof some forty years of age or so, whose smooth tongue and deceitful\nsmile covered the blackest and most depraved heart.\n\n\"See, father!\" said Walter Stewart to old Sir Allan, as he and his\nbrother Patrick entered the hall one evening, followed by some of\ntheir people, with whom they had been all day engaged in the pursuit\nof a wolf, whose grinning countenance, attached to his shaggy skin,\nwas borne triumphantly on the point of a hunting spear. \"See here,\nfather! we have got him at last. We have at last taken vengeance on\nthe villain for his cruel slaughter of poor Isabel's child. Look at\nthe spoils of the murdering caitiff who devoured the little innocent.\"\n\n\"Hath he not been a fell beast, father?\" said Patrick, holding up\nthe hunting spear before Sir Allan, and shaking the trophy.\n\n\"Ah!\" said Sir Allan, rousing himself up, \"a fell beast indeed!--aye,\naye--poor child, poor child!--bring his head nearer to me, boy! Would\nI could have been with you! Aye, aye--dear me--age will come upon\nus. But I have seen the day, boys--aye, aye--och, hey!\"\n\n\"Ho, there!\" cried Walter Stewart, \"what means it that there are no\nsigns of supper? By St. Hubert, but we have toiled long enough and\nhard enough to-day with legs, arms, spears, spades, and mattocks,\nto have well earned our meal! Where is brother Murdoch?--where is\nthe Lady Stradawn?\"\n\n\"Aye, aye,\" said the querulous old Sir Allan, \"it is ever thus\nnow-a-days. I am always left to myself--weary, weary is my life I am\nsure--and I am hungry--very hungry. Aye, aye.\"\n\n\"Thou shalt have thy supper very soon, father,\" said Patrick, kindly\ntaking his hand; \"and Walter and I will leave you but for a brief\nspace, to rid us of these wet and soiled garments.\"\n\nThe two brothers then hastened from the hall to go to their respective\nchambers.\n\n\"Whose draggle-tailed beast was that I saw tied up under the tree\nbeyond the outer gateway as we came in?\" demanded Walter of his\nattendant, Dugald Roy.\n\n\"I have seen the beast before,\" replied Dugald. \"If I am not far\nmista'en, it is the garron the proud Priest of Dalestie rides,--and a\nclever beast it would need to be, I am sure, for many a long, and late,\nand queer gate does it carry him, I trow.\"\n\n\"How came the animal there, Dugald?\" demanded Walter quickly.\n\n\"If by your question, how the animal came there, you would ask what\nroad he took, Sir Knight,\" replied Dugald, \"I must tell you that the\nman that could answer you would need to deal with the devil, for no\none but the foul fiend himself could follow the Priest of Dalestie;\nfor, unless he be most wickedly belied, his ways follow those of the\nEvil One, as much as our good father, Peter of Dounan, is known to\ntravel in the path of his blessed Master.\"\n\n\"Nay, but I would know from thee, in plain terms, where thou judgest\nthat the rider of the horse may be?\" said Sir Walter, impatiently.\n\n\"With your lady mother, the Lady Stradawn, I reckon,\" said Dugald,\nsinking his voice to a half whisper.\n\n\"Call her not my lady mother!\" said Sir Walter, angrily, \"my lady\nstep-mother, if thou wilt, or my step-mother without the lady, for\nthat, in truth, would better befit her, disgrace as she hath been and\nstill is to us all.--Here, undo this buckle!--But what, I pr'ythee,\nhath she to do with the proud Priest of Dalestie, as thou hast so\nwell named him?\"\n\n\"Nay, nothing that I know of, Sir Walter, unless it be to confess her,\"\nreplied Dugald.\n\n\"Why, the good old father, Peter of Dounan, was here but yesterday,\nwas he not?\" exclaimed Sir Walter, \"might he not have shriven her?\"\n\n\"Father Peter was here sure enough,\" replied Dugald, \"but it would\nseem that he is not to the lady's fancy.\"\n\n\"Beshrew her fancy!\" cried Sir Walter, bitterly,--\"Where could she,\nor any one, find a worthier confessor than Father Peter of Dounan? He\nis, indeed, a good and godly man, and, frail as he is in body, we\nknow that he is always ready to run, as fast as his feeble limbs\ncan carry him, wherever his pious duties or his charities may call\nhim.--Moreover, he is at all times within reach, what need, then,\nhath she to send so far a-field for one whose character is, by every\none's report, so very questionable--give me my hose and sandals,\nDonald.--Now thou may'st go.--By the Rood, I like not that pestilent\nand ill-famed fellow coming about our house! He hath more character\nfor arrogance, and self-indulgence as a glutton and a toss-pot, than\nfor sanctity.--It was an ill day for this country side when it was\ndisgraced by his coming into it.\"\n\nAfter muttering this last sentence to himself, Walter quickly\ndescended the narrow stair, and approached the door of the lady's\nbower in another part of the building.--It was partially open.--He\ntapped gently, and, no answer being returned, he pushed it up, and\ngreat were his surprise and disgust at the scene which he beheld. The\nLady Stradawn was sitting, or rather reclining in her arm-chair, with a\npretty large round table before her, covered with good things.--A huge\nvenison pasty occupied the centre of it, and around it stood several\ndishes, in no very regular order, containing different dainties. Two\nwell-used trenchers, showed that some one else had assisted her, in\nproducing the havoc that appeared to have been wrought in the pie,\nand among the other viands--and a black-jack half full of ale--and a\ntall silver stoup, which, though now empty, still gave forth a potent\nodour of the spiced wine which it had contained--together with two\nmazers of the same metal, which bore the marks of having been used in\nthe drinking of it, proved that the guest, who had just left the lady,\nmust have been a noble auxiliary in this revel, which, judging from\nthe fact of an over-turned drinking horn that lay on the floor, and\none or two other circumstances that appeared, must have been a merry\none. The deep sleep in which the lady lay, and her flushed countenance,\nleft no doubt in Sir Walter's mind that she had enjoyed a full share\nof this private banquet. By the time he had leisure to make himself\nfully aware of all these particulars, the lady's bower-woman appeared\nat the chamber door. She started, and would have retreated--but Sir\nWalter seized her by the wrist, and adroitly put a question to her\nbefore she had time to recover from her confusion.\n\n\"When did the priest of Dalestie go forth from hence, Jessy?\" demanded\nhe.\n\n\"I have just come from seeing him to horse, Sir Knight,\" said the\nwoman, trembling.\n\n\"Well, Jessy, thou mayest go; I would speak with thy mistress in\nprivate,\" said Sir Walter, seeing her out, and shutting the chamber\ndoor; and then, turning to the Lady Stradawn, and shaking her arm till\nhe had awakened her. \"Madam,\" said he, \"what unseemly sight is this?\"\n\n\"Sis--sis--sis--sight, Sir Priest?\" replied the lady, with her eyes\ngoggling; \"sis--sight! What mean ye, Sir Priest? he! he! he!\"\n\n\"Holy Saint Andrew grant me temper!\" said Sir Walter. \"Madam, Sir\nAllan waits for thee to give him his evening meal: he is impatient. Sir\nAllan, I say!\"\n\n\"Tut! hang Sir Allan,\" cried the lady, still unconscious as to whom\nshe was addressing, and taking him by the arm; \"hang Sir Allan, as\nthou thyself saidst but now, thou most merry conditioned mettlesome,\nSir Priest. He! he! he! Hang the old stobber-chops, and let's be\njolly while we can. Come; sit down--sit down, I say. You need not go\nyet. Did I not tell thee that Jessy keeps the door?\"\n\n\"I am not the priest, vile woman!\" cried Sir Walter, with indignation,\nwhilst, at the same time, he shook her off with a force and rudeness\nthat seemed almost to bring her back to her senses. \"Did'st thou not\nnow, alas! alas! to our shame, most unworthily fill that place once\noccupied by my sainted mother, and that thine exposure would prove but\nthe greater dishonour to our house, by the holy Rood, I would call up\nevery thing that hath life within these walls, down to the very cat,\nthat all eyes might behold thy disgrace, and then should'st thou\nbe trundled forth, and rolled into the river, that the fishes might\ngorge themselves on thine obscene carcase!\"\n\nBursting from the apartment, Walter hastily sought the hall; and\nthe evening meal having been by this time spread, he called to the\nretainers to be seated, and hastened to busy himself in attending\nto his father, in supplying him with the food prepared for him, and\nwith such little matters as he knew the old man most liked--feeding\nhim from time to time like a child.\n\n\"Aye, aye, that's good,\" said old Sir Walter. \"Thanks, thanks,\nmy boy; you are a good boy. But where is Bella? where is the Lady\nStradawn? Och hey, that's good,--but she is often away now; seldom\nit is, I am sure, that I see her. Aye, aye, Walter, boy, that is\ngood--that is very good.\"\n\nWhen his father was satisfied, Walter seated himself at the board, and\nate and drank largely, from very vexation and ire, and in order to keep\ndown the storm of rage which was secretly working within him. This, as\nwell as the cause of it, he privately determined to conceal, even from\nhis brother Patrick, with whom he had been, upon all other occasions,\naccustomed to share his inmost thoughts. For the rest of the night he\nsat gloomy and abstracted, and at an earlier hour than usual he hurried\noff to his chamber. There, having summoned his attendant, Dugald Roy,\nhe questioned him more particularly as to all he knew regarding the\nvisits of the Priest of Dalestie to Drummin, and having then dismissed\nhim, with strict injunctions to maintain a prudent silence, he threw\nhimself into bed, to pass a restless and perturbed night.\n\nThe next morning saw the Lady Stradawn glide into the hall, to preside\nover the morning meal, gaily dressed, and covered as usual with chains,\nbrooches, and rings of massive worth, which she procured no one knew\nhow. Her countenance beamed with her wonted smiles, as if nothing\nwrong had happened, or could have happened on her part. Walter and\nPatrick saluted her with that cold yet civil deference, which they had\nalways been in the habit of using towards her, as the wife of their\nfather, and in which Walter took care that neither his brother, nor\nany one else, should perceive any shadow of change upon the present\noccasion. The manner of her salutation was as blythe, kind, free,\nand unconcerned as it ever was before.\n\n\"Wicked rogue, Walter, that thou art!\" said she in a tone of merry\nrailery, \"fie for shame on thee! to steal into thy lady mother's\nbower to catch her asleep in her arm-chair! In sooth I was not\naltogether well last night, else had I joined thee at the festive\nboard, to rejoice with thee over the spoils of that grim gaffer wolf,\nwhom they tell me thou hast so nobly slain.\"\n\n\"Thou did'st indeed seem somewhat indisposed, madam,\" said Sir Walter\nwith a peculiarly significant emphasis, and with a penetrating look\nwhich she alone could understand.\n\n\"I was very much indisposed as you say, Walter,\" replied she, as if\nquite unconscious that he had intended to convey to her any covered\nmeaning; \"that foolish old woman, Nancy, the miller's wife, took it\ninto her wise head to come a plaguing me, to reckon with her about\nthe kain fowls she had paid into the castle since last quarter-day;\nand she talks--Holy Virgin, how the woman does talk!\"\n\n\"Truly the woman does talk marvellously,\" replied Walter, biting his\nnether lip to keep down his vexation.\n\n\"As thou say'st, son Walter, she does e'en talk most marvellously. Her\ntongue seems to have learned the art of wagging from the clapper of\nold John's mill. I protest I would as lieve sit listening to the one\nas to the other. My head aches still with the noise of her clatter.\"\n\n\"I wonder not indeed that thy head should ache,\" replied Sir Walter.\n\n\"And then, forsooth, I behoved to call up meat for the greedy cummer,\"\ncontinued the lady,--\"Holy Mother, how the woman did swallow the\neatables and drinkables!\"\n\n\"She must have swallowed enough of both sorts,\" said Sir Walter,\nwith a meaning in his mode of speaking, that he began to suspect he\nmight have made almost too plainly marked; and, hastening to change\nthe subject, \"Madam,\" continued he, \"I fear you have forgotten Sir\nAllan this morning.\"\n\n\"Holy Saints, but so I have!\" cried she, starting up from her\nseat,--\"what have I been thinking of? My poor Sir Allan!\" continued\nshe, as she hastened to him with a covered silver dish, that contained\nthe minced food the old man was wont to take; and, after making of\nhim, with all the fuss and phrase she would have used to an infant,\nshe put a napkin around his neck, and proceeded to feed him.\n\n\"Where is Murdoch this morning?\" demanded Patrick of his brother.\n\n\"I know not,\" replied Walter, as he sat musing with a clouded brow.\n\n\"He was not at supper last night,\" observed Patrick again; \"nay,\nI know not that I have seen him for these three days bypast.\"\n\n\"He was not at supper,\" said Sir Walter, still absorbed by his own\nthoughts.\n\n\"Murdoch is an idle good-for-nothing,\" said the Lady Stradawn, joining\nin the conversation, from the place where she stood by the side of\nSir Allan's chair. \"Though he be mine own son, I will say that for\nhim, that it would be well for him to take a pattern by his elder\nbrothers, and be killing wolves, or doing some such useful work,\nand not be staying out whole days and nights this way, at weddings\nand merry-makings, without ever showing us his face. I wish you would\ngive him a good word of your brotherly advice, my dear son Walter.\"\n\n\"Chut!--tut!\" cried old Sir Allan,--\"let the boy alone!--aye,\naye--let the boy alone. The lad is young.--I was a wild slip myself\nonce in a day--that I was. But old age will creep on--hech sirs!--aye,\naye--what days I have seen!--Och, hey!\"\n\n\"Here, take this, my dear Sir Allan,\" said the lady,--\"take this,\ndearest--'tis the last spoonful.\"\n\n\"Where art thou going, brother?\" said Patrick, rising to follow his\nbrother Sir Walter, who had left the table, and was moving towards\nthe door.\n\n\"Up the glen to look for a deer,\" replied Walter.\n\n\"Then have with thee brother,\" said Patrick.\n\nSir Walter would have fain shaken himself free from his brother, for\nthat morning at least; but he felt that he could not do so without\na certain appearance of unkindness, which the warm affection that\nsubsisted between them could not allow him to use, or that otherwise,\nhe must have given him an explanation, which he was conscious that\nhe could not have given him, consistently with those designs which\nhe then privately cherished in his bosom. He was therefore compelled\nsilently to assent to his accompanying him. They both accordingly\nassumed that humble garb, which they usually wore when bent upon the\npursuit of the deer,--in which, but for their carriage and bearing,\nthey might easily have been mistaken for the humblest of their party,\nand, after such preparation, they sallied forth.\n\nThey were hardly gone, when the Lady Stradawn, leaving the old Sir\nAllan to entertain himself with his own dreamy musings and vacant\nthoughts, climbed to the bartizan of the tower to look out for her son,\nMurdoch. It was yet early in the morning--but as her two step-sons\nhad a walk of a good many miles before them, ere they could reach\nthe place where they proposed hunting, they and their people were\nseen toiling up the valley, at a pace which corresponded with the\nviolence of those feelings which then possessed Sir Walter, who was\nstretching away at the head of the party.\n\n\"Curses on ye both!\" cried the lady, with intense bitterness, after\nhaving followed them with her malignant eyes, till they had wound out\nof sight behind a projecting spur of a wooded mountain that flanked\nthe valley.--\"Curses!--black and withering curses on ye both, vile\nspawn that ye are, that stand between my boy and his prospects!--I\nfear that Walter--my especial curse upon him!--for, with all his fair\nwords, he is stern and ferocious as a wild cat when he is roused.--But,\nwild cat though he be, the wily viper may yet wind its folds silently\naround him, and sting him to the death ere he may have time to unglove\nhis claws.--What can make my darling boy tarry so long.--He has now\nbeen absent for more than three days.--Much as he hath enriched me\nwith money and jewels, I like not the risk he runs.--But he will not\nbe forbidden.--Nature works in him, and perhaps it is as well that he\nshould thus render himself hardy, seeing that he must one day--aye,\nand that soon too, if I have any cunning left in me--command the proud\nClan-Allan. Stay, did I not see tartans yonder, and arms glittering in\nyon farther lawnde, in the vale below, beyond those nearer woods? That\nmust surely be Murdoch and his men. The foolish boy will not surely\nbring them within nearer ken of the Castle? Ha!--I see one figure\nseparate from the rest, whilst the main body seems to take to the\nwoods on the hill-side. In sooth, there is no prudence lacking in\nthe youth, nay, nor any cunning neither, as I well know, from the\ntrouble it hath cost me to lull his suspicions regarding the Priest of\nDalestie. But if Murdoch hath cunning, he hath it from me, his mother;\nand it will be hard indeed if mine cannot match it. Ah!--there he\nalready bursts from the wood--I must hasten to meet him in my bower,\nthat I may learn what luck he hath had.\"\n\nThe lady hurried down to her bower--quickly found some errand on which\nto despatch her woman--and then she sat waiting impatiently, turning\nover the bunch of antique keys which hung at her girdle, until she\nheard her son's step in the passage, and his gentle tap at her door.\n\n\"Come in!\" said the Lady Stradawn in a subdued voice--\"come in,\nmy son!\"\n\n\"Ha!--I am glad that thou art here and alone, mother,\" said Murdoch,\na slim, handsome, dark-eyed youth, who, after cautiously entering,\nshut the door behind him, and carefully turned the huge key that\nlocked it. \"I am glad that you are here alone, for I have such treasure\nfor you.\"\n\n\"Hush, hush, my darling,\" said the lady, almost in a whisper--\"speak\nlower, I entreat you, lest any eaves-dropper should hear\nyou.--Quick!--how sped ye?--and what have you got?\"\n\n\"We have been all the way to Banff again this time,\" replied\nMurdoch. \"Seeing that we sped so well the last time we made thither,\nas thou well knowest we did, we thought we should try our luck there\nonce more. We heard that there was a market in the Brugh, and we\nsent a clever-witted spy among the packmen, to gather who among them\nmight be best worth holding talk with. Two of them we learned were to\ntravel together for company's sake,--fellows who dealt in goldsmiths'\nwork. But, marry! they travelled not far from the town-end till we\nmet them, when, like good-natured civil fellows, we eased them of\ntheir heavy loads, under which they seemed to sweat so grievously;\nand that they might not trouble us here, and at the same time being\nloth to part two such friends, we set them both a travelling together\non a journey to the next world.\"\n\n\"Speak not of the next world, Murdoch!\" said the lady, shuddering. \"But\nthey were sickerly sent thither, said'st thou?\"\n\n\"As surely as we shall one day go there ourselves, good mother,\"\nreplied Murdoch.\n\n\"Speak not of our going there, boy,\" said the lady. \"'Tis time enough\nyet. But there is little crime I wot, after all, in ridding this\nworld of such cheating gangerels as those you tell me of.\"\n\n\"Crime!\" replied Murdoch, \"Why, mother, there is an absolute virtue in\nsuch a deed. Have we not put an end to their rapacity and knavery? And\nhave we not thereby saved many a foolish maiden from being cheated\nby them? By Saint Nicholas, but the doer of so good a deed deserves\nto be canonized!\"\n\n\"But come, boy, thy treasure,\" said the greedy and impatient\ndame. \"Quick,--what hast thou got to show me? Haste thee to feast\nmine eyes with the spoil of these miscreants.\"\n\n\"In the first place, then,\" said Murdoch, \"as at a feast we should\nalways begin with the solids,--here is a small bag of broad pieces,\nwhich might well satisfy many a hungry man. Secondly, here are\nyour curious cates and delicacies, enow to bedizen out a dozen\nof lordlings' daughters!--See what a chain!--how exquisite the\nworkmanship!--Behold these rings,--see what sparkling gems! Every one\nof them set, too, most rarely in a different fashion! Here is one,\nfor example, which would seem to have a curious posey in it; some\nready-made love verse, I suppose. Let me see,--'Feare God and doe no\nevyle,'--eh! ha!--that--that is a good advice, which the last owner,\nas I take it, was too great a knave to profit by; but you and I,\nmother dear----\"\n\n\"Have done with thy foolery, Murdoch,\" said the lady, impatiently;\n\"have done with thy foolery, and give me thy booty, without farther\nnonsense. Now, leave me for a while, and go talk with the old man,\nwhilst I bestow the treasure in a place of safety. Thou knowest it\nwill all go to deck thy bride, when thou canst find one.\"\n\n\"Leave me alone for that, mother,\" said Murdoch, significantly. \"I\npromise thee, I have mine eye on a good man's daughter, whom I shall\nhave by foul or by fair means ere I die. But that is a secret I shall\nkeep to myself till the time comes; so good day, good mother.\"\n\n\"What can he mean?\" said the Lady Stradawn, after he was gone. \"But\n'tis nothing, after all, but his wild talk. No, no; I must have my\nsay with him when it comes to that!\"\n\nNow that the lady found herself alone, she doubly locked and bolted the\ndoor. She then spread the gold and the jewels on the table before her,\nand glutted her eyes for a time with the glittering sight. Applying\nher keys to a cabinet which stood against the wall, she opened the\nleaves of it, and so exposed the front of a set of secret drawers,\nshallower above and deeper below. Selecting other keys from the bunch,\nshe began to open and to examine the drawers, one by one, from above\ndownwards--her eyes successively surveying the riches they contained,\nwhilst, with scrupulous attention, she from time to time selected\narticles from among the spoils on the table, and deposited them among\nthe rest, as fancy led her to sort and arrange them, carefully locking\neach drawer ere she proceeded to open the next; and thus she went on\nuntil she found that she had disposed of the whole of the trinkets.\n\n\"'Twas no great things, after all,\" said she, musing; \"I wonder when\nthey will go forth again? But let me count the money.--Aye, that is\npretty well; and yet it might have been more for the death of two\nmen. But there are other two men I know of, whose lives would be\nworth more!--Hush!--did I not hear a noise?--Quick--let me huddle\nthe gold into this drawer in the cabinet, where I bestowed the\nbroad pieces in the hurry I was taken with when the Priest came in\nlast night.--What!--nothing there!--Ha!--can the man who--can the\nvillain have robbed me?--Yes; it could have been no one else.--I\nsee clearly how it was. He asked me for money--I gave him two pieces\nfrom that very drawer. His greedy eyes saw what it contained, and,\nwhilst my back was turned, he must have cleverly helped himself to\nthe whole. It could have been nobody else, because I well remember\nthat I carefully closed the leaves of the cabinet, locked them, and\nput the keys into my iron strong-box, before I called Jessy to bring\nthe refreshments.--What a consummate knave!--But what could I expect\nbetter of such a reprobate--a priest who glories as he does in his\nwickedness? It would have been well perhaps for me that I had never\nseen him.--And yet--But his share of his crime is his own.--Wretch that\nhe is, he might have had it all for the asking.--Weak woman that I am,\nI could have refused him nothing.--Well, I must e'en let it pass, and\nbe more careful again.--But I shall look better after this bag of broad\npieces. It shall be added to the heap I have here,\" continued she,\nunlocking a drawer of deeper and larger dimensions. \"Aye!\" said she,\neyeing the treasure it contained with avaricious delight,--\"that is all\nsafe; go thou, then, to increase the store, and may my darling boy soon\nfetch me other bags to bear these company in this their prison-house!\"\n\nI must now return to the two brothers. Walter, who usually directed\nevery thing in all their expeditions, never halted until he found\nhimself far up on these very mountains now before us. He sought for\ndeer, it is true; but, whilst he did so, or rather, whilst he allowed\nhis brother and his people to do so, his mind seemed to be occupied\nwith something else than hunting. It was towards evening, when he\nand the rest of the party were still tracking their way through\nthe forest without success, when, they at last found themselves in\nthat part of it, which then covered the hill that hangs over the\nhaugh of Dalestie, some miles above this. Partial breaks among the\ntrees there gave Sir Walter, now and then, a view downwards into\nthe valley below; and, as he walked and ruminated within himself,\nas if oppressed with some weighty matter, his secret musings were\nsuddenly broken by the distant toll of the bell of a small chapel,\nwhich, if I am rightly informed, then stood near the bottom of the\nhill. The sound came mellowed over the intervening woods, and Sir\nWalter started as it reached his ear. He became deeply moved; but\nhis emotion was not like that movement of piety which the note of the\nchurch-going bell should awaken. It more resembled that, which, when\nthe hoarse trumpet has sounded, or the shrill pipes have struck up,\nI have myself seen convert the godlike countenance of man into that\nof a demon. Sir Walter Stewart stamped upon the ground.\n\n\"Dugald!\" cried he aloud; \"What ho, Dugald Roy, I say. Does that bell\ncall to evening mass?\"\n\n\"It does, Sir Knight,\" replied Dugald.\n\n\"Then get thee down through the wood,\" said Sir Walter; \"get thee\ndown through the wood ere it hath ceased to sound, and tell the proud\npriest of Dalestie that I, Walter Stewart of Clan-Allan, am upon the\nhill, and that, if he dares to mumble a word, yea, or a syllable,\nbefore I come, his life shall pay for it.\"\n\n\"Stay, stay,\" cried Patrick Stewart, eagerly; \"stay him, dear\nbrother! What sudden fit is this that hath seized thee? A priest!--how\ncanst thou think of sending such a message as this to a priest?\"\n\n\"Dugald Roy, begone, and obey thy master's bidding!\" cried Sir Walter,\nsternly. \"Brother, I forgive thee this thine interference, though\nI cannot allow myself to be swayed by it. Trust me, I have mine own\ngood reasons for so acting, though this be no fitting time for making\nthee aware of them.\"\n\nPatrick, whom affection, as well as habit had long disposed to show\nimplicit deference and obedience to his brother Walter's will, said\nno more, but followed his solemn footsteps down the mountain path\nthat led to the chapel. They had not gone half the way till the bell\nhad ceased to toll. And they had not gone two-thirds of the way till\nDugald Roy met them.\n\n\"Thou hast not sped on thine errand, then?\" said Sir Walter, with\nan expression in which more of satisfaction than of disappointment\nmight have been read. \"Speak, Dugald; how did the arrogant caitiff\nreceive my message?\"\n\n\"Since I must say it, Sir Knight,\" replied Dugald, with some\nhesitation,--\"he received it very scurvily.--'Tell the proud Stewart,'\nsaid he, 'that though he may be lord of the land, I am the king as\nwell as the priest in mine own chapel.'--And so he straightway began\nthe holy service, but rather, methought, as if he had been dighting\nhimself for single combat, than for prayer, and in a manner altogether\nso irreverent, that the few people who were there, with faces full\nof dismay, quietly arose and left the chapel, as if some wicked thing\nhad ta'en up the priest's surplice in mockery.\"\n\n\"By the Rood, but they were right if they so thought!\" cried Sir\nWalter, quickening his pace--\"He is a vile obscene wolf that hath\ncrept like a thief into the fold.--But I'll speak to him anon.\"\n\nThe rate at which Sir Walter now strode down the hill, kept his\nastonished brother Patrick, and the whole party at their full bent. The\ntrees grew thinner as they came nearer the level valley, and by and\nbye they ceased altogether, so that a full view was obtained of the\nhaugh at the bottom. There the Priest of Dalestie was seen leaving\nthe chapel to go homewards.\n\n\"There he goes!\" cried Sir Walter--\"there he goes stalking along with\nan air and a gait, that might better befit a proud prince of the earth,\nthan Heaven's humble messenger of peace, as his profession ought to\nhave made him.--What, ho, Sir Priest!--I would speak with thee.\"\n\nThe Priest started--looked suddenly back--halted, and drew himself\nup--then turned again, and moved a few paces slowly onwards, as if\nirresolute what he should do.--Again he halted, and again he moved on,\nwhilst Sir Walter's footsteps were hurrying fast up to him.--At length,\nhe seemed to have made up his mind to abide that parley which he now\nsaw he could not escape, and, turning sharp round to face the Stewart,\nhe planted himself firmly in the way before him.\n\n\"What would'st thou with me, Sir Knight?\" demanded he, in a haughty\nand determined tone.--\"After the rude and unwonted message which\nthou hast just dared to send to me, a holy minister of the Church,\nmethinks that thou canst dare to approach me now, for no other purpose,\nthan to sue penitently for pardon and absolution at my hands.\"\n\n\"A holy minister of the Church!\" exclaimed Sir Walter.--\"A minister\nof the holy Church, if thou wilt--but thyself most unholy.--My sins,\nGod pardon me!--are many.--But albeit that I am at all times ready\nto kneel in confession, and in humble penitence, before that true and\ngodly servant of Christ, the good and pious father, Peter of Dounan,\nor any other such as he, I will never bend the knee before one, whose\nwickedness has been the dishonour and reproach of the district, ever\nsince it hath been cursed with his presence, and who yet profanely\ndares most impiously to approach the holy altar.\"\n\n\"Brother! brother Walter!\" cried Patrick Stewart, endeavouring to\nmoderate Sir Walter's growing ire; \"what madness is this! Think of\nthe sacred character he wears, however little common fame may give\nhim credit for supporting it. Think how----\"\n\n\"Silence, I say, Patrick!\" cried Sir Walter, in an authoritative tone,\nwhich he had never before assumed to his brother. \"Again I say, thou\nknowest not the secret reasons which move me at this moment. That\nfoul swine, whose sensual snout hath been in every man's dish, and\nwho hath uprooted that very vineyard which hath been confided to his\ncare, must be forthwith cast out. He must be no longer permitted to\nlive. Seize him and bind him!\"\n\n\"Lay not a hand on me, good sirs, if you would avoid the thunders and\nexcommunications of the Church,\" cried the priest, now no longer proud,\nbut trembling, and in an humble tone.\n\n\"Seize him and bind him, I say,\" cried Sir Walter. \"If there be any\none man among the Clan-Allan here--if there be one Clan-Allan Stewart,\nI say, who in his conscience believes that he doth not deserve to die\nby fire, that man hath my leave to sit apart, and bear no faggot to\nthe pile that is to consume him. Who among you is there that doth not\nknow his misdeeds? Not a man answers. Then is he condemned by all. Let\neach man, then, get him to the wood, and bring a faggot of the driest\nfuel, and let him forthwith be brent, and his ashes scattered to the\nwinds, so that the earth may be no longer polluted with his carcase,\nand that even the very memory of him may perish!\"\n\n\"Brother, brother!\" cried Patrick Stewart, in a tone of entreaty;\n\"do not bring upon yourself the terrors of the Church. His fame,\nindeed, is none of the best; but, whatever be his sins, bethink thee\nthat 'twere better to let him be tried by that sacred tribunal to\nwhich he is naturally amenable.\"\n\n\"By the holy Rood, which this traitor to his crucified Master has\nso wickedly profaned, he shall not live an hour,\" cried Sir Walter,\nrising in his rage. \"I am but the executioner of God's justice on him;\nand he shall die, be the consequences what they may. See!--see how\nbusily the fellows toil! Their hearts are in the work. The labour is\na pleasure to them. Not a man hath stood aloof from it, far less hath\nany one dared to speak in his cause. Why, then shouldst thou speak\nbrother Patrick? Though thou knowest not all, thou knowest quite\nenough to know that he hath well earned the fate I have awarded\nhim. But though thou art ignorant of all that now impelleth me, I\ntell thee that I have enough to satisfy bishop or pope, if need were,\nthat I am now doing the Church good service. But, be that as it may,\nI trust the time will never come when the chieftain of Clan-Allan\nshall not dare to deal with all within the bounds of Stradawn,\nwhether churchman or layman, as his pleasure may dictate. Ha! see,\nthe pile is already heaped high, and now they are preparing to set\nfire to it; that shows no want of good will; and see, of their own\naccord, they prepare to drag him to it!\"\n\n\"Then, brother, though I am the younger, I must needs interfere,\"\ncried Patrick Stewart, rushing forward to throw himself between the\nmen of the clan, and their terrified victim; \"such a deed as this\nmust never be done by thee, my brother.\"\n\n\"Patrick, dispute not mine authority,\" cried Sir Walter, his rage now\nbeginning to get the better of him; \"my father's weakness hath made\nme thy chieftain. Stand back I tell thee! Stand back! place thyself\nnot between me and my just vengeance, or even the name of brother\nshall not hinder me from dashing thee to the ground.\"\n\n\"Nay, stand you back!\" cried Patrick, covering the priest with\nhis body, whilst the clansmen retreated from the prisoner at his\nword. \"Walter, I would save this wretched man for another and a calmer\ntribunal; and, in thus saving him, I would save thee, my brother,\nfrom----\"\n\n\"Stand from before his polluted carcase!\" cried Sir Walter, collaring\nPatrick, and casting him from him with a force that threw him several\nyards away from the spot where they were contending, and prostrated\nhim headlong on the ground. \"Now, Clan-Allan! now do your duty to\nyour chieftain! I'll see that my sentence--aye, and your sentence,\nis duly carried through!\"\n\n\"Mercy, most noble knight!\" cried the wretched man, as they dragged\nhim along to the pile, deadly pale, and quailing with fear--his pride\nall gone, and the terrors of a horrible death upon him. \"Mercy! O\nspare me! spare me, most noble Sir Walter Stewart! I confess that I\nhave deeply sinned against you and yours; I confess that----\"\n\n\"Silence, caitiff!\" cried the stern Sir Walter, loudly and\nhastily interrupting him; \"I am no priest--I want none of thy\nconfessions. Confess thyself inwardly to thine outraged Maker. Thou\nshalt have time for that. Down on thy knees! confess thy sins in\nsecret to Him, and pray to Him for mercy in the next world, for here\nall laws, human and divine, tell me that thou shouldst have none;\nand thou shalt have none from me.\"\n\nThe miserable wretch, trembling, haggard, and conscience-stricken,\nknelt down at a short distance from the great heap of dry and decayed\ntimber which they had prepared. By this time it was lighted, and it\nsoon began to blaze up so high as widely to illuminate the broad faces\nof the wooded hills on both sides of the valley, arousing them from\nthat gloom which had been already gradually deepening over them into\nshadow, since the sinking of the sun. Neither his countenance nor his\neyes were directed heavenwards; yet his lips moved, more like those\nof some one uttering an incantation, than of a penitent seeking of\nHeaven to be shriven of his sins. Full time was allowed him. But the\nstern Sir Walter Stewart stood over him, as if jealous lest his fears\nor his agony of mind, might goad him on to utter some secret aloud\nbefore the clansmen, which he wished to see consumed, and for ever\nannihilated with all that was mortal of him who held it. And when\nhe thought that he had given the wretched man enough of licence, he\nwaved his hand--turned himself aside for a moment--heard one piercing\nshriek--and when he looked again the myriads of brilliant sparks that\nwere rising into the air from the fall of a heavy body among the fuel,\nsufficiently proved to him, that the miserable object of his wrath\nhad been thrown into the very midst of the burning heap. Another, and\na fainter cry, made Sir Walter again turn involuntarily towards the\npile. There the head appeared, with the face contorted with torment,\nand fearfully illuminated. The body reared itself up for a moment,\nas if by one last struggling effort of life, and these half-stifled\nwords were dolefully heard,--\n\n\"Walter Stewart!--THY GRAVE IS NEAR!\"\n\nThe Clan-Allan men stood appalled. Again the figure sank. More broken\nand decayed wood was thrown on the pile, and they continued to heap it\nup until all signs of a human form were obliterated. Then it was that\nSir Walter, calling his followers into a ring around him, swore them\nsolemnly, on their chieftain's sword, to eternal secrecy; and then,\nsick at the thought of the work they had done, chieftain and clansmen\nslowly, and silently, left the place and began to wend their way down\nthe glen. Sir Walter thought of his brother Patrick as he went--he\nhalted, and blew that bugle sound, which was well known as a private\nsignal between them. But there was no note of reply. Taking it for\ngranted, therefore, that the stern act of justice, which circumstances\nhad compelled him to see done on the Priest, had been too much for the\nsensitive mind of Patrick even to contemplate, and that, therefore,\nhe had hurried away to avoid witnessing the horrible spectacle,\nSir Walter pensively and moodily moved homewards.\n\nBut the cause of the muteness of Patrick Stewart's bugle, was very\ndifferent from that which his brother believed it to be. At the\ntime that he had been dragged from before the Priest, and thrown so\nviolently to a distance, Sir Walter had been too much excited by rage\nto notice how he fell, or indeed whether he fell at all. Nor in the\nfearful work in which they were all so intently, and with so much\ngood will engaged, did any of the Stewarts of Clan-Allan once think\nof him more. Had Sir Walter known that his beloved brother had been\nstretched bleeding, and senseless, on the ground, by his rash hand,\nand that he was now leaving him to perish without help, his mind,\nduring his homeward journey, would have been even less tranquil than\nhis reflections on the past event permitted it to be. The truth was,\nthat Patrick Stewart's bonnet, having been driven off by the furious\nforce with which Sir Walter had hurled him from him, his unprotected\nhead came into contact with a large stone, that projected out of the\nsurface of the meadow-sward, with a sharp point, from which he received\nso severe a cut, and so rude a shock, that he never moved after it,\nbut lay there as if he had been dead, in the midst of a pool of blood\nthat flowed from the wound. How long he had remained in this situation,\nhe had no means of guessing, but when his senses returned to him,\nhe found himself seated, with his back leaning against the trunk of\na great tree, near a fountain that welled out from the side of the\nhill. By the blaze of a bit of moss fir that a man held in his hand,\nhe perceived that there were several people around him, who seemed\nto be busied in administering to him. One especially was anxiously\nsupporting his head, staunching the blood that was still discharging\nitself from the cut in his temple, and holding a cup to his lips.\n\n\"How fares it with thee now?\" enquired this person eagerly; \"how\nfares it with thee, my dear friend?\"\n\n\"Arthur Forbes of Curgarf!\" said Patrick faintly.\n\n\"Holy St. Macher be praised that thine eyes are opened, and that I\nonce more hear thy voice!\" cried Arthur Forbes, \"I had mine own fears\nthat thou wert done for. What, in the name of all that is marvellous,\nhath befallen thee? Hast thou chanced to come into the hands of the\nCatteranes, who are said to harbour sometimes among these mountains?\"\n\n\"Where am I?\" said Patrick, turning his eyes around him, his brain\nstill swimming in confusion. \"Ah! that fire yonder!\"\n\n\"Aye, that fire!\" said Arthur Forbes eagerly, \"what knowest thou of\nthat fire?\"\n\n\"Nay nothing,\" replied Patrick shuddering.\n\n\"By the Rood, but it brent boldly when we first saw it from the far\nhill-side yonder,\" said Arthur, \"though it hath now fallen somewhat\nlower. Knowest thou at all who kindled it? We heard a bugle blast\ncome faintly up from the bottom of the valley, as we came first within\nsight of it.\"\n\n\"It was not burning when I fell,\" replied Patrick guardedly.\n\n\"How did you fall, I pray you?\" demanded Arthur Forbes.\n\n\"As I was hurrying through the haugh,\" replied Patrick, \"my foot\ntripped in the twilight against something in the grass, and I was\nthrown forward, with so much force, that it is no wonder I was\nstunned.\"\n\n\"Your head must have struck upon some sharp stone,\" said Arthur Forbes,\n\"that gash in your temple is a very ugly one, and it still bleeds\nconsiderably. Let me bathe it for you.\"\n\n\"The ice-cold water is most reviving to me,\" said Patrick, sitting up;\n\"I am much better now. I think I am almost strong enough to walk.\"\n\n\"Shall we help thee down to the Priest's house?\" demanded Arthur;\n\"that, as thou knowest, is the nearest dwelling.\"\n\n\"The Priest's house!\" said Patrick, with an expression of horror\nwhich he could not restrain.\n\n\"Nay 'tis no wonder that thou should'st shudder at the very mention\nof that reprobate,\" said Arthur Forbes; \"he is a scandal to the very\nname of Priest.\"\n\n\"I would rather go anywhere than to the Priest's house,\" said Patrick\nStewart.\n\n\"Nay,\" said Arthur Forbes, \"it is a thousand to one that we should\nfind him abroad on some of his unseemly nocturnal pranks; but you\nmight at least repose thee for a time in his dwelling.\"\n\n\"I should find no repose under the Priest's roof,\" said Patrick Stewart\nquickly. \"I would rather try to make the best of my way to Drummin.\"\n\n\"Thou shalt never essay to go to Drummin to-night,\" said Arthur\nForbes. \"And, now I think on't, why should you not go over the hill\nwith me to Curgarf? My sturdy fellows there shall carry you. And then,\nwhen you are there you know,\" continued he, sinking his voice to a\nwhisper into Patrick's ear, \"my sister Kate shall nurse thee.\"\n\n\"Your proposal is life to me,\" replied Patrick, in the same tone. \"I\ngladly accept your kind offer. But as to loading your poor men with\nthe weight of my carcase, there will be no occasion for that. Now\nthat my head is bound up, I feel quite strong, and I know I shall\nget better every step of the hill I travel.\"\n\n\"I thought that Kate's very name would be a potent balsam for thy\nwound,\" whispered Arthur Forbes again. \"Thou wilt be better in the\nhands of Kate, my friend, than in those of the Catteranes. Lucky\nwas it for thee, truly, that those knaves did not find thee in thy\nswoon. They were the people, no doubt, who kindled yon rousing fire,\nfrom which they were probably driven away by our first appearance on\nthe hill. Thou wert lying scarcely half a cross-bow shot from the\nvery spot where they must have been making merry, and if they had\nbut stumbled on thee by accident, their cure for thy wound would have\nbeen a dirk-point. Holy Saint Michael, what an escape thou hast made!\"\n\nThe way to Curgarf was long and tiresome enough, for they had to cross\nover the very summit of the mountain-ridge--that, I mean, which now\ndivides us from the water of Don. But Patrick Stewart bore the fatigue\nof the walk better than any one could have expected, and there was no\ndoubt that the prospect of seeing Catherine Forbes very much improved\nhis animal powers. He was already known to his friend's father,\nwho received him hospitably, though rather haughtily. The old Lord\nof Curgarf's coldness of carriage towards him was to be attributed\nto the suspicion he entertained of that which was in reality true,\nthat a secret attachment existed between Patrick Stewart and his\nonly daughter Catherine. This he did not wish to encourage for many\nreasons. The Clan-Allan Stewarts--to say nothing of what he considered\ntheir questionable origin--were a new race in the neighbouring strath;\nand although he had never been actually at war with them, there had\nyet been many petty grievances and heart-burnings between them and\nhis people. These had not in the least shaken the friendship that had\naccidentally arisen, during their boyhood, between Patrick Stewart and\nArthur Forbes; and you all know, gentlemen, that the affections of a\nwoman's heart are but little swayed by any such circumstances. The\nbonny blue eyes of Catherine Forbes sparkled, and her bosom heaved\nwith delight, when she saw Patrick Stewart enter the hall of Curgarf,\nthough she was compelled to keep down her emotions, and to receive\nhim as a mere acquaintance. Certain stolen glances did, however, pass\nbetween them; and when Arthur mentioned the accident which had led\nto his bringing his friend to the castle, and made him exhibit his\nwound, Catherine had an opportunity of giving way, in some degree,\nto her feelings, without the risk of being chargeable with any thing\nmore than that compassion naturally to be expected from a lady, even\ntowards a perfect stranger, who came under such circumstances. Patrick\nwas by this time satisfied that the wound was of no great moment. But\nhis love for Catherine, and the opportunity which it thus happily\nafforded him of being under the same roof with her, made him very\ncautious in contending that it was not severe, and he had no objection\nto admit, when he was much pressed, that the pain he suffered from\nthe contusion which his head had received, was very considerable.\n\nPatrick retired to his chamber that night, his mind filled with the\nlovely image of Catherine Forbes, his eyes having done little else,\nduring the evening meal, than carefully to collect and treasure\nevery minute beauty of her fair countenance, and graceful person,\nso as to deepen the lines of that portrait of her which had been for\nsome time engraven on his heart. But fond as he was of dwelling upon\nso much loved an object, he felt it difficult to keep possession\nof her image, or to prevent it from being driven from his memory,\nby the frequent recurrence of that horrible scene, of which he had\nwitnessed so much, previous to his being rendered unconscious, as well\nas to overcome the distressing recollection of his brother Walter's\nviolence towards himself, and he found it a very difficult matter, to\ncontrol his mind so far, as to prevent his imagination from sketching\nout the revolting circumstances of the catastrophe that followed,\nwith a degree of detail, and in colours, scarcely less appalling than\nthose of the dreadful reality.\n\nPatrick was next morning blessed with a short private interview with\nCatherine Forbes. It was short indeed, but it was long enough to\ngive time for the ingenuity of lovers to arrange a plan for a more\nsatisfactory meeting. It was agreed between them, that they should\nseparately steal out in the evening, to a grove of ancient pine\ntrees near the Castle, where, if I mistake not, they had met with\none another before, with the sanction of Arthur Forbes. There they\nhoped for leisure and privacy enough to enable them more fully to\nopen their hearts to each other, and to talk of their future hopes\nand fears. Contented with this arrangement, Patrick submitted to the\nconfinement which was imposed upon him in his character of an invalid,\nand spent the day in basking silently in the sunshine of his lady's\neyes, in conversing with his friend Arthur as the confidant of their\nloves, and in doing all that in him lay to thaw the icy politeness of\nthe old Lord of Curgarf. An earnest desire to make one's self agreeable\nto another, will generally succeed, in some degree, in the long run;\nbut Patrick's success with the old Lord was much beyond what he could\nhave believed or expected.\n\n\"Truly thou art a pretty fellow, Patrick!\" said Arthur Forbes jocularly\nto him, at the first private moment which he chanced to catch. \"Judging\nby the proximity of the place where you were found lying last night,\nto the fire which had been kindled by the Catteranes, there can be no\ndoubt that you must have fallen among thieves. This being the case,\nI, like the good Samaritan, pick thee up by the wayside, bring thee\nhere in thy wretchedness, pour wine and oil into thy wounds, and see\nthee well fed and lodged; and how dost thou repay me, I prythee? Why,\nnot contented with carrying off my poor love-sick sister's heart,\nthou art likely to run away with the old man's too.\"\n\n\"I rejoice to hear that I have any such chance,\" replied Patrick;\n\"I had feared that thy father's coldness towards me was invincible.\"\n\n\"Nay, promise me not to interfere with my birthright, by taking away\nhalf my father's lands with Kate, and I will tell thee what he said\nof thee but half an hour ago.\"\n\n\"I should be too happy to have thy treasure of a sister, with nothing\nbut the sandals her fair feet tread on,\" said Patrick, with enthusiasm.\n\n\"Tush, man!\" replied Arthur Forbes, \"be assured thou shalt have\nher some day or other; aye, and a bit of land, and some good purses\nof broad pieces with her to boot. But hear what the Lord of Curgarf\nsaid,--'Arthur, do you know that friend of thine hath a mighty pleasant\nmanner with him; yea, and his discourse is more worth listening to than\na young man's talk usually is: moreover, he hath a certain noble air\nwithal. I remember that, when I was a child, I was once taken to visit\nthe old Earl of Athol. His appearance made so strong an impression on\nme, that I think I see him yet, and that Patrick Stewart is the very\nimage of his progenitor.' There is for you, my gallant friend! As to\nfinding thee agreeable, I marvel not much at that; for other people,\nboth men and women too, have been before him in making that wonderful\ndiscovery; and then, seeing that thou didst listen so well to his talk,\nand agree with him in every thing he propounded, his finding that\nyour conversation was good was all natural enough. But to discover\nthat you bore so strong a resemblance to the old Earl of Athol--the\nperson whom he is ever ready to cite as the pattern of every thing\nthat was graceful and pleasing in days long gone by, and now never\nto be matched again--ha! that was something indeed to give thee a\ngreat stride into the citadel of his affection.\"\n\n\"Be the breach through which I may be allowed to march in thither,\nproduced how it may,\" said Patrick Stewart, \"I am not sorry at thine\nintelligence. But, much as I love the good Lord of Curgarf's converse,\nI must freely tell thee that I would fain slip away from it, for\nsome half hour or so, before supper to-night, unperceived by him, to\nexchange it for that of thy sweet sister. We have not had above five\nwords of private conference together since I entered the Castle. So\npray have the charity to keep thy worthy father in talk, while the\nLady Catherine and I are out, for a brief space, on an evening walk.\"\n\n\"A pretty use thou wouldst put me to, truly!\" said Arthur Forbes,\nlaughing. \"But to pleasure thee, thou shalt be obeyed.\"\n\nThe lovers waited with no little impatience for the hour which was\nto yield them the desired meeting. When it at length arrived, they\nstole out at different moments, and went by different ways to the\ntrysting spot. No one but a lover can fully estimate the delight of\nsuch a stolen interview as this was. They felt it deeply; and the\nonly difficulty they had was in estimating the lapse of time. The\nsurly toned bell, that pealed from the tower of the Castle at some\ndistance, warned them to separate, ere, by their calculation, they\nhad been more than a few short minutes together.\n\n\"Must we then part so soon?\" said Patrick, fondly. \"How swiftly the\nmoments have flown!\"\n\n\"I dare not tarry one instant longer,\" said the Lady Catherine;\n\"my father, you well know,----\"\n\n\"Alas! I do know,\" interrupted Patrick; \"yet have I now some hopes\nof working my way into his good favour. But I shall tell you more of\nthis anon. We shall meet again to-morrow night, shall we not?\"\n\n\"Yes, yes!\" replied Catherine, hurriedly.\n\n\"At the same hour and place?\" said Patrick. \"Alas! till then I must\nbe contented with such converse with thee as our eyes may yield us:\nand blessings on thine for the intelligence they convey to me.\"\n\n\"I hope my father may not be able to read them so readily,\" replied\nCatherine. \"But I must go now.\"\n\n\"Stay for one moment, my sweetest heart,\" said Patrick. \"Ere you go,\nlet me fix thine arryssade more firmly over thy bosom.\" And, as he\nsaid so, he took from his sporran a golden brooch, formed of two\nentwined hearts, set with garnets. \"Wear this trifle for my sake over\nthy heart. And now may I say, what I dare not utter in thy father's\nhall--Farewell, my love--my dearest Catherine!\"\n\n\"Farewell! farewell! my dearest Patrick!\" replied she, with a throbbing\nheart. \"I shall never part with this thy gift whilst life or sense\nendures; and I shall wear it ever thus, as thou sayest, over this\nheart, which beats but for thee alone.\"\n\nThus they at last parted, with lingering reluctance; and each took\na different and circuitous way to return to the Castle.\n\nAs Patrick entered the hall, a significant nod passed between him\nand Arthur Forbes. Soon afterwards, the retainers came crowding in,\nand the evening meal was placed on the board by the serving men. The\npiper had played his accustomed number of turns upon his walk, in the\nopen gallery over the court-yard. All were ready to sit down. But\nthere was one most important personage wanting; I mean, the fair\nLady Catherine Forbes. The fashion of the house, as well as of all\nwell fashioned houses of the time, forbade their sitting down till\nthe lady appeared. The Lord of Curgarf grew impatient.\n\n\"Go!\" said he at length to one of the attendants; \"go, and send some\nof the women to knock at the Lady Catherine's chamber door, to tell\nher that supper is served, and that we wait for her presence.\"\n\nAgain the company remained standing for some time. The old Lord of\nCurgarf arose from his arm chair, and took two or three turns on the\nlarge hearth before the fire place. Meanwhile, Arthur Forbes stole\nan enquiring glance at Patrick Stewart, but could gather nothing in\nreply. At length the Lady Catherine's bower woman entered the hall,\npale and trembling.\n\n\"What wouldst thou say, girl?\" cried the Lord of Curgarf. \"What of\nmy daughter? Thy looks are ominous! She is not ill?\"\n\n\"No, my Lord,\" replied the girl, \"my Lady is not ill; that is, she\nwas quite well little more than an hour ago--but--but----\"\n\n\"But what?\" cried Arthur Forbes, anxiously; \"cannot the girl speak\nout?\"\n\n\"Tempted by the balmy evening,\" replied the girl, \"my Lady threw\nher arryssade about her, and walked forth beyond the castle walls,\nas her custom sometimes is, to breathe the air a little while.\"\n\n\"Run!--fly all of you!--take lights, and search for her every\nwhere!\" cried the Lord of Curgarf. \"How provoking this is! How often\nhave I tried in vain to cure her of this most foolish and pernicious\ncustom! And then to go without an attendant too! and beyond the\nwalls!--how very imprudent!\"\n\nThe two friends were among the first to hurry out, in obedience to\nthese orders from the old man. Both were extremely agitated; and, so\nfar as this example went, it would have been difficult to have, from\nit, determined the question whether the affection of a loving brother\nor a tender lover, should be accounted the greater. Arthur Forbes was\neager for some explanation from Patrick Stewart as to what he knew of\nthe Lady Catherine. But, alas! Patrick could give him no information\nbeyond that which I have already detailed to you. Leaving the crowd\nof the retainers to examine every hole and corner, bush and brake,\nimmediately around the castle walls, Arthur and Patrick, from their\nknowledge of circumstances, pushed their search farther; and as they\nsecretly knew the way that Catherine had taken from the pine grove\nhomewards, they looked diligently for her all along the path. Of her,\nor any thing belonging to her, they discovered nothing. But at last, in\none place, where the path ran through a thicket, where the ground was\nsoft, they were struck with the appearance of numerous newly impressed\nprints of footsteps. On examining these more closely by means of a\ntorch, they observed, among those of many a rude brogue and sandal,\nmixed and mingled together, and pointing in all directions, as if those\nwho wore them had been engaged in hurried action--among all these,\nI say, they observed one tiny and delicate footprint, which was here\nand there perceptible, and which Patrick Stewart at once declared,\ncould have belonged to no one but to the Lady Catherine Forbes.--Wild\nwith dread and alarm, they returned to the castle. On questioning the\nwarder, he admitted that he did remember having heard something like a\nwoman's shriek, that came faintly from some distance in the direction\nof the thicket, but as it was immediately drowned by the first drone of\nthe piper's warning, and had been heard by him no more, it had passed\naway altogether from his thoughts. Not a doubt now remained in their\nminds, that the Lady Catherine had been carried off by some villains,\nwho had been lurking about the castle. The old Lord of Curgarf was\ninconsolable.--He was quite unmanned, and unable to give an order\nas to what should be done. His son Arthur, the Master of Forbes,\nlost no time in acting for him.--The retainers were hastily armed,\nand commanded to prepare for instant pursuit; and, being divided,\nat Patrick Stewart's request, into two bands, the friends determined\neach to take the command of one of them,--and accordingly, with such\nhasty refreshments as the men could snatch, and carry with them, they\ntook leave of one another, and started off, each upon such a line of\ncountry as he, in his quickly summoned forethought, judged to be the\nmost likely to bring his expedition to a successful termination.\n\nAs we have already learned from the conversation of the Master of\nForbes, when he first met Patrick Stewart after the accident which\nbefell him near Dalestie, it was pretty generally known in the country,\nat this time, that a gang of Catteranes, or free-booters, from the\nwest, were occasionally harboured somewhere among the neighbouring\nmountains, but no one could precisely tell whereabouts they most\ncommonly secreted themselves. On this point, however, Patrick Stewart\nhad some general suspicions, though he knew nothing that could lead\nhim to guess--even within miles--as to the exact spot where their\nlurking place might be.--He took his way directly over the mountain\nthat separates the upper part of the river Don from the Aven, and\nhe descended towards the valley of the latter stream, through that\nprecipitous ravine, that affords a course for the little tributary\nburn of Cuachan-Seirceag, down the face of the white cliffs that\nalmost overhang the small house of Inchvory, which, if we be all\nspared gentlemen, we shall see this night before we sleep. There is\nnot a tree there now; but, at that period, the ravine was thickly\nshaded by such timber as could find footing, or nourishment among\nthe rocks, and it therefore formed a good and well-known place of\nshelter. Having fixed on it as the point of rendezvous, Patrick took\nhis way up the valley of the Aven for some little distance, and then,\ndividing his people into two parties, he sent one of them off by\nthe pass leading in the direction of Loch Builg, whilst he continued\nto lead the other up that which is more properly called Glen Aven,\nby the Lynn of Aven, where the river throws itself over the rocks\nin a fine wild fall. Having then ascended the mountains, he began,\nby break of day, to march, and countermarch, over and across them,\nvisiting, and carefully examining every retired nook or corner that\nhe thought might be the least likely to be chosen, by such villains,\nas a hiding-place, until mid-day came without bringing him the least\nclue to the object of his search. Then it was that he unwillingly\nhalted his party in a hollow by the side of a spring, that the poor\nfellows might refresh themselves with food, and rest for a time.\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\nTHE SERJEANT HALTED FOR REFRESHMENT.\n\n\nClifford.--(Interrupting the Serjeant.)--Gentlemen, I beg to remark,\nthat I think it would be quite proper that we should refresh ourselves\nwith food, whilst Mr. Patrick Stewart and his party are engaged in\ndoing so. We shall thus save time, as must be self-evident to all,\nseeing that the action of the story is thus brought, for a little\nwhile, to a state of repose. Of bodily rest we have had enough,\nin all conscience--thanks to the length of Mister Archy's yarn.\n\nGrant.--I beg to second the motion of our worthy secretary, which,\nin my mind, is most sensible.\n\nClifford.--Methinks, then, that a slice or two from that cold round\nof beef, which I saw so carefully bestowed in the right hand pannier\non the pony's back, would come well in as an episode to Serjeant\nStewart's story. Here Davy, untruss, if you please.\n\nGrant.--Spread the cloth before us here on the grass, and then lay\nout the eatables.\n\nClifford.--Now, methinks, we can more readily sympathise with Patrick\nStewart and his people at their luncheon. But come, Davy; we must\nhave something potable too.\n\nAuthor.--Bring us one of those bottles from the pannier on the other\nside of the pony.\n\nClifford.--Aye, that's right; something to wash the dust out of the\nserjeant's throat would considerably improve his voice. What say you\nto my prescription, Archy?\n\nSerjeant.--Troth, sir, you're an excellent doctor. Well, here's\nwishing all your good healths, gentlemen!\n\nAuthor.--By the way, Clifford, how many trouts have you caught?\n\nClifford.--None of your jokes, my good friend. Why, you know very well\nthat I have never made a single cast. Before I had time to give one\nthrow over the stream, Archy hooked me here with the thread of his\ndiscourse, and here he has been reeling me out such a line, that I\ncan plainly see it will be some time ere he can wind it up again so\nas to land me. Fish!--no, no, I may as well put up my rod at once,\nthat we may all hear his Legend quietly to an end.\n\nAuthor.--I think so, indeed.\n\nGrant.--Well Archy, when you think that your Patrick Stewart and his\nparty have had their luncheon, and that you have satisfied your own\nhunger and thirst, we shall all be ready to listen to you.\n\nSerjeant.--I am well served now, sir, and quite ready to proceed.\n\nClifford.--Spin away then, my gay fellow.\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\nLEGEND OF THE CLAN-ALLAN STEWARTS CONTINUED.\n\n\nWith a view of multiplying the chances which might still remain of\neffecting the anxious object of his expedition, Patrick Stewart\nhad no sooner started again from the heather where they had been\nseated, than he subdivided his party into several sections, under\ncertain intelligent leaders, and having given to each of them such\ninstructions as he deemed necessary for their guidance, he sent them\noff in different directions, with orders to meet together again,\nby nightfall, at the ravine of Cuachan-Seirceag. There they were\nall to wait till he should join them, unless in the event of the\nLady Catherine being recovered by any of them, in which case they\nwere to proceed in a body, without tarrying, to carry her straight to\nCurgarf, leaving one of their number behind them to certify him of the\nagreeable intelligence. For his own part, he took with him a single\nattendant only, one of the Curgarf retainers, called Michael Forbes,\nwith whose superior sagacity and activity, some former circumstances\nhad led him to be more particularly acquainted.\n\nAfter all the others had left them, Patrick and his companion began a\nmost particular and persevering search through the forest, and among\nthe mountains, of that part of the country which he had especially\nmarked out and reserved for himself, leaving no spot unexplored\nthat had any thing the least suspicious connected with it. But the\nwilderness through which they wandered was so wide, and, in many\nplaces, so very thickly wooded, that they might have been employed\nfor days in the same way, without his being one whit nearer his\nobject. It is not wonderful, then, that the evening began to manifest\nits approach, whilst he was yet actively engaged in laborious travel,\nyet still he bore on with unremitting exertion, altogether unconscious\nof the wane of day.\n\nThe wild scenery by which he was surrounded was beginning to grow dim\nin the increasing obscurity, when he arrived at the edge of a deep\ncorry or ravine, in the steeply inclined side of a mountain. It was a\nplace, of the existence of which, neither he nor his companion had ever\nbeen aware, well as they were both acquainted with the mountains. The\nprecise position of it has been long ago forgotten; and indeed, if it\ncould be guessed at, it is probably now so altered, and blocked up,\nby the fall of the mountain masses from time to time, as to be no\nlonger in such a state as might admit of its being identified. But it\nwas one of those rugged places of which there are plenty of examples\namong these mountains. The elevation on the mountain side was not\ngreater than to have allowed Nature, at that time, to have carried the\nforest partially up around it, and the wood, that in a great measure\nconcealed it, was chiefly composed of the mountain pine. The trees,\nwhich were seen struggling against the wintry tempests that prevailed\naround the summits of the cliffs above, appeared twisted and stunted,\nyet they grew thickly and sturdily together, as if resolved, like\nbold Highlanders in possession of a dangerous post, to put shoulder to\nshoulder for the determined purpose of maintaining their position, in\ndefiance of the raging elements. Their foliage was shorn, not thinned\nby the blast. On the contrary, it was thickened by it, from that very\nclipping to which the storms so continually subjected it, so that the\nshade which was formed by their tops overhead, was thereby rendered\njust so much the more dense and impenetrable. The narrow and inclined\nbottom of the immense gully below, was composed of enormous fragments,\nwhich had been wedged out by time and frosts from the faces of the\noverhanging crags, and piled one over the other to an unknown depth,\nwhilst the ground, that sloped rapidly down into it, from the lower\npart of the abrupt faces of the precipices on either side, was covered\nwith smaller and lighter materials of the same sort, mingled with a\ncertain proportion of soil. There some scattered trees had been enabled\nto grow to a huge size, from the uninterrupted shelter which the place\nafforded; but whilst few of these had altogether escaped injury and\nmutilation from the frequent descent of the stony masses, many of them\nhad been entirely uprooted and overturned, by the immense magnitude\nof some of those falling rocks which had swept down upon them, and\nthere lay their enormous trunks, resting upon their larger limbs, or\nupon one another, the whole being tossed and tumbled together in most\nintricate confusion, so as to cover the rocky fragments beneath them,\nwith one continued and almost impervious natural chevaux-de-frize.\n\nPatrick Stewart halted behind the bole of a tree, and, resting\nagainst it, so as to enable him to lean forward over the precipice,\nhe surveyed the gulf below, as accurately as the evening twilight,\nand the intervening obstacles permitted him to do. He and Michael\nForbes then stole slowly and silently along the very verge of it,\nin that direction that lay down the mountain side, using their eyes\nsharply and earnestly as they went, and peering anxiously everywhere,\nwith the hope of discovering some track which might tend downwards\ninto the ravine. While so occupied, Patrick became suddenly sensible\nof the fresh smell of wood smoke. From the manner in which it was\nnecessarily diffused, by the multiplied network of boughs through\nwhich it had to ascend, he looked for it in vain for some time,\ntill he accidentally observed one or two bright fiery sparks mount\nupwards from below, such as may be often seen to arise from a cottage\nchimney top, when new fuel has been thrown upon the fire by the\npeople within. Marking, with great attention, the spot whence these\nhad proceeded, he commenced a more narrow examination of the edge\nof the ravine, until he at length discovered a perforation in the\nbrushwood, so small, that it might have been easily mistaken for the\navenue leading to the den of some wild beast, but which, a closer\ninspection persuaded him, might have been used by human creatures,\nthere being quite enough of room for one man at a time to creep\nthrough it in a stooping posture. At all events he was resolved to\nexplore it, and accordingly, having first stationed his attendant,\nMichael Forbes, in a concealed place, near to its entrance, that he\nmight watch and give him warning if any one approached from without,\nhe bent himself down, and began his strange and hazardous enterprise.\n\nCreeping along, with his bonnet off, and almost on his hands and\nknees, he found that the track, which inclined gently at first over\nthe rounded edge of the ravine, became, as he proceeded, nearly as\nsteep as an upright ladder, but it was less encumbered with branches\nthan the first part of the way had been, though there was still enough\nof growth to aid him in his descent, and to take away all appearance\nof danger. It went diagonally down the face of the cliff, dropping\nfrom one narrow ledge of footing in the rock, to that beneath it,\nwith considerable intervals between each. But to one accustomed,\nas Patrick Stewart was, to scramble like a goat, the difficulties\nit presented were as nothing. All his anxiety and care was exerted\nto guard, if possible, against surprise, as well as against making\nany noise that might betray his approach, to any one who might be\nharboured in the ravine below.\n\nHaving at last got to the foot of the precipice, he found it somewhat\neasier to descend the rugged slope that inclined downwards from its\nbase, and, upon reaching the bottom, he discovered that the track\ncontinued to lead onwards under the arched limbs of an overthrown\npine, the smaller branches and spray of which, appeared, on a minute\nexamination, to have been evidently broken away by frequent passage\nthrough underneath it. This circumstance he had some difficulty in\ndiscovering, as the increasing darkness was rendered deeper here, by\nthe overhanging shade of the rocks and trees high above him. Bending\nbeneath the boughs of the fir, he advanced with yet greater caution,\nand with some difficulty, over the rugged and angular fragments,\nuntil he suddenly observed something, that made it prudent for him\nto halt for a moment, that he might well consider his position. This\nabrupt stop was occasioned by his observing a faint gleam of light,\nthat partially illumined the broad side, and moss-grown edge, of\na large mass of stone, a little way in advance of the place where\nhe then was. He hardly breathed, and he tried to listen--and, for a\nmoment, he fancied he heard a murmur like that of human voices. Again\nhe stretched his ear, and again he felt persuaded that he heard the\nsound of the voices coming hollow on his ear, as if from some cavity,\nsomewhere below the surface, at a little distance beyond him. Resolving\nat last to proceed, he moved on gently, and upon a nearer approach to\nthe great stone, on the broad edge of which the light fell, he found\nthat it formed one side of a natural entrance to a passage, that led\nupwards under the enormous superincumbent masses, that had been piled\nup over it, in their fall from the shattered crags above. Pausing\nagain for a moment, he drew himself up behind a projecting part of\nanother huge stone, that formed the dark side of the entrance, that\nhe might again listen. He was now certain that he distinctly heard\nvoices proceeding from within, though he was not yet near enough to\nthe speakers to be able to make out their words. The smell of the\nwood smoke was exceedingly powerful, and his heart began to beat high,\nfor he was now convinced that his adventure was drawing to a crisis.\n\nHe plucked forth his dirk, and stooped to enter the place. He found\nthe passage to be low, narrow, gently ascending, and running somewhat\nin an oblique direction, from the illuminated stone at the mouth, for\na few paces inwards, till it met with another block of great size. The\nedges of this block glowed with a brighter light, that seemed to come\ndirectly upon it, at a right angle, from some fire, not then visible,\nbut which was evidently blazing within, and which was again reflected\nfrom the side of this stone towards that of the stone at the entrance.\n\nHaving crept onwards to this second fragment of rock, where the passage\ntook its new direction, he discovered that it led into a large, and\nvery irregularly-shaped chamber, which was within a few feet only of\nthe spot which he had now reached, but he had no accurate means of\njudging of the full extent of the cavern. He could now see the rousing\nfire that was burning in a recess, in the side of the rocky wall of the\nplace, the smoke from which seemed to find its way upwards, through\nsome natural crevice immediately over it, for the interior of this\nsubterranean den was by no means obscured by any great accumulation\nof it. By the light of the fire, one or two dark holes were seen,\napparently forming low passages of connection with other chambers. How\nmany living beings the place might then contain, he had no means of\nknowing or guessing. All that came within the field of his vision\nwere two persons, which he supposed were those whose voices he had\nheard. One of these was a slim youth, who was employed in feeding\nthe fire from time to time with pieces of rotten wood and branches,\nand in attending to a large pot, that hung over it by an iron chain,\ndepending from a strong hook fastened in the rock above. But the youth\nand his occupations were altogether disregarded by Patrick Stewart,\nin the intense interest and delight which he experienced in beholding\nthe Lady Catherine Forbes, the fair object of his toilsome search,\nwho sat pensively and in tears, on a bundle of heather on the farther\nside of the fire.\n\nYou will easily believe, gentlemen, that it was difficult for him to\nsubdue his impatient feelings, so far as to restrain himself from\nat once rushing forward to snatch her to his arms. But prudence\nwhispered him that her safety might depend on the caution he should\nuse. Ignorant as he was of the extent of the subterranean den,\nor how it might be tenanted, he felt the necessity of exerting his\nself-command, and to remain quietly where he was for a little time,\nuntil he might be enabled to form some judgment, from what he should\nsee and hear, as to the probable force he should have to contend with,\nas well as to determine what might be his best plan of action.\n\n\"If thou wouldst but listen to my entreaty,\" said Catherine Forbes,\naddressing the youth in an earnest tone of supplication, whilst\nthe tears that ran down her cheeks roused Patrick's feelings to an\nagonizing pitch of intensity--\"If thou wouldst but fly with me, and\ntake me to Curgarf, my father would give thee gold enough to enrich\nthee and thine for all thy life.\"\n\n\"I tell thee again that it is useless to talk of it, lady,\" replied\nthe youth. \"I have already told thee that I pity thee, but it were\nmore than my life were worth to do as thou wouldst have me. And what\nis gold, I pray thee, compared to such a risk?\"\n\n\"Methinks that, once out amidst these wide hills and forests, the\nrisk would be but small indeed,\" said Catherine.\n\n\"That is all true,\" replied the youth. \"The hills and forests are wide;\nbut the men of the band well know every nook and turn of them. Nay,\nthey are every where, and come pop upon one at the very time when they\nare least looked for. Holy Virgin, an' we were to meet any of them as\nwe fled!--My head sits uneasily on my neck at the very thought!--By\nthe Rood, but there would be a speedy divorce between them! and where\nwould your gold be then, lady?\"\n\n\"Then let me go try to explore mine own way without thee,\" said the\nLady Catherine.\n\n\"Talk not of it, lady,\" replied the youth, impatiently. \"My head would\ngo for it, I tell thee.--It would go the moment they should return and\nfind that thou hadst escaped. They may be already near at hand, too,\nif I mistake not the time of evening. Therefore, teaze me no more,\nI pray thee.\"\n\n\"Spirits of mine ancestors, give me strength and boldness!\" cried the\nLady Catherine, starting up energetically, after a moment's pause,\nduring which she seemed to have taken her resolution, and assuming\na commanding attitude and air as she spoke.--\"Let me pass, young\nman!--give me way, I say!--or I will struggle with thee to the death,\nbut I will force a passage!\"\n\n\"I have a sharp argument against that,\" said the youth, drawing his\ndirk, and planting himself in the gap before her.--\"Stand back!--or\nthou shalt have every inch of its blade.\"\n\n\"Out of the way, vermin!\" cried Patrick Stewart, no longer able to\ncontain his rage, and dashing down the youth before him as he entered.\n\n\"Patrick!--my dear Patrick!\" cried the Lady Catherine, flying into\nhis arms with a scream of joy.\n\n\"My dearest, dearest Catherine!\" said Patrick, fondly--\"this is indeed\nto be rewarded!--Wretch!\" cried he, grappling the youth by the throat,\nand putting the point of his dirk to his breast, as he was in the act\nof rising from the ground, apparently with the intention of making\nhis escape--\"Wretch! our safety requires thy death.\"\n\n\"Oh, do not kill me, good Sir Knight!\" cried the terrified youth\npiteously, and with a countenance as pale as a corpse.\n\n\"Spare him!--spare him!\" cried Catherine,--\"his worthless life is\nunworthy of thy blade.\"\n\n\"Oh, mercy, mercy!\" cried the youth again.--\"Spare me!--spare me!--oh,\ndo not kill me!\"\n\n\"If I did kill thee, it would be no more than what thou hast well\nmerited,\" said Patrick.--\"But, as thou sayest, Catherine, my love,\nsuch worthless blood should never wantonly soil the steel of a brave\nman; and if I could but make him secure by any other means, I should\nbe better contented.\"\n\n\"Bind me, if thou wilt, Sir Knight; but, oh, do not!--do not kill\nme!\" cried the youth.\n\n\"Well then, I will spare thy life, though I half question the wisdom\nof so doing,\" said Patrick.\n\nCasting his eyes around the cave, he espied some ropes lying in a\ndark corner. Catherine flew and brought them to him. He seized them,\nand quickly bound the youth neck and heel, in such a manner as to make\nit quite impossible for him to move body or limb, and then, lifting\nhim in his arms, he groped his way with him into the farther end of\none of those dark recesses that branched off from the main cavern,\nand there he deposited him.\n\n\"Now, let us fly, my love!\" cried he, hastily returning to the Lady\nCatherine. \"Every moment we tarry here is fraught with danger.--Follow\nme quickly!--I grieve to think of the fatigue you must undergo. But\ncheer up, and trust for your defence, from all danger, to this good\narm of mine. Above all things, be silent.\"\n\n\"With thee as my protector I am strong and bold,\" said\nCatherine. \"Thanks be to the Virgin for this deliverance!\"\n\nPatrick now led the Lady Catherine forth into the open air. But\nbefore he ventured to proceed, he listened for a moment to ascertain\nthat there was no one near. To his great horror, and to the lady's\ndeath-like alarm, they distinctly heard a footstep slowly and\ncautiously approaching. Pushing Catherine gently behind the dark mass\nof stone at the entrance, he placed himself before her in the shadow,\nthat, whilst concealed by it himself, he might have a perfect view of\nwhosoever came, the moment the person should advance into the light,\nthat was reflected on the wall-like side of the rocky mass opposite to\nhim, and fell on the ground for a little space beyond it. He listened,\nwith attention so breathless, that he seemed to hear every beat of his\nown heart, as well as of that of his trembling companion. The footstep\nwas that of one person only, and he felt as if his resolution was\nquite equal to an encounter with a dozen; but he knew not how many\nmight be following, and he was fully conscious of the importance,\nas regarded the lady, of avoiding a conflict, unless rendered\nindispensable by circumstances. The step came on, falling gently,\nat intervals of several moments, as if the individual who approached\nwas unwilling to make the least unnecessary noise. The dim figure\nof a man at length appeared, under the arched boughs of the fallen\npine tree. He advanced, step by step, with increased caution. A dirk\nblade, which he held forward in his outstretched hand, first caught the\nstream of reflected light that came from the mouth of the cavern. The\nnext step that the figure took brought his face under its influence;\nand, to the great relief of Patrick Stewart, displayed the features of\nMichael Forbes. Patrick gave a low whistle. Michael had at that moment\nstopped to listen, with a strange expression of dread and horror, to\nthe complaints of the youth who was bound in the innermost recesses of\nthe cavern, whence they came, reduced by its sinuosities, into a low\nwild moaning sound, that had something supernatural in it, so as to be\nquite enough to appal any superstitious mind. The whistle startled him.\n\n\"Michael!\" said Patrick in a low tone of voice, \"why did'st thou\ndesert thy post?\"\n\n\"Holy virgin, is that you, Sir Knight?\" said Michael, in a voice\nwhich seemed to convey a doubt whether he was not holding converse\nwith a spirit.\n\n\"What could make you desert your post?\" demanded Patrick, angrily,\nand at the same time showing himself.\n\n\"Holy saints, I am glad that it is really you, Sir Knight,\" replied\nMichael. \"I crave your pardon, but your long delay led me to fear\nthat something had befallen you, and that you might lack mine aid.\"\n\n\"Had an accident befallen me, Michael,\" said Patrick, \"thine aid,\nI fear, would have been of little avail. But we have lost much time\nby this thy neglect of mine orders. Quick! let us lose no more,\nand give me thy best help to aid thy mistress, the Lady Catherine.\"\n\n\"The Virgin be praised!\" exclaimed Michael, as Catherine appeared;\n\"then the lady is safe!\"\n\n\"But so for only,\" replied Patrick Stewart. \"We have yet much peril\nto encounter; but our perils are increased every precious moment\nthat we loiter here. Get thee on quickly before us to the top of the\npath where it quits the ravine,--the spot, I mean, where I left thee,\nand see that you be sure to give me good warning, shouldst thou see\nor hear any thing to cause alarm.\"\n\nMichael obeyed; and Patrick, having led Catherine out from under\nthe boughs of the fallen pine, began to assist her in ascending the\npath. He had some difficulty in dragging her up the wild-cat's ladder\nthat scaled the side of the cliff; but, by the assistance of his\nstrongly nerved arm, she reached the summit without danger. She then\nforced her way through the narrow passage in the brushwood that grew\nover the top of the crags, until she had at length the satisfaction\nof being able to stand erect, to receive the cooling mountain breeze\non her flushed cheek and throbbing temples. But this was no place\nfor them to rest. Patrick whistled softly, and Michael appeared.\n\n\"Catherine, my love,\" said he, \"this is no time for ceremony. Give\none arm to Michael, and put the other firmly into mine--so. Now take\nthe best care you can of your footing, and lean well upon me as we go\ndown the mountain side. Oh, how I long to talk to thee! But, dearest,\nwe must be silent as death, for we know not whom we may meet.\"\n\nAfter a long, rough, and slippery descent, they came at length into\na narrow glen, where the trees grew taller and farther apart from\neach other. This was so far fortunate for them; for as the shadows\nof night became deeper here than they had been on the mountain side,\nthey were compelled to move slower; and it required all the care of\nthe Lady Catherine's supporters, to save her from the injuries she\nmight have sustained from the numerous fallen branches, and other\nobstacles lying in their way.\n\nThey had nearly reached the lower extremity of this lesser tributary\nglen, where it discharged a small rill into the wider glen and stream\nof the Aven, when Patrick Stewart suddenly halted.\n\n\"Stop!\" cried he; \"I hear voices on the breeze, and they come this way\ntoo. We must up the bank, Michael. Courage, my dearest Catherine! let\nme help thee to climb. Trust me love, thou hast nothing to fear.\"\n\n\"I fear nothing whilst thou art by my side,\" replied Catherine,\nexerting herself to the utmost.\n\n\"Now,\" said Patrick, after they had half carried her some\nthirty or forty paces up the steep slope; \"we have time to go no\nfarther. Hark! they come! Stretch thyself at length among this\nlong heather, Catherine, and let me throw my plaid over thee. Nay,\nnow I think on't, Michael's green one is better, the red of mine\nmight be more visible. There; that will do. Now, Michael, draw thy\ngood claymore, as I do mine. Here are two thick trunks which stand\nwell placed in front of us. Do thou take thy stand behind that one,\nwhilst I post myself behind this, so that both of us may be between\nthe lady and danger. They cannot come at her but by passing between\nus. And if they do! But see that thou dost not strike till I give\nthee the word. Hush! they come!\"\n\nThey had hardly thus disposed of themselves, when the voices drew\nnearer, and the dusky figures were obscurely seen moving up the bottom\nof the little glen. They came loitering on, one after another, in\nwhat we of the army used to call Indian files,--man following man\nalong the track, where they knew that the footing was likely to be\nthe best. This plan of march necessarily made them longer of passing\nby, but it relieved those who were lurking in the bank above from any\ngreat fear of being discovered by any stray straggler. Two individuals\nof the party, who had probably some sort of command over the rest,\nwere considerably in advance. These lingered on their way, and halted\nmore than once to give time for those that followed to come up, so\nthat Patrick Stewart caught a sentence or two of the conversation\nthat fell from them.\n\n\"He must be as cunning as the devil,\" said one of them to the other,\nin Gaelic.\n\n\"Thou knowest that she has not yet seen his face,\" replied the other;\n\"so that, when he comes to act the part of her deliverer, she will\nnever suspect that it was to him she was indebted for her unwilling\ntravel last night, and her present confinement. And then, you see, he\nthinks, in this way, to make his own, both of her and her old father,\nby his pretended gallantry in rescuing her from----\"\n\nPatrick Stewart in vain stretched his ears to catch more, for on came\nthe rest in closer lines, gabbling together so loudly about trifles,\nand with voices so commingled, that it was not possible to gather\nthe least sense out of their talk. These all passed onwards; and, a\nlittle way behind them, came four other men, who walked very slowly,\nand stopped occasionally to converse in Gaelic, like people, who\nwere so travel-worn, that they were not sorry to halt now and then,\nand to rest against a tree for a few moments.\n\n\"What made Grigor Beg stop behind Allister?\" demanded one.\n\n\"Hoo! you may well guess it was nothing but his old trick,\" replied\nthe other. \"The boddoch would have fain had me to tarry for him, that\nI might help him, by carrying a part of what load he might get. But\nI was no such fool. My shoulders ache enough already with carrying\nthe rough rungs of that accursed litter last night, to let me wish\nfor any new burden.\"\n\n\"If thou hadst not been carrying the bonny lassie for another's\npleasure, methinks you would maybe have thought less of it,\" said a\nthird man.\n\nWhilst attentively listening to this dialogue, Patrick Stewart\nobserved some ill-defined object, coming stealing up the slope of\nthe bank, in a diagonal line, from the place a little way down the\nglen, where the four men had halted. It came on noiselessly, but\nsteadily pointing towards the spot where Catherine lay. It stopped,\nand uttered a short bark, and Patrick now saw that it was a large,\nrough, Highland wolf-dog. Again, with its long snout directed towards\nthe plaid that covered Catherine, it barked and snarled.\n\n\"Dermot, boy!--Dermot!\"--cried one of the men from the hollow\nbelow.--\"What hast thou got there?\"\n\nAs if encouraged by its master's voice, the animal barked and\nsnarled again yet more eagerly, and seemed to be on the very eve of\nspringing upon the plaid. The blade of Patrick Stewart's claymore\nmade one swift circuit in the air, and, descending like a flash of\nlightning on the neck of the creature, his head and his body rolled\nasunder into different parts of the heather, and again Patrick took\nhis silent but determined stand behind the tree.\n\n\"Dermot!--Dermot, boy!\"--cried the man again from below.--\"What think\nye is the beast at, lads?\"\n\n\"Some foulmart or badger it may be,\" replied another.\n\n\"Can'st thou not go up and see, man?\" said a third.\n\n\"Go thyself, my good man,\" said the dog's master.--\"I am fond enough\nof the dog--aye, and, for that part, I am fond enough of travel too,\nbut I am content with my share of fagg for this day without going up\nthe brae there to seek for more. A man may e'en have his serving of\nthe best haggis that ever came out of a pot. Trust me, I am for going\nno foot to-night beyond what I can help.--Dermot--Dermot, boy!--See\nye any thing of him at all, lads?\"\n\n\"The last sight that I had of him at all, was near yon dark looking\nhillock, a good way up the bank yonder,\" said another man.\n\n\"I'm thinking that the brute has winded a passing roebuck,\" said the\nfourth man, \"I thought I saw something like a glimmer just against\nthe light cloud yonder above, as if it had been the dog darting over\nthe height, the very moment after the last bark he gave.\"\n\n\"Dermot! whif-hoo-if!\" cried the dog's master, and, at the same time,\nwhistling shrilly upon his fingers. \"Tut! the fiend catch him for\nme! let him go! I'll be bound that he'll be home before us.\"\n\n\"Come, then, let's on!\" said another, \"I wonder much that Grigor Beg\nhath not come up with us ere this.\"\n\n\"Hulloah, Grigor!\" shouted one of them. \"No, no, we'll not see him\nso soon, I'll warrant ye.\"\n\n\"Come! come away, lads!\" said another, moving on with the rest\nfollowing him. \"I'll be bound that the boddoch hath got a swingeing\nload upon his back.\"\n\n\"Awell!\" said one of the first speakers, \"rather him than me. But we\nshan't be the worse of it when it's well broiled, for all that. I'm\nsure I wish I had a bit of it at this moment, for I'm famishing. I'm\ndead tired to-night; I hope that we may have some rest to-morrow. Know\nye aught that is to do?\"\n\n\"I heard the Captain say that\"----but the rest of the dialogue was\ncut off by the distance which the men had by this time reached.\n\n\"Thanks be to St. Peter, they are gone at last!\" said\nPatrick Stewart. \"How my fingers itched to have a cut at the\nvillains.--Catherine,\" continued he, lifting the plaid, and assisting\nher to rise, \"art thou not half dead with terror? But courage, my\nlove. There lies the murderous four-footed savage, whose fell fangs\nhad so nearly been busied with the plaid that covered thee. If we may\ntrust to what we have just heard, there is but one man to come; and,\njudging by the name of Beg [3] which they gave him, he ought to be no\nvery formidable person. Michael, get thee on a few steps in front, and\nkeep a good look out for him. Were we but out of this narrow place,\nand fairly into the wider glen of the Aven, we should have less to\nfear, and then we shall find means to carry thee.\"\n\n\"Thanks to the Virgin, I am yet strong,\" said Catherine. \"Let us fly,\nthen, with all speed.\"\n\nA farther walk, of a few minutes only, brought them into Glen Aven,\nand they pursued its downward course, for a considerable length of way,\nuntil Patrick Stewart began to perceive something like fatigue in the\nLady Catherine's step. He therefore halted, and made her sit down to\nrest a while. In the mean time, he and Michael Forbes contrived to hew\ndown two small sapling fir trees, by the aid of their good claymores,\nand having tied their plaids between them, they, in this manner,\nvery speedily constructed a tolerably easy litter for the lady to\nrecline at length in. This they carried between them, by resting\nthe ends of the poles upon their shoulders, Patrick making Michael\nForbes go foremost, and reserving the place behind for himself. I need\nhardly tell you that the Stewart especially selected that position,\nfor the obvious reason that he might be thereby enabled to cheer the\nLady Catherine's spirits, and to lighten her fatigues, by now and then\naddressing a word or two of comfort to her as they went. In this manner\nthey pursued their way down the glen, until the loud roar of many\nwaters informed them that they were approaching the grand waterfall,\ncalled the Lynn of Aven. You will have ample opportunity of becoming\nintimately acquainted with all the details of this fine scene,\ngentlemen, as you go up the glen to-morrow. But in the meanwhile,\nI may tell you generally, that the whole of this large river, there\nprecipitates itself headlong, through a comparatively narrow chasm\nin the rocks, into a long, wide, and extremely deep pool below.\n\nThe sound increased as the bearers of the litter drew nearer to\nthe waterfall, and the rocky and confined passage, over which they\nhad to make their way, compelled them to walk at greater leisure,\nand to select their footing with more caution. Fortunately they had\nnow the advantage of the moon, which had been for some time shining\nfavourably upon them, and they were already within a very few steps\nof coming immediately over the waterfall, when they were suddenly\nalarmed by a fearful and most unearthly shriek. It came apparently\nfrom the very midst of the descending column of water below them.\n\n\"Holy Virgin Mother!\" cried Michael Forbes, halting, and backing like\na restive horse, so unexpectedly, that the ends of the poles were\nnearly jerked from Patrick Stewart's shoulders, by the shock which\nwas thus communicated to them. \"Holy Mother, didst thou not hear that,\nSir Knight?\"\n\n\"I did hear something,\" said Stewart, not quite willing to increase\nthat dread which he perceived was already quite sufficiently excited in\nhis companion, and of which he could not altogether divest himself. \"I\ndid fancy that I heard something. But for the love of the Virgin\ntake care what thou dost. Thou hadst almost shaken the poles from my\nshoulders by thy sudden start.--Come! proceed man!\"\n\nAgain, a louder, and more appalling shriek arose from the midst of\nthe cataract, piercing their ears above all the roaring of its thunder.\n\n\"For the love of all the saints, let us turn back, Sir Knight!\" cried\nMichael. \"It is the water-kelpie himself!\"\n\n\"Nay,\" said Patrick Stewart; \"back we may not go, without the risk\nof falling again into the very jaws of the Catteranes. They are no\ndoubt hard on foot after us by this time.--Forward then, and fear not!\"\n\nAgain came the wild shriek, if possible louder and more terrible\nthan before.\n\n\"For the love of God, Sir Knight, back!\" cried Michael, now losing\nall command of himself, and forcing the litter so backwards upon\nPatrick Stewart, as to compel him, from the narrowness of the rocky\nshelf where they then stood, to retreat in a corresponding degree,\nto avoid the certain alternative of being precipitated over the giddy\nledge into the boiling stream of the Aven. \"For the love of God, back,\nI say! were it but for a few paces, till we have leisure to lay down\nour burden, and cross ourselves.\"\n\n\"Merciful saints! what will become of us?\" cried the Lady Catherine,\nin great alarm.\n\n\"Now,\" said Patrick Stewart, after yielding a few steps, \"now, we\nmay surely halt here till thy courage return to thee, Michael. What\na fiend hath so unmanned thee to-night? I thought thou hadst been\nbrave as a lion.\"\n\n\"A fiend indeed, Sir Knight,\" replied Michael, as they were laying down\nthe litter; \"I trust that I lack not courage, at any time, to face any\nmortal foe that ever came before me. But,\" added he, eagerly crossing\nhimself, \"to meet with the devil thus in one's very path!--Good angels\nbe about us, heard ye not that scream again? Have mercy upon us all!\"\n\n\"There is something very strange in this,\" said Patrick Stewart. \"But\nthis will never do. We cannot tarry here long without the certainty\nof being overtaken by the whole body of the Catteranes. By this time\nthey must be well on their way in pursuit of us.\"\n\n\"Holy Virgin! what will become of us if we should fall into their\nhands?\" cried the Lady Catherine, in an agony of distress.\n\n\"Fear not, my love!\" said Patrick Stewart; \"I will forthwith fathom\nthis mystery. I will see whence these horrible screams proceed.\"\n\n\"Nay, Sir Patrick, tempt not thy fate,\" cried Michael. \"If thou dost,\nthou goest to thy certain destruction.\"\n\n\"Oh stir not, dear Patrick!\" cried the Lady Catherine, starting up\nfrom the litter, and endeavouring to detain him. \"Do not attempt so\ngreat, so dreadful a danger.\"\n\n\"Catherine, my dearest!\" said Patrick, fondly taking her hands in his;\n\"listen to reason, I entreat thee. The danger that presses on us from\nbehind is imminent, and more than what two swords, good as they may\nbe, could by any means save thee from. And since God hath given us\nstrength to flee from it, he will not forsake me in a conflict with\nthe powers of hell, should they stand in my way. I go forward in his\nholy name, then; have no fear for me therefore. Rest thine arm upon\nMichael, dearest--tell thy beads, and may the blessed Virgin hover\nover thee to protect thee! As for you, Michael, draw your claymore,\nand stir not a step from the lady till I call thee.\"\n\nPatrick Stewart now crossed himself, and then strode, slowly and\nresolutely, along the narrow ledge of rock towards the roaring lynn,\nrepeating a paternoster as he went. The moon was by this time high\nin the heavens, and its beams produced a faint tinge of the rainbow's\nhues, as they played among the mists that arose from the waterfall. The\nshrieks that came from below were now loud and incessant, and might\nhave quailed the stoutest heart. But still Patrick advanced firmly,\ntill he stood upon a shelving rock, forming the very verge of the\nroaring cataract, whence he could throw his eyes directly downwards,\nthrough the shooting foam, into the abyss below. Far down, in the\nmidst of the rising vapour, and apparently suspended in it, close\nby the edge of the descending column of water, he could distinguish\na dark object. New and more piercing screams arose from it. He bent\nforward, and looked yet more intently. To his no inconsiderable dismay,\nhe beheld a fearful head rear itself, as it were from out of it; the\nlong hair by which it was covered, and the immense beard that flowed\nfrom the chin, hanging down, drenched by the surrounding moisture,\nand the eyes glaring fearfully in the moonlight, whilst the terrific\nscreams were inconceivably augmented. Appalled as he was by this most\nunaccountable apparition, Patrick was shifting his position, in order\nto lean yet more forward, that he might the better contemplate it,\nwhen the toe of his sandal grazed against something that had nearly\ndestroyed his equilibrium, and sent him headlong over the rock. Having,\nwith some difficulty, recovered himself, he stooped down to ascertain\nwhat had tripped him, when he found, to his surprise, that it was a\nrope. He now remembered, that the feudal tenant of the neighbouring\nground, who owed service to his father, Sir Allan, was accustomed\nto hang a conical creel, or large rude basket, by the edge of the\nfall, for the purpose of catching the salmon that fell into it,\nafter failing in their vain attempts to leap up.\n\n\"Ho, there!\" cried Patrick Stewart, in that voice of thunder, which\nhe required to exert in order to overcome the continuous roar of\nthe cataract.\n\n\"Oh, help! help! help!\" cried the fearful head from below.\n\n\"Man or demon, I will see what thou art!\" cried Patrick, stooping down\nto lay hold of the rope, with the intention of making an attempt to\npull up the creel.\n\n\"For the love of Saint Andrew, lay not a hand on the rope, Sir\nKnight, as thou may'st value thy life!\" said Michael Forbes, who,\nhaving heard Patrick's loud shout, had been hurried off to his aid\nby the fears and the commands of the Lady Catherine.\n\n\"Why hast thou left the lady, caitiff?\" demanded Patrick Stewart,\nangrily. \"Did I not tell thee to stay with her till I should call\nthee?\"\n\n\"We heard thee call loudly, Sir Knight,\" replied Michael, trembling\nmore from his proximity to the place whence the screams had issued,\nthan from any thing that Patrick had said.\n\n\"True, I had forgotten,\" replied Patrick; \"I did call, though not\non thee. But since thou art here, come lend me thy hand to pull up\nthe basket.\"\n\n\"Nay, Sir Knight; surely thou art demented by devilish influence. For\nthe love of all the saints!\" cried Michael, quaking from head to foot;\n\"for the love of ----\"\n\n\"Dastard, obey my command, or I will hurl thee over the rock!\" cried\nPatrick furiously, and with a manner that showed Michael that it was\ntime to obey. \"Now, pull--pull steadily and firmly; pull away, I say!\"\n\n\"Have mercy on us! have mercy on our souls!\" cried Michael, pulling\nmost unwillingly.\n\n\"What a fiend are you afraid of? Why don't you pull, I say?\" cried\nthe Knight again.\n\n\"Jesu Maria protect me! that I should have a hand in any such\nwork!\" muttered Michael. \"Oh holy Virgin! to have thus to deal with\nthe Devil himself!\"\n\n\"Come! pull!--pull away, I tell ye--pull! aye, there!\" cried Patrick\nStewart, as the basket at last came to the top of the rock.\n\n\"Preserve us all!\" cried Michael; \"the water-kelpie, sure enough! Mercy\non us, what a fearful red beard! what terrible fiery eyes! For the\nlove of heaven, Sir Knight, let him down again!\"\n\n\"Coward!\" cried Patrick, \"if you let go the rope, I'll massacre\nthee! Now, do you hear? pull the creel well out this way.--Ha, that\nwill do!--Now I think it is safe.\"\n\n\"Oh, may the blessed saints reward thee!\" said a little shred of a man,\nwho now arose, shaking in a palsy of cold and wet, from the midst of\nat least a dozen large salmon, with which the creel was heaped up;\n\"Thou hast saved me from the most dreadful of deaths.\"\n\n\"How camest thou there?\" demanded Patrick Stewart; \"answer quickly,\nfor we are in haste.\"\n\n\"Oh, I know not well how I got there,\" said the little man, shivering\nso that he could hardly speak. \"I stept aside from the path, just\nto take a look down to see if there were any salmon in the creel,\nwhen something took my foot, and over I went. Oh, what a providence\nit was that ye came by! Another hour, and I must have been dead from\ncold and wet, and buried in salmon, for they were flying in upon me\nlike so many swallows. I thought they would have choked me.\"\n\n\"Here,\" said Patrick Stewart, taking out a flask, \"take a sup of this\ncordial; it will speedily restore thee.\"\n\n\"Oh, blessings on thee, Sir Knight!\" said the little man; \"I will\ndrink thy health with good will. But tell me thy name, I pray thee,\nthat I may know, and never forget, who it was that saved my life.\"\n\n\"I am Patrick Stewart of Clan-Allan,\" replied the knight\ncarelessly. \"Come now, Michael, we must tarry here no longer.\"\n\n\"Sure I am that I shall never forget the name of Sir Patrick Stewart,\"\nsaid the little man, whilst he was following them along the narrow\npath, as they retraced it towards the place where they had left the\nLady Catherine; \"and if ever I can do thee a good turn I shall do it,\nthough it were by the sacrifice of my life.\"\n\nCatherine's fears were soon allayed by the explanation that was given\nher. She was again put into the litter, which was quickly shouldered\nby her protectors, the little man lending them a willing helping hand;\nand Patrick and Michael proceeded on their way, whilst the half-drowned\nwretch went up the glen, pouring out blessings upon them. Without fear\nor interruption they now passed by the spot which had occasioned them\nso much dread and delay, and they soon left the roar of the lynn behind\nthem, and at length reached the ravine of Cuachan Searceag, where, much\nto their relief, they found the whole of the party anxiously waiting\nfor them. When the Forbeses beheld Patrick Stewart, and, above all,\nwhen they beheld their young mistress, the daughter of their Chief,\nsafe and well among them, they rent the air with shouts of joy that\nmade the whole glen ring again.\n\n\"Aye,\" said Patrick Stewart, as they sat down to rest a little while,\nand to take some hasty refreshment, \"We may now make what noise we\nlist, for, if the whole gang of these accursed Catteranes should\ncome upon us, we have brave hearts and keen claymores enow to meet\nthem. But, for all that, we have too precious a charge with us to\ntarry for the mere pleasure of a conflict; so be stirring my men,\nand let us breast the hill as fast as may be.\"\n\nYou may all well enough guess, gentlemen, how Patrick Stewart\nwas received by the old Lord of Curgarf when he entered his hall,\nleading in his fair daughter safe and sound. The joy of the father\nwas not the less, that his son, Arthur the Master of Forbes, had\nreturned but a brief space of time before, jaded, dispirited, and\nsorrowful, from his long, tiresome, and fruitless expedition. Worn\nwith anxiety, the old man had counted watch after watch of the night,\nand the day and the night again, until his son's arrival, and then\nhe had sunk into the most overwhelming despair. After pouring forth\nthanks to Heaven, and to all the saints, he now gave way to his\njoy. The midnight feast was spread, and all was revelry and gladness\nin the castle. Patrick Stewart was now viewed by him as his guardian\nangel. Seeing this, Arthur Forbes took an opportunity of advising his\nfriend to profit by the happy circumstance which had now placed him\nso high in his father's good opinion. He did so--and the result was,\nthat he obtained the willing consent of the old Lord of Curgarf to\nhis union with his daughter, the Lady Catherine, with the promise of\na tocher which should be worthy of her.\n\nThe happiness of the lovers was now complete, and the next day was\nspent in open and unrestrained converse between them. The time was\nfixed for the wedding, and then it was, after all these arrangements\nhad been made, that Patrick Stewart first had leisure fully to recall\nto mind, all those afflicting circumstances which had taken place\nwhen he last saw his brother Walter. He thought of his father--he felt\nthe necessity of going immediately home, to relieve any anxiety which\nhis father, Sir Allan, might have, in consequence of his unexplained\nabsence, as well as to make him acquainted with his approaching\nmarriage. He accordingly took a tender leave of his fair bride that\nevening, and, starting next morning, he made his way over the hills\nto Drummin.\n\nPatrick Stewart was already within sight of home, when his attention\nwas arrested by the blast of a bugle, which rang shrilly from the hill\nabove him. It conveyed to him that private signal which was always\nused between his brother Walter and himself. For the first time in his\nlife it grated harshly in his ear, for it immediately brought back to\nhis recollection those oppressively painful circumstances which had\noccurred at Dalestie, which he had so studiously endeavoured to banish\nfrom his memory. But the strong tide of brotherly affection within him\nwas too resistless not to sweep away every feeling connected with the\npast. He applied his bugle to his lips, and returned the call; and,\nlooking up the side of the hill, he beheld Walter, and a party of the\nClan-Allan, hastening down through the scattered greenwood to meet him.\n\n\"Thanks be to Heaven and good Saint Hubert that I see thee safe, my\ndearest Patrick,\" said Sir Walter, hurrying towards him, and warmly\nembracing him. \"Hast thou forgiven a brother's anger and unkindness?\"\n\n\"Could'st thou believe that I could for a moment remember it, my dear\nWalter?\" replied Patrick, returning his embrace.\n\n\"Where in the name of wonder hast thou been wandering?\" demanded Sir\nWalter. \"Where hast thou been since that night--that night of justice,\nyet of horror--when you disappeared so mysteriously? Since that moment,\nwhen I returned home and found thee not, I have done little else,\nnight or day, but travel about hither and thither, anxiously seeking\nfor tidings of thee.\"\n\n\"Let us walk apart,\" said Patrick in his ear, \"and I will tell thee\nall that has befallen me.\"\n\n\"Willingly,\" said Sir Walter in the same tone; \"for, in exculpation\nof myself, I would now fain pour into thy private ear all those\ncircumstances which secretly urged me to execute that stern act of\njustice and necessity, which then thou could'st not comprehend, and\nagainst which thy recoiling humanity did naturally enough compel thee\nso urgently to protest.\"\n\nArm in arm the two brothers then walked on alone, at such a distance\nbefore their clansmen as might insure the perfect privacy of their\ntalk, and long ere they reached Drummin, they had fully communicated\nto each other all that they had mutually to impart. Old Sir Allan had\nbeen querulous and impatient about Patrick's absence, and he had been\nevery now and then peevishly inquiring about him. But now that his\nson appeared, he seemed to have forgotten that he had not been always\nwith him. He was pleased and proud when the contemplated marriage was\ncommunicated to him, and he enjoined Sir Walter to see to it, that\nevery thing handsome should be done on the occasion. In this respect,\nSir Walter's generosity required no stimulus; and if Patrick was\ndissatisfied at all, it was with the over liberality which his brother\nmanifested, which, in some particulars, he felt inclined to resist.\n\n\"Patrick,\" said Sir Walter aside to his brother, with a more than\nordinarily serious air, \"I give thee but thine own in advance. One\nday or other it will be all thine own. There is something within me\nthat tells me that I am not long for this world. The last words of\nthat wretch, delivered to me, as I told thee, from the midst of those\nflames that consumed him, were prophetic. But, be that as it may,\nI have never had thoughts of marrying, and now I am firmly resolved\nthat I never shall marry, so that thou art the sole prop of our house.\"\n\nThe entrance of the retainers, and the spreading of the evening meal,\nput a stop to all farther conversation between the brothers. Patrick\nhad not yet seen either the Lady Stradawn, or her son Murdoch. On\ninquiry, he was told that Murdoch had gone on some unknown expedition\non the previous day, and that he had not yet returned. A circumstance,\nso common with him, excited no surprise. As for the Lady Stradawn,\nshe now came swimming into the hall, with her countenance clothed\nin all its usual smiles. Her salutation to her stepsons was full\nof well-dissembled warmth and affection. She hastened, with her\nwonted affectation of fondness, to bustle about Sir Allan, with the\nwell-feigned pretence of anxiety to attend to his wants, after which\nshe took her place at the head of the board. It was then that Patrick's\neyes became suddenly fixed upon her with a degree of astonishment,\nwhich, fortunately for him, the busy occupation of every one else at\nthe table left them no leisure to observe. To his utter amazement,\nhe beheld in her bosom that very garnet brooch which he had given\nto Catherine Forbes! His first impulse was to demand from her an\nexplanation of the circumstances by which she had become possessed of\nit; but a little reflection soon enabled him to control his feelings,\nthough he continued to sit gazing at the well-known jewel, altogether\nforgetful of the feast, until the lady arose to retire to her chamber.\n\n\"My dearest Sir Allan,\" said she, going up to the old knight's chair\nto bestow her caresses on him ere she went; \"My dearest Sir Allan,\nthou hast eaten nothing for these two days. What can I get for thee\nthat may tickle thy palate into thy wonted appetite? Said'st thou not\nsomething of a deer's heart, for which thou hadst a longing? 'Tis a\nstrange fancy, I'm sure.\"\n\n\"Oh, aye! very true,--a deer's heart!\" said the doting old man. \"Very\ntrue, indeed, my love. I did dream--oh, aye--I dreamed, I say,\nBella, that I was eating the rosten heart of a stag--of a great\nhart of sixteen, [4] killed by my boys on the hill of Dalestie--aye,\naye--and with arrows feathered from an eagle's wing. As I ate, and\nbetter ate, I always grew stronger and stronger, till at length I was\nable to rise from my chair as stoutly as ever I did in my life--ouch,\naye! that day is gone! Yet much would I like to eat the rosten heart\nof a deer; but it would need to be that of a great hart of sixteen.\"\n\n\"My dear father, thou shalt not want that,\" said Sir Walter; \"thou\nshalt have it ere I am a day older, if a hart of sixteen be to be\nfound between this and Loch Aven.\"\n\n\"Aye, aye, Walter boy, as thou sayest,\" said the old man; \"a great hart\nof sixteen--else hath the heart of the beast no potency in't--aye,\nand killed with an arrow feathered from an eagle's wing--och,\naye--hoch-hey!\"\n\nThough the two brothers were satisfied that this was nothing but\nthe drivelling of age, they were not the less anxiously desirous\nto gratify their father's wish to the very letter. Accordingly,\nthe necessary orders were given, and the trusty Dugald Roy [5] was\nforthwith summoned to prepare six arrows, which would have been easily\nsupplied, with the small portions of feather which were necessary\nfor them, from the eagle wing in Sir Walter's bonnet. But Sir Allan\nstopped him as he was about to tear it off.\n\n\"What, Sir!\" exclaimed the old man testily, and in a state of agitation\nthat shook every fibre of his frame like a palsy;--\"What! wouldst\nthou shear the eagle plume of my boy Walter, thou ill-omened bird\nthat thou art? Yonder hangs mine; it can never more appear bearing\nproudly forward in the foremost shock of the battle-field. Och,\nhey, that is true! Take that, thou raven! Thou may'st rend it as ye\nlist. But, my boy's!--the proud plume of mine eldest born boy!--thou\nshalt never take that!\"\n\n\"I crave your pardon, Sir Knight,\" replied Dugald Roy; \"and now I think\non't, I need not take either, for I have some spare wing feathers in\nmy store that will do all the turn.\"\n\nThe next morning saw Sir Walter and his brother Patrick early on foot,\ndressed in their plainest hunting attire, stretching up the valley at\nthe head of their attendants. Each of the brothers had three of the\neagle-winged arrows stuck into his belt; for, as both were dexterous\nmarksmen, and as they had resolved to use their shafts against nothing\nelse but a great hart of sixteen, they felt themselves to be thus\nmost amply provided to insure success. Fortune was somewhat adverse\nto them, however; for although they saw deer in abundance, they found\nthemselves in this very part of the valley, when the day was already\nfar spent, without having once had a chance of effecting their object.\n\n\"Look ye there, brother Walter!\" at length cried Patrick Stewart\nsuddenly, as he pointed to a hart with a magnificent head, which\nwas crossing to this side of the river, at the ford you see above\nyonder. \"Look ye there brother! there he goes at last!\"\n\n\"By the rood, but that is the very fellow we want,\" replied Sir\nWalter. \"Watch him! See!--he takes the hill aslant. He will not go far,\nif we may judge from his present pace.\"\n\n\"I saw him walk over that open knoll in the wood high up yonder,\"\nsaid Patrick, after some minutes of pause. \"He has no mind to go\nfarther than the dip of the hill above. I think that we are sure of\nfinding him there. What say you brother?\"\n\n\"Thou art right, Patrick,\" said Walter. \"Then do thou run on, and take\nthe long hollow in the hill-side, beyond the big pine tree yonder. I\nwill follow up the slack behind us here. Let your sweep be wide,\nthat we may be sure of stalking well in beyond him, so that, if we\nfail of getting proper vantage of him, we may be sure that we drive\nhim not farther a-field. Let us take no sleuth-hound, nor bratchet\nneither, lest, perchance, we cause him alarm. You, my merry men,\nwill tarry here for us with the dogs.\"\n\nOff went the two brothers, each in his own direction, and each with his\nbow in his hand, and his three arrows in his belt. In obedience to Sir\nWalter's directions, Patrick hurried away to the great pine tree, and\nthen began his ascent through the long hollow in the woody mountain's\nside with all manner of expedition. After a long and fatiguing climb,\nhe began to use less speed and more caution, as he approached nearer to\nthe somewhat less steep ground, where his hopes lay. Then it was that\nhe commenced making a long sweep around, stealing silently from tree\nto tree, and concealing himself, as much as he could, by keeping their\nthick trunks before him, and creeping along among the heather, where\nsuch a precaution was necessary. Having completed his sweep to such\nan extent as led him to believe that he had certainly got beyond the\nhart, he was about to creep down the hill, in the hope of soon coming\nupon him, when he chanced to observe a great uprooted pine, which\nlay prostrated a little way farther on, and somewhat above the spot\nwhere he then was, its head rising above the heather like a great green\nhillock. Thinking that he might as well have one peep beyond it before\nhe turned downwards, and wishing to avail himself of its shade to mask\nhis motions, he took a direct course towards it. But it so happened,\nthat the hart had found it equally convenient for the same purpose,\nas well as for a place of outlook, for it had taken post close to it,\non the farther side. Descrying Patrick Stewart through an accidental\nopening in the foliage, and having no fancy to hold nearer converse\nwith him, the creature moved slowly away. His quick and practised\neye caught a view of it through the opening, as it was going away\nup the hill, as it happened, in a direct line. Well experienced in\nwoodcraft, he, in a loud voice, called out \"hah!\" As is common with\nred deer when in the woods, the hart made a sudden halt, and wheeled\nhalf round to listen, and in this way he placed his broadside to the\nhunter's eye. This was but for an instant, to be sure; but in that\ninstant Patrick Stewart's arrow, passing through the break in the\nfoliage of the pine, fixed itself deep into the shoulder of the hart.\n\n\"Clumsily done!\" exclaimed Patrick Stewart from very vexation as he saw\nthe hart bound off. \"I'll warrant me the arrow-head is deep into his\nshoulder blade. One single finger's breadth more behind it would have\nmade him mine own, and with all the cleverness of perfect woodcraft.\"\n\nPatrick, baulked and disappointed, now extended his sweep, and crossed\nand re-crossed the ground, with the hope of meeting his brother Sir\nWalter; but as he did not succeed in falling in with him, he followed\nthe track of the hart for some distance up the hill, until he lost\nevery trace of his slot upon the dry summit, after which he returned\nwith all manner of haste to make his way downwards to the party in the\nvalley below. This he did, partly with the expectation of meeting his\nbrother Sir Walter there, and partly with the intention of getting the\ndogs, that he might make an attempt to recover his wounded hart. There\nhe found--not his brother Sir Walter--but his brother Murdoch--who\nstood exulting over a dead stag. He was a great hart of sixteen,\njust such an one as he himself had been after.\n\n\"Thou see'st that I have the luck,\" said Murdoch Stewart triumphantly.\n\n\"Whence camest thou, Murdoch? and how comes this?\" demanded Patrick.\n\n\"All naturally enough, brother,\" replied Murdoch Stewart\ncarelessly. \"As I was wandering idly on the hill-side above there,\nI espied the people here below, so I came sauntering down to see what\nthey were about, and to hear news of ye all. But, as my luck would\nhave it, I had hardly been with them the pattering of a paternoster,\nwhen the very hart that thou wentest after came bang down upon me--my\nshaft fled--and there he lies. Mark now, brother, is he not well and\ncleanly killed? Observe--right through the neck you see. But, ha!--it\nwould seem that thou hast spent an arrow too--for these fellows tell\nme that thou tookest three with thee, and methinks thou hast but\ntwain left in thy belt.\"\n\n\"I used one against the hart I went after,\" said Patrick coldly.\n\n\"And missed him, brother--is't not so?\" said Murdoch laughing. \"Well,\nI never hoped that I should live to wipe thine eye in any such\nfashion; for these varlets all say that this is the very hart that\nthou went'st after.\"\n\n\"Nay, then,\" replied Patrick with an air of indifference; \"if this\nbe the hart I went after, I must have found another great hart of\nsixteen the very marrow of him; and him I have so marked, that I'll\nbe sworn he will be known again; for I promise you that at this moment\nhe beareth wood on his shoulder as well as on his head.\"\n\n\"The hart thou sayest that thou sawest may be like Saint Hubert's\nstag for aught I know,\" said Murdoch; \"but it is clear, from all that\nthese fellows say, that there lies the very hart that thou went'st\nforth to kill, and that is no arrow of thine that hath fixed itself\nin his gullet.\"\n\n\"I did see a hart--draw my bow at a hart--and sorely wound a hart,\"\nsaid Patrick, rather testily; \"and were it not that the scent is\ncold, and the hour so late, I think that the sleuth-hounds there,\nwould soon help me to prove to thee that he is as fine a hart of\nsixteen as this which thou hast slain.\"\n\n\"Cry your mercy, brother,\" said Murdoch; \"I knew not that such great\nharts of sixteen had been so rife hereabouts, as that one should\nstart up as a butt for thine arrow the moment that the other had\nbeen lost to thee. Yet it is clear that thou hast spent an arrow upon\nsomething.--Ha!--by the way--where is our brother Walter? They tell\nme that he went up the hill-side with thee.\"\n\n\"After seeking for him on the hill-side in vain, I reckoned on finding\nhim here,\" replied Patrick. \"But if he be within a mile of us I'll\nmake him answer.\"\n\nHe put his bugle to his lips, and awakened the echoes, with such\nsounds as were understood between Sir Walter and himself; but the\nechoes alone replied to him.\n\n\"He may have met with a deer which may have led him off in pursuit\nover the hill,\" said Patrick.\n\n\"Aye,\" said Murdoch; \"he may have fallen in with your hart of\nsixteen--yea, or another, for aught I know, seeing that harts of\nsixteen are now so rife on these hills.\"\n\n\"Fall in with what he might, he is not the man to give up his game\neasily,\" said Patrick, somewhat keenly.\n\n\"Whatever may have befallen him,\" said Murdoch, \"we can hardly hope\nto see him hereabouts to-night.\"\n\n\"I hope we may see him at Drummin,\" said Patrick; \"for as the night is\nnow drooping down so fast, he will most readily seek the straightest\nway thither. So, as thou hast now made sure of a great hart of\nsixteen for Sir Allan, we may as well turn our steps thitherward\nwithout more delay.\"\n\nOn reaching Drummin, Patrick Stewart's first inquiry was for his\nbrother Sir Walter. He had not returned home; but it was yet early\nin the night, and he might have been led away to such a distance as\nto require the greater part of the night to bring him home. The hart\nwas borne up to the hall in triumph, and exhibited before Sir Allan,\nwith the arrow still sticking in his neck. The old man's countenance\nwas filled with joy and exultation when he beheld it. The Lady Stradawn\ncould not contain her triumph.\n\n\"So, Murdoch,\" said she, \"thou art the lucky man who hath killed the\nmuch longed for venison! Thou art the lucky man who hath brought thy\nfather the food for which his soul so yearneth! There is something\nof good omen for thee in this, my boy!\"\n\n\"A noble head!--a great hart of sixteen, indeed,\" said Sir Allan. \"Aye,\naye, that is a head, that is a head indeed! Yet have I slain many as\nfine in my time. Aye, aye,--but those days are gone; och, hey! gone\nindeed. See what a cuach his horn hath. Yet that which I slew up\nat Loch Aven had a bigger cuach than this one by a great deal. As\nI live, you might have slaked your thirst from the hollow of it the\ndrowthiest day you ever saw. Yet this is a good hart--a noble hart of\nsixteen,--aye, aye! hoch-hey! But, hey! what's this? A goose-winged\nshaft? Did I not tell ye that my dream spake of an eagle's wing? His\nheart will be naught after all--naught, naught--och, hey! och, hey!\"\n\n\"Nay, we shall soon convince thee to the contrary, father,\" said\nMurdoch, motioning to the attendants to lay the deer down upon the\nhearth. \"I will forthwith break him under thine own eye, and thou\nshalt see, and judge for thyself.\"\n\nMurdoch then drawing forth his knife, began to open up the animal\naccording to the strictest rules laid down for breaking a deer, as\nthis operation was called, and on proceeding to slit up the slough,\nto the great wonder of every one, it was discovered that the old man\nwas right. The heart was indeed so very small that it might very\nwell have been said to have been naught. Murdoch was dismayed for\na moment at an omen so very inauspicious, which, in his own mind,\nhe felt was more than enough to overthrow all the fair prognostics\nwhich his mother had so evidently drawn from his success. The Lady\nherself was equally disconcerted.\n\n\"Naught, naught!\" whimpered Sir Allan. \"'Tis an ill omen for thee,\nboy. Thou shalt ne'er fly with an eagle's wing--nay, nay! Aye,\naye! Thou art ever doomed to gobble i' the muddy stagnant waters like\na midden-gander.--Uch, aye! och, hey!\"\n\n\"The fiend take the old carl for his saying!\" whispered Murdoch\nangrily aside to his mother.\n\n\"Amen!\" replied the Lady Stradawn bitterly, in the same under\ntone. \"But fear ye not, boy, thou shalt wear his eagle wing, aye,\nand sit in his chair to boot, ere long.\"\n\nThis dialogue apart was unobserved by any one, and both son and mother\nspeedily recovered their self-possession. The lady very cunningly\nset herself, straightway, to turn the weak and dribbling stream of\nSir Allan's thoughts from the subject which then occupied them,\nto some other, which was to her less disagreeable at the moment,\nand she easily succeeded.\n\nPatrick Stewart's attention was attracted from all this superstitious\ntrifling, as well as from what followed it, by again observing the\ngarnet brooch, which appeared in the bosom of the Lady Stradawn. His\nthoughts were entirely occupied with it, and his eyes were from\ntime to time rivetted on it. At length it seemed as if Murdoch had\nsomehow remarked his fixed gaze, for a private sign appeared to pass\nfrom him to his mother, after which she pleaded a sudden faintness,\nand left the hall, to return no more that night, and her son soon\nafterwards followed her. Patrick Stewart's mind remained filled with\nstrange speculations regarding the jewel, until the night wore late,\nand he began to think anxiously about his brother Sir Walter. Having\ndone the last offices of attention to his father for the evening,\nhe secretly desired Dugald Roy to follow him.\n\n\"Dugald,\" said he, \"I am, most unaccountably, unhappy about thy\nmaster. Surely, if all had been well with him he should have been here\nere this? I cannot rid my mind of the idea that there is something\namiss with him. He rested not, as thou knowest, when I was missing,\nand it would ill become me to sleep when he is absent. Let us go seek\nfor him, then, without delay.\"\n\nDugald Roy readily assented; and both of them having dighted themselves\nwell up for turmoil, as well as for toil, they secretly left the\ntower of Drummin. All that night they travelled, and by daylight they\nhad got into the range of mountains, and of forests, where they had\nreason to hope for tidings of Sir Walter. They searched through every\npart of the wooded side of that hill where he had last disappeared,\nand they visited every human dwelling within a great range around\nit, but all without obtaining the slightest intelligence regarding\nhim. Disappointed, and disheartened, they had returned nearly as far\nas where the village of Tomantoul now stands, on their way home in\nthe evening, when they met with Dugald Roy's brother Neil.\n\n\"What brought thee here, man?\" demanded Dugald; \"and what a fiend\ngives thee that anxious face?\"\n\n\"Holy Saint Michael, but it is well that I have foregathered with you\nboth!\" replied Neil. \"You must take some other road than that which\nleads to Drummin, Sir Patrick. Believe me, it is no place for you at\nthis present time.\"\n\n\"What, in the name of all the saints, hath happened to make it\notherwise?\" demanded Patrick Stewart.\n\n\"Cannot ye speak out at once, ye Amadan ye, and not hammer like a\nfool that gate?\" cried Dugald impatiently.\n\n\"Patience! patience!\" said Neil; \"patience! and ye shall know all\npresently. In the first place, then, Master Murdoch says that Sir\nWalter is murdered.\"\n\n\"Murdered!\" cried Patrick, in an agony of anxiety; \"My brother Walter\nmurdered!--Where?--when?--how?--by whom?--Oh, speak, that I may hasten\nto avenge him! But, no!--'tis impossible!--speak!--I have mistaken\nthee--surely it cannot be!\"\n\n\"Master Murdoch says that it is true,\" replied Neil. \"But the worst\nof all is, that he hath accused thee, Sir Patrick, of having done the\ndeed, with an arrow, somewhere in the wood on the hill of Dalestie.\"\n\n\"Merciful Saints!\" exclaimed Patrick; \"can he indeed be such a\nvillain? But who will believe so foul and unnatural a calumny? Oh,\nWalter, my brother, my brother! Heaven above knows that thy life was\nten thousand times dearer to me than mine own!\"\n\n\"Nay,\" replied Neil, \"he hath called all the clansmen who were\nthere to witness and to support the strong suspicions which he hath\nindustriously raised against thee.\"\n\n\"What argument hath he against me?\" cried Patrick Stewart impatiently.\n\n\"He says that the men who were present can testify that you and your\nbrother, Sir Walter, went into the wood together,\" replied Neil;\n\"and that Sir Walter hath not been seen since; and then, he contends,\nthat the sudden flight which you made from Drummin, under the cloud\nof night, is enough to show that you have taken guilt home to your\nconscience.\"\n\n\"And is this all?\" demanded Patrick Stewart.\n\n\"Nay,\" replied Neil, \"there was more stuff of the same kind, by the use\nof which he hath contrived so to persuade them with his wily tongue,\nthat they are all clamorous against thee. Nay, he hath even warped\nthe feeble judgment of Sir Allan himself to the same belief.\"\n\n\"Serpent that he is!\" cried Patrick Stewart. \"But let me hasten home to\nconfront this vile traducer. My brother!--my brother Walter!\" continued\nhe, bursting into tears. \"My brother Walter gone!--and I accused of\nhis murder!--Oh, my brother!--my dear brother! Heaven above knows how\nwillingly I would have laid down my life to have saved thine! Nay,\nhow willingly would I now lay it down at this moment, were it only to\nsecure to me the certainty that thou art yet alive! The very thought\nthat it may be otherwise is agony and desolation to me. But let us\nhasten to confront this villainy. Let us hasten to revenge! For the\nlove of Heaven, let us hasten home, Dugald!\"\n\n\"Nay, my good master,\" said Dugald weeping, \"for if this sad tale be\ntrue as to Sir Walter's death, other master than thee, I fear me,\nthat I now have none. Neil says well that Drummin is no place for\nthee to-night, with so sudden and tumultuous a clamour excited against\nthee. Thine innocence will avail thee nothing. Even the innocence of\nan angel would naught avail against the diseased judgments of men,\nwith minds so poisoned and so possessed. Be persuaded to go elsewhere,\nuntil the false and weak foundations of this most traitorous accusation\nfail beneath it, and the mists drop from men's eyes. Who can say for\ncertain that my beloved master, Sir Walter, is dead? I cannot believe\nin so great a calamity. What proof is there that he is dead? There\nis no news that his body hath been found.\"\n\n\"Nay,\" replied Neil, \"he is only amissing as I said.\"\n\n\"Thou dost well advise me, Dugald,\" said Patrick Stewart after a\nmoment's thought. \"There is, as thou say'st, no proof that my brother,\nSir Walter, is dead. It is most reasonable to believe that this may,\nafter all, be nothing but a foolish or malicious surmise. My best hope,\nnay, my belief is, that it is founded on naught else; and may Heaven\nin its mercy grant that it may prove so. I will take thine advice. I\nwill not go to Drummin at present, but I shall straightway bend my\nsteps towards the Castle of Curgarf.\"\n\n\"Then shall I and Neil attend thee thither, Sir Knight,\" said Dugald;\n\"for next to Sir Walter Stewart do I assuredly owe thee fealty and\nservice.\"\n\nSir Patrick and his two attendants now turned off in the direction\nof Curgarf, and the day was so far spent that the sun was setting,\nas they were passing over the ridge of the country lying between the\nAven and the Don. The trees of the forest there grew thinly scattered\nin little stunted patches. Sir Patrick was walking a few paces in front\nof the two brothers, musing as he went, when he was suddenly surprised\nby a shower of arrows falling thickly on and around him. One stuck\nin his bonnet, another buried itself harmlessly in the folds of his\nplaid, a third pierced his sandal and slightly wounded his foot; and,\nwhilst a fourth struck fire out of a large stone close to him, two\nmore fell short of him among the heather near him. In an instant his\nbow and those of his attendants were bent, and their eyes being turned\ntowards the place whence the shafts had flown, they descried some men\nlurking beneath one of the straggling patches of dwarf pine trees. To\nhave stood aloof with the hope of shooting at them successfully would\nhave been fatal, for the archery of Sir Patrick and his attendants\ncould have done nothing against men so ambushed, whilst the Knight\nand his people would have been a sure mark for their traitorous foes.\n\n\"On them, my brave Dugald!\" cried Sir Patrick Stewart, drawing his\nsword, and rushing towards the enemy.\n\nDugald Roy, and his brother, Neil, were at his back in a moment. Before\nthey could reach the point against which their assault was directed,\nseveral arrows were discharged at them. But so resolute, and so\nspirited an attack had been so little looked for by those who shot\nthem, that they were too much appalled to take any very steady aim,\nso that all of them fell innocuous. Seeing Sir Patrick and his two\nattendants so rapidly nearing their place of concealment, the villains\nthought it better to turn out, that they might receive their onset on\nground where they could all act at once. Six men accordingly appeared\nclaymore in hand, and as Sir Patrick continued to hurry forward,\nhe now took the opportunity of speaking hastily to Dugald and Neil,\nwho were advancing to right and left of him.\n\n\"Draw an arrow each,\" said he, \"and when I give you the word, stop\nsuddenly, and each of you pick off the man opposite to you, and leave\nme to take my choice of the rest.--Now!\"\n\nThe unlooked for halt was made just as the assassins were preparing\nto receive the on-comers on the points of their swords. The aim was\nsure and fatal. Three men fell--and on rushed Sir Patrick and his\ntwo people with a loud shout. The three, who yet stood against them,\nwere panic-struck, and, ere they could well offer defence, they were\nalso extended writhing among the heather, in the agonies of death;\nand the whole matter was over in less time than it has taken for\nme to tell of it. But, uncertain whether the partial covert of the\npine-patch might not still shelter some more enemies, they rushed\nin among the trees, brandishing their reeking blades. Up started a\nyouth from among some low brushwood, and ran off like a hare. Neil\nwas after him in a moment, and up to him ere he had fled twenty\npaces. Already he had him by the hair of the head, and his claymore\nwas raised to smite him, when Patrick Stewart called to his follower\nto stay his hand. Neil obeyed, and granted the youth his life; but\nwhen he brought him in as a prisoner, what was the Stewart's surprise\nwhen he discovered that he was the same individual whose life he had\nspared in the Catterane's den.\n\n\"Ha!\" exclaimed Sir Patrick; \"said I not well that I questioned the\nwisdom of sparing thy life when we last met, thou vermin? What hast\nthou to urge, that I should show mercy to thee now, Sir Caitiff?\"\n\n\"Oh, mercy, mercy, Sir Knight!\" exclaimed the youth, piteously. \"Trust\nme, I came not hither willingly. I had no hand in this treacherous\nambush against thy life.\"\n\n\"Appearances are woefully against thee,\" said Patrick Stewart; \"yet\nwould I not willingly do thee hurt, if thou be'st innocent. But this\nis no convenient time nor place to tarry for thy trial. So bring him\nalong with thee, Dugald. We shall take our own leisure to examine\nhim afterwards; meanwhile, take especial care that he escape not.\"\n\nSir Patrick Stewart's reception at Curgarf may be easily guessed\nat. He told of the providential escape he had made from assassination\nby the way; but he thought it better, as yet, to say nothing of\nthe mysterious disappearance of his brother, Sir Walter, or of the\ntraitorous accusations against himself, to which it had given rise. His\nresolve to be silent as to this matter was formed, because he had by\nthis time reasoned himself into the firm persuasion that his brother's\nreappearance would speedily make his own innocence as clear as noonday.\n\nHe was next morning happily seated in the hall, now talking with the\nold Lord of Curgarf on one subject, and again taking his opportunity\nof whispering to the Lady Catherine on another, when he suddenly\nrecollected the brooch he had given her. It was not in her bosom.\n\n\"Where are the two twined hearts?\" said he to her, smiling. \"Fear not,\ndearest--I am not jealous.\"\n\n\"Thou hast no cause for jealousy, dear Patrick,\" replied the lady;\n\"and yet, I grieve to say, that I have not the jewel. When the\nCatteranes hurried me off from here, and just as they stopped for\na little time to make up a litter, that they might the more easily\ncarry me, one who appeared to have a certain command over them,\nbut whose face or person I could not see in the obscurity which then\nprevailed, snatched it from my bosom, whilst affecting to fasten my\narryssade more firmly around me. Nay, look not so serious, dearest\nPatrick! surely thou dost not doubt me in this matter?\"\n\n\"Doubt thee, my Catherine!\" said Sir Patrick, kissing her hand with\nfervour; \"sooner would I doubt mine own existence;--thou art pure\nvirgin truth itself! Think no more of it. Thou shalt have another\nand a richer one anon. But say, dearest! why should we longer delay\nto set our own very two hearts in that indissoluble golden knot,\nwith which the sacrament of our holy church may bind them together,\nso as to form a jewel, of which neither robber nor Catterane can\nrifle us, and which cannot be rent asunder save by the iron hand of\ndeath. I have thy father's permission to move thee to shorten that\ncruel interval which thou hast placed between me and happiness.\"\n\nIn such a strain as this, did he continue to urge his suit, until\nit was at last successful; and, to his great joy, it was ultimately\narranged, with the consent of all parties, that the marriage should\ntake place on the second day from the time I am now speaking of. The\nbustle of preparation began in the Castle the moment the circumstance\nwas announced; and it immediately spread far and wide everywhere\naround it, and went on incessantly day and night. Joy was everywhere as\nuniversal among the clansmen as their devotion to the Lady Catherine,\nthe bride, and their admiration of the merits of the bridegroom, could\nmake it. The day at length arrived. The Castle was crowded with all the\nfriends and retainers of the family, who came pouring in to witness\na ceremonial so interesting to them all. The Priest had arrived; the\nCastle chapel had been set in order; the bridal-chamber had been dight\nup; and the feast prepared; and every soul was astir to contribute,\nso far as in them lay, to the general felicity, as well as to share in\nit. The old Lord of Curgarf seemed to have grown young again. Arthur,\nthe Master of Forbes, was all life and raillery. Already had the\nwhole company been assembled within the hall. All the men-at-arms\nwithin the Castle had crowded in thither. Even the old warden at the\ngate had lowered his portcullis, and made every thing secure with\nbolt, bar, and chain, so that he might safely leave his post to the\ncharge of their stubborn defences. The blushing bride, arrayed in the\nrichest attire, had been led in, attended by her blooming maidens;\nand the movement towards the chapel was about to be made, so that\nthe ceremony might go on, when suddenly a shrill bugle blast from\nwithout the gate made the very Castle walls resound again.\n\n\"Go some of ye, and see who that may be who summons us so rudely,\"\nsaid the Lord of Curgarf.\n\n\"Murdoch Stewart, and a party of the Clan-Allan, are at the gate,\ncraving admittance,\" said the messenger, on his return.\n\n\"Son Arthur,\" said the Lord of Curgarf, \"get thee down quickly,\nand give Murdoch Stewart of Clan-Allan, the brother of this our\nson-in-law to be, instant entry. Let the gate be opened to him,\naye, and to all his people, dost thou hear? It was kind in him\nthus to come, on the spur of the occasion,\" continued the old Lord,\naddressing Patrick, after his son had gone with his attendants to\nobey his will--\"It was kind in thy brother to come thus unasked on\nthe spur of the moment. Would that Sir Allan, thy father himself,\ncould have been here.\"\n\nThe court-yard and the stair now rang with the clink of armed men,\nand Arthur, the Master of Forbes, entered, ushering in Murdoch Stewart,\nproudly attired, and followed by a formidable band of the Clan-Allan,\nwhose flaring red tartans were strongly contrasted against the more\nmodest green of those of the Clan-Forbes. To the no small surprise\nof his brother Patrick, he no longer wore that appearance of youthful\ncarelessness and indifference, under the mask of which he had hitherto\ndisguised his true character. His bearing was now manly and lofty,\nsuited to the command of the Clan-Allan, which he now seemed to have\nassumed. His salutation to the Lord of Curgarf was grave, dignified,\nand courteous; and, as way was made for him, he advanced, with the\nutmost self-possession, into the middle of the hall.\n\n\"I rejoice that I have arrived thus, as it seems, in the nick of time,\"\nsaid he, looking around him, and bowing as he did so, but without\nonce allowing his eyes to rest on his brother, who stood fixed in\nsilent astonishment at what he beheld.\n\n\"So do we all rejoice,\" replied the Lord of Curgarf. \"Had we but\nknown that our bridal might have been thus honoured by the house of\nClan-Allan, on so short a warning, trust me thou shouldst not have\nlacked our warmest bidding, as thou hast now our warmest welcome.\"\n\n\"Welcome or not, my Lord,\" replied Murdoch Stewart, with a respectful\nreverence, \"thou wilt surely thank me for this most unceremonious\nvisit, when thou shalt know the object of it. I come to save the\nhonour of thy house from foul disgrace: would, that in so doing,\nI could likewise save the honour of that which gave me birth! But\nalthough, in saving thee and thy house from dishonour, the good name\nof that of Clan-Allan must assuredly be tarnished, it shall never be\nsaid of me, that I preserved it by falsehood or infamous concealment.\"\n\n\"Of what wouldst thou speak?\" demanded the Lord of Curgarf. \"I do\nbeseech thee, keep me, and keep this good company, no longer in\nsuspense.\"\n\n\"Then, my good Lord,\" replied Murdoch, solemnly, \"much as it pains me\nto utter it, and much as it must pain thee, and all present, to hear\nit, I must tell thee, that strong suspicions are abroad, that mine\neldest brother, Sir Walter Stewart, hath been most foully murdered,\nand that he, on whom thou wert now on the very eve of bestowing thine\nonly daughter, is the foul murderer, who took an elder brother's life,\nto make way for the gratification of his own ambitious and avaricious\ndesires. The circumstances are so strong against my unfortunate brother\nPatrick, that all agree that no one else could have been the murderer.\"\n\n\"All!--all!--all!--all! was echoed from the stern Clan-Allans, at\nthe lower end of the hall.\n\n\"Holy saints defend us!\" exclaimed the Lord of Curgarf, sinking into\na chair.\n\n\"'Tis false! oh 'tis all false, father!\" cried the trembling Catherine\nForbes, rushing forward to assist her father.\n\n\"Infamous traitor!\" cried Patrick Stewart; \"lying and infamous\ntraitor! Where are the proofs on which you found so foul and false\nan accusation?\"\n\n\"Would, for the credit of our poor house, that it were false!\" said\nMurdoch, mildly. \"But it is impossible to conceal, that thou wert the\nlast person seen in our poor brother Walter's company. Thou wentest\nup the wood with him, with three arrows in thy belt. Thou camest back\nshortly afterwards without him. One of thine arrows was gone. Thou\ngavest reasons for the want of it which proved to be false; and our\ndear brother Walter hath never been since seen.\"\n\n\"He is guilty! He, and no one else, is the murderer!\" cried the men\nof Clan-Allan hoarsely.\n\n\"Woe is me!\" said the distracted Lord of Curgarf, springing from\nhis chair with nervous agitation; \"the circumstances are indeed\ntoo suspicious!\"\n\n\"Father!--father!--father, he is innocent!\" cried the frantic Lady\nCatherine Forbes, holding the old lord's arm.\n\n\"Sister,\" cried the Master of Forbes, taking the Lady Catherine\naffectionately by the hand, and speaking to her with great\nfeeling--\"Dearest sister, this is indeed an afflicting trial for thee;\nyet, be of good courage--I have no fears of the result. Patrick Stewart\ncannot be guilty of the foul and cruel deed of which he has been\naccused. We must have the matter sifted to the bottom; the truth must\nbe brought out; and, as his innocence must be thereby established, all\nthe evil that can happen will be but the short delay of your nuptials,\ntill he be fairly and fully cleansed from these wicked charges.\"\n\n\"I am sent by my father,\" said Murdoch Stewart--\"I am sent by my\nfather, and that most unwillingly, to demand his son Patrick as a\nprisoner. Forgive me, my good Lord of Curgarf, for thus daring to\nexecute his paternal order under your roof.--Men of Clan-Allan,\nseize and bind Patrick Stewart!\"\n\n\"Hold!\" cried Dugald Roy, in a voice like thunder--\"Hold, men of\nClan-Allan! Lay not a hand upon him, to whom, if my dear master Sir\nWalter be indeed gone, ye must all soon, in the course of nature,\nswear fealty as your chieftain. He is guiltless of my beloved master's\nmurder, though murdered, I fear, he hath most foully been. But here is\none who can tell more of this cruel and wicked deed. Come hither boy,\nand tell us what thou may'st know of this mysterious matter.\"\n\nDugald Roy then led forward the youth whom he had brought prisoner\nto Curgarf, of whose very existence Sir Patrick Stewart had lost\nall recollection, amidst the tumult of joy in which he had been so\ncontinually kept by his approaching nuptials. The Lady Catherine\nForbes started with surprise when she beheld him; but the countenance\nof Murdoch Stewart turned as pale as a linen sheet at the sight of him.\n\n\"What hast thou to say, young man, to the clearing up of this dark\nand cruel mystery?\" demanded the Lord of Curgarf.\n\n\"My Lord, I saw Sir Walter Stewart of Clan-Allan murdered,\" said the\nyouth in a tremulous voice. \"I saw him shot to the death by the arrow\nof Ewan Cameron, one of the band of Catteranes.\"\n\n\"How camest thou to have been in any such evil company?\" demanded\nthe Lord of Curgarf.\n\n\"Trusting to have mercy at your hands, my Lord, I will tell my whole\nstory as shortly as I can, if thou wilt but listen to me,\" replied\nthe youth. \"I was prentice to a craftsman in the town of Banff, a\nman who wrought in gold and silver. Being one day severely chidden\nby my master for some unlucky fault, the devil entered into me,\nand I resolved to be revenged of him. Having become known to the\ncaptain of a certain band of Catteranes, I stole my master's keys,\nand gave them to him, so that he and his gang were enabled to rifle\nthe goldsmith's stores of all his valuables. In dread of punishment I\nfled with them to their den in the hills, where they afterwards kept\nme in thrall to do their service. The lady, thy daughter, can tell\nthee that I was there when she was brought in by them, and had not\nSir Patrick Stewart left me bound when he spared my life, they would\nhave certainly taken it on their return, in their rage and fury at her\nescape; but, fortunately, I was lying quite out of their way at the\nmoment, and was not discovered till they had somewhat cooled. Finding\nthat their retreat had been found out, they hastily abandoned it,\nand dispersed themselves through the hills. On the day that followed\nafter that, we were all collected together to meet our captain; and\nafter two days more, a breathless messenger came early in the morning\nto tell him something which was kept secret from all else. There were\nbut few of the band with him at the time; but these were ordered to\narm on the sudden; and even I, who had never been called out on any\nexpedition until that day, was commanded to arm like the rest.\n\n\"Our small party marched off in all haste, and about mid-day we were\nplanted in ambush on the side of a hill above the Aven. Our captain\nseemed to be restless and anxious. He moved about from place to place,\nstretching on tiptoe from the top of every knoll, and sometimes\nclimbing the tallest pine trees, in order to scan the valley below\nmore narrowly. At length, as it grew late in the afternoon, he took\na long look from one point, and then, as if he had at last made some\ndiscovery of importance, he suddenly moved us off into a thicket,\nwhich grew on the edge of a considerable opening in the wood on the\nhill-side; and I would know that opening again, for it had the green\nquaking bog of a well-head in the very midst of it.\n\n\"We had not stood long there, till a man in very plain attire, with a\nbow in his hand, came up from the thick wood below, and began to pass\naslant the open space. 'There goes a good mark for an arrow,' said\nthe captain of the band. 'Shoot at him, my men.'--'He is not worth\na shaft,' replied some of his people. 'He is a poor fellow who hath\nnothing in his sporran to pay for the killing of him.'--'No matter,'\nsaid Ewan Cameron, 'he hath a good pair of sandals on him; and my\nbrogues are worn to shreds--so, here goes at him.' And just as the man\nwas passing along the bank close above the well-eye, the arrow fled,\nand pierced him to the heart. 'Well shot, Ewan!' cried the captain,\nin a strange ecstasy of joy; 'thou shalt have gold for that shot of\nthine.' So instant was his death, that he sprang high into the air,\nand his body fell headlong and without life into the very middle of\nthe bog, with a force that buried it in its yielding mass, so high,\nthat nothing was seen of him but his legs. Ewan hastened to the place,\nquietly took off the sandals from the dead man, threw off his own\nbrogues, and put on the sandals in place of them, and then the captain\nhimself ran eagerly to help him to force the corpse downwards into\nthe bog; and this they did till the green moss closed over the soles\nof its feet. I then knew not who the murdered man might be,--and the\ndeed was no sooner done, than our captain ordered us to make our way\nback, as fast as we could travel, over the hills, whilst he left us\nto go directly down into the glen.\n\n\"Early next morning, a messenger again came to us; and five picked\narchers were sent out under the orders of Ewan Cameron. I was\ndirected to accompany them; and I marvelled much why I, who was so\ninexperienced, should be required to go on an expedition where they\nseemed to be so very particular in choosing their men. But Ewan\nCameron soon let me into the secret. 'Thou knowest the person of\nPatrick Stewart of Clan-Allan, dost thou not?' said he to me.--'If\nthat was he who took the lady from the cave, and left me bound,\nreplied I, 'then have I reason to remember him right well.'--'Then\nmust I tell thee, that we are now sent forth expressly to hunt for\nhim, and to take his life,' replied Ewan; 'and if thou would'st fain\npreserve thine own, thou wilt need to look sharply about thee, that\nthou mayest tell me when thou seest him.'--'Who covets to have his\nlife?' demanded I.'--'He who made me take the life of his brother\nWalter, for those sandals which I now wear,' said Ewan.--'What! our\ncaptain?' exclaimed I; 'that must be in revenge, because Sir Patrick\nStewart took the lady from him.'--'Partly so, perhaps,' replied Ewan;\n'but I am rather jealous that our captain's greatest fault to Sir\nPatrick Stewart is, that he, like his brother, Sir Walter Stewart,\nwas born before him. Knowest thou not, that our captain is no other\nthan Murdoch Stewart, the third son of old Sir Allan of Stradawn?' I\nwas no sooner made aware of this, than--\"\n\nThe youth would have proceeded, but the loud murmur of astonishment\nand horror that arose every where throughout the hall, so drowned\nhis voice, that he was compelled to stop.\n\n\"Holy Saint Michael, what a perfect villain thou art!\" exclaimed\nthe old Lord of Curgarf, darting a look of indignant detestation at\nMurdoch Stewart.\n\n\"Thou wouldst not condemn a stranger unheard,\" said Murdoch, calmly.\n\n\"Nay,\" replied the Lord of Curgarf, \"thou shalt have full justice. We\nshall hear thee anon. But let this youth finish his narrative, which\nwould seem to be pregnant with strange and horrible things.\"\n\n\"I have but little more to say,\" continued the youth. \"Gratitude to\nSir Patrick Stewart, for having spared my life, when his own security\nmight have required the taking of it, at once resolved me against\nbetraying him to slaughter. Ewan Cameron marched us straight away\nto the hill, which rises above the track that leads from the little\nplace of Tomantoul to the river Don, and there he kept us sitting,\nfor some time, watching, till we espied three men coming along the\nway. Whilst they were yet afar off I knew one of them to be the very\nperson whom the murderers were in search of. 'Is that Sir Patrick\nStewart that comes first yonder?' demanded Ewan.--'I cannot tell\nat this distance,' said I; 'but I think the man I saw in the cave\nwas much taller than that man.'--'That is a tall man,' said Ewan;\n'take care what thou sayest, or thou mayest chance to have thy\nstature curtailed by the whole head.'--'I say what is true,' said I;\n'no man could know his own father at that distance.'--'Then will I\nassert that thou sayest that which is a lie,' said one of the party;\n'for great as the distance may be, I know that to be Sir Patrick\nStewart. I mean that man who comes first of the three.'--'Let us\ndown upon him without loss of time then,' cried Ewan; 'and do you\ncome along, Sirrah! Thou shalt along with us; and, when our work is\ndone, we shall see whether we cannot find the means of refreshing\nthy memory.' Having uttered these words, Ewan hurried us all down to\nthe covert of a small patch of stunted pines, that grew on the flat\nground below. There we lay in ambush till Sir Patrick Stewart, and\nhis two attendants, came within bowshot, and there, as is already\nknown to most here, the six assassins were speedily punished for\ntheir wicked attempt, and I became Sir Patrick Stewart's prisoner.\"\n\n\"Now,\" said the Lord of Curgarf, addressing himself to Murdoch,\n\"what hast thou to say in answer to all this?--What hast thou to\nanswer for thyself?\"\n\n\"I say that the young caitiff is a foul liar!\" cried Murdoch\nviolently. \"He is a foul liar, who hath been taught a false tale,\nto bear me down.\"\n\n\"He may be a liar,\" said the Lord of Curgarf; \"but his story hangs\nmarvellously well together.\"\n\n\"Who would dare to condemn me on his unsupported testimony?\" demanded\nMurdoch, boldly.\n\n\"Here is one who is ready to support his tale,\" said Michael Forbes,\npressing forward, and pushing before him a strange looking little man,\nwith a long red beard, and a head of hair so untamed, that it hung\nover his sharp sallow features in such a manner, as, for some moments,\nto render it difficult for Sir Patrick Stewart to recognise in him,\nthe man whom he had saved from his perilous position in the salmon\ncreel, at the Lynn of Aven.\n\n\"Ha!--Grigor Beg!\" cried Murdoch Stewart, betrayed by his surprise, at\nbeholding him; \"What a fiend hath brought thee hither?--But thou--thou\ncan'st say nothing against me.\"\n\n\"I fear I can say nothing for thee, Murdoch Stewart,\" said the little\nman, darting a pair of piercing eyes towards him, from amidst the\ntangled thickets of his hair. \"Nor is it needful for me now to say\nall I might against thee. But here, as I understand, thou hast basely\nand falsely accused thy brother Sir Patrick Stewart of murdering his\nelder brother Sir Walter. Now, I saw Ewan Cameron shoot down Sir\nWalter Stewart with an arrow; and it was done at thy bidding too,\nfor I was by, on the hill-side, when thou didst give to Ewan Cameron\nhis secret order to slay thy brother, and when thou didst teach him\nto do the deed, as if it were an idle act, done against a stranger.\"\n\n\"Lies!--lies!--a very net-work of lies, in which to ensnare me!\" cried\nMurdoch. \"But who can condemn me for another's death, who, for aught\nthat we know truly, may yet appear alive and well?\"\n\n\"Thou hadst no such scruple in condemning thine innocent brother,\nSir Patrick,\" said the Lord of Curgarf; \"yet shall no guilt be\nfixed upon thee, till thy brother's death be established beyond\nquestion. Meanwhile thou must be a bounden prisoner, till the truth\nbe clearly brought to light.\"\n\n\"Men of Clan-Allan! will ye allow him who must be your chieftain to\nbe laid hands on in the house of a stranger?\" cried Murdoch Stewart\naloud. \"You are armed; use your weapons then, and leave not a man\nalive!\"\n\nA thrill of horror ran through every bosom. There were brave men enough\nof the Clan-Forbes there, to have made head against three times the\nnumber of Clan-Allans that now stood, armed to the teeth, and in a\nfirm body, at the lower end of the hall; but there was not a man of\nthe Forbeses, who, if not altogether unarmed, had any weapon at all\nto defend himself with but his dirk. Those who had such instruments\nwere drawing them, whilst others were rushing to the walls, to arm\nthemselves with whatsoever weapons they could most easily reach,\nand pluck down thence. The noise and bustle of the moment was great,\nwhen, all at once, there fell a hush over the turbulence of the scene.\n\n\"Stir not a man of Clan-Allan!\" cried Sir Patrick to the Stewarts, who\nstood in their array, like a heavy and portentous thundercloud. \"Stir\nnot, men of Clan-Allan!--Stir not a finger, I command you!\"\n\n\"Sir Patrick Stewart is our young chieftain!\" broke like a roll of\nHeaven's artillery from the Clan-Allans. \"Sir Patrick Stewart is our\nyoung chieftain! Murdoch is a foul traitor and murderer! Bind him, bind\nhim! Let him be the prisoner, and let us have him forthwith justified!\"\n\n\"Nay, nay,\" cried Sir Patrick; \"bind him if you will, but lay not\nyour hands upon his life. This day, my Catherine,\" said he, turning\nto the lady, and addressing her tenderly and sorrowfully; \"This day,\nthat was to have been to me so full of joy, must now, alas! be the\nfirst of that doleful time, which, in the bereavement of my heart,\nI must devote to mourning for my beloved brother Walter. My first duty\nis to go and seek for his remains; and in following out this most sad\nand anxious search, I must crave thy presence, my Lord of Curgarf,\nand thine, too, Arthur, with that of such of our friends as may be\ndisposed to go forth with us, to aid us in so painful a quest.\"\n\nThe wishes of Sir Patrick Stewart were readily agreed to. The nuptials\nwere for the present postponed; and instead of the marriage-feast, some\nhasty refreshment was taken, preparatory to their immediate departure\non their melancholy search. The treacherous Murdoch Stewart was now\ngiven in charge, as a manacled prisoner, to those very Clan-Allans,\nat the head of whom he had come, so triumphantly, to fix a false\naccusation on his brother Sir Patrick. With them too went the youth,\nand the little man, Grigor Beg, who had given their evidence against\nMurdoch. The old Lord of Curgarf's quiet palfrey was led forth;\nand he set forward, attended by Arthur the Master of Forbes, Sir\nPatrick Stewart, and a considerable following of those who were led\nto accompany him by duty, or from curiosity.\n\nThey first visited the scene of the attempted assassination of Sir\nPatrick Stewart. The spot where the six Catteranes were slain, was\neasily discovered, by the flock of birds of prey that sat perched upon\nthe tops of the dwarf pines, or that wheeled over them in whistling\ncircles; whilst every now and then, some individual, bolder than the\nrest, would swoop down on the heath, to partake of the banquet which\nhad been spread upon it for them. That some considerable share of\ncourage was required to enable these creatures to do this, was proved\nto the party, who, on their nearer approach, scared away a brace of\nhungry, gaunt-looking wolves, who had been employed in ravenously\ntearing at the bodies, and dragging them hither and thither with\nbloody jaws; as well as an eagle, who had dared to sit a little\nway apart, to feed upon one of the carcases, in defiance of his\nferocious four-footed fellow-guests. The spectacle was shocking to\nall who beheld it. But one object of their search was gained; for,\non examination, Patrick recognised his brother Walter's sandals,\nwhich were removed from the feet of the corpse of Ewan Cameron,\nand taken care of--thus so far corroborating the testimony of the\nyouth. Having completed their investigations in this place, they\npiled heaps of stones over the bodies on the spot where they lay,\nand the party then pursued their way, over the mountain, towards the\nalleged scene of Sir Walter Stewart's murder.\n\nProvidence seemed to guide their steps;--for, as they passed over\nthe brow of the wooded hill that dropped down towards the Aven,\nthey scared away two ravens from a hollow place in the heath; and,\non approaching the spot, they discovered the well-picked bones of\na deer. His head showed him to have been an unusually fine great\nhart of sixteen. An arrow was sticking so deeply fixed through the\nshoulder-blade, as to satisfy all present, that its point must have\nproduced death, very soon after the animal had received it.\n\n\"As I hope for mercy, there is the very arrow that was lacking of\nSir Patrick's three!\" cried Dugald Roy, triumphantly. \"See--there is\nthe very eagle's feather which I put on it, with mine own hand! And,\nlook--there is the cross, which I always cut on the shaft, to give them\ngood luck. No shaft of mine, so armed, ever misses, when righteously\ndischarged. But for foul or treacherous murther, I'll warrant me,\nthat the most practised eye could never bring it to a true aim. But\"\nadded he, as he very adroitly dislocated out the shoulder-bone, as\nHighlanders are wont, and then possessed himself of the shoulder-blade,\narrow and all--\"I'll e'en take this arrow with me, with the bone just\nas it is, as a dumb but true witness in a righteous cause.\"\n\nLed by the directions which they received from Grigor Beg, they now\ndescended through the forest, till they came to that very well-eye\nyou see yonder--for that was the very individual place, that both\nthe old man and the youth had described as the scene of Sir Walter's\nmurder. They had used the precaution to bring with them implements\nfor digging; and, by means of these, a few sturdy fellows were soon\nenabled to make an opening into the lower end of the quaking bog,\nso as very quickly to discharge the pent-up water within it. The\ngreen surface then gradually subsided, and the legs of a human being,\nwith hose on, but without sandals, began to appear, sticking out,\nwith the feet upwards; and, by digging a little around it, they\nsoon succeeded in bringing the body of Sir Walter Stewart fully to\nlight. It was in all respects unchanged. The fatal arrow was deeply\nburied in his left breast; his bow was firmly grasped in his hand;\nand his three eagle-winged shafts were in his belt. The small unplumed\nbonnet which he usually wore, when dressed for following the deer,\nwas fast squeezed down on his head, by the pressure which had been\nexerted to sink him. How differently were the two brothers, Patrick\nand Murdoch Stewart, affected by the harrowing spectacle which was\nnow brought before their eyes! Murdoch shed no tear--yet his features\nwere strongly agitated. He looked at the corpse with averted eyes, and\nshuddered as he looked; whilst his face became black, and again deadly\npale, twenty times alternately. Sir Patrick Stewart, on the other hand,\nthrew himself, in an agony of tears, on the cold and dripping body of\nhis murdered brother, as it lay exposed on the bank; and, unable to\ngive utterance to his grief, he clasped it to his bosom, and lavished\nfond, though unavailing caresses on it. In vain he essayed, with as\nmuch tenderness as if his brother could have still felt the pain he\nmight thereby have given him, to pluck forth the arrow, deeply buried\nin the fatal wound. All present were overcome by this sad scene;--but\npoor Dugald Roy hung over them, and sobbed aloud, till the violence\nof his grief recalled Sir Patrick Stewart to himself again.\n\n\"Aye!\" said Dugald Roy; \"that is a murderous shaft indeed! A good\ncloth-yard in length, I'll warrant me; and feathered, too, from the\nwing of some ill-omened grey goose, that was hatched in some western\nsea-loch. This is no arrow of the make of Aven-side, else am I no judge\nof the tool. No cross upon this, I'll be sworn. No, no.--By St. Peter,\nbut it hath murther in the very look of it! Aye, and there are the true\narrows of the cross in his belt!--These are of my winging, every one\nof them. Little did I think, when I stuck them into my poor master's\ngirdle, that this was to be the way in which I was to find them! Would\nthat he had but gotten fair play! Would that he had but got his eye\non the villains ere they slew him! If he had but gotten one glimpse\nof them, by the Rood, but every cross of these shafts would have been\neager to have dyed itself red in the blood of their cowardly hearts!\"\n\nThe body of Sir Walter Stewart was now wrapped up in a plaid, and\nfastened lengthwise upon two parallel boughs, and it was borne towards\nDrummin. Their movements were so slow, and so often interrupted,\nthat it was dark night long ere they came to the place of their\ndestination. Sir Patrick Stewart felt the necessity of preparing his\nfather, Sir Allan, for the coming scene, as well as for the reception\nof the Lord of Curgarf, and his son, the Master of Forbes. He therefore\nresolved to hurry on before the party, that he might have a private\nmeeting with the old Knight, before their arrival. But being fully\naware that Sir Allan's mind had been already filled with those\niniquitous falsehoods, which his wicked brother, Murdoch Stewart,\nhad engendered against him, he thought it prudent to take with him\nDugald Roy, and two other men of the Clan-Allans, that they might be\nprepared, if necessary, to support his justification of himself.\n\nAs Sir Patrick Stewart, and his small escort, approached the outer gate\nof the Castle of Drummin, they perceived that it was shut. Dugald had\nno sooner observed this circumstance, than he made a signal to the\nKnight to remain silent, and then he advanced quietly to the little\nwicket in the middle of the gate, and knocked gently.\n\n\"Who is there?\" demanded the Warder, from within.\n\n\"Open the wicket, man, without a moment's tarrying,\" replied Dugald.\n\n\"Is that thee, Dugald Roy?\" demanded the Warder.\n\n\"Who else could it be?\" replied Dugald.\n\n\"It may be that any other might have done as well,\" replied the Warder\ngruffly. \"Thou wentst not forth with Murdoch Stewart;--Art thou of\nhis company at the present time?\"\n\n\"What matter though I went not forth with him, if I come home in his\ncompany?\" replied Dugald readily.\n\n\"Is he with thee, then?\" demanded the Warder.\n\n\"To be sure he is,\" cried Dugald impatiently. \"Come, man! he is\nclose at hand, I tell thee. Come! art thou to keep us standing here\nall night? By all that's good, he is coming upon us;--and, if he be\ndetained but the veriest fraction of a prod-flight, thou shalt surely\nhave a cudgelling for thy supper. Come man!--open I tell thee.\"\n\nThe huge iron bolts were now withdrawn from their fastenings, the key\ngrated among the rough wards of the lock, and the wicket was thrown\nback, whilst the Warder, peering through the opening, seemed as if\nhe were inclined to know something more of those without, before he\nremoved his own bulky person, that still blocked the passage. But\nDugald, stooping his head, sprang through the low aperture, and\nthrowing his skull right into the poor fellow's stomach, with the\nforce of a battering-ram, he laid him sprawling on his back.\n\n\"Hech!\" cried the Warder, as he fell. \"Hech me!\"\n\n\"Old fool that thou art!\" cried Dugald, taking up the first word of\nquarrel with him; \"who was to think that thou wert to be standing in\nthe very midst of the way?--Yet I hope I have not hurt thee, for all\nthat. Thou knowest, Rory, that I had rather hurt myself than thee.\"\n\n\"Nay, nay,\" said the old man, with a surly sort of acquiescence, as\nhe was slowly raising himself from the ground by means of Dugald's\nassistance; during which operation Patrick Stewart, wrapped up in his\nplaid, and followed by the other two men, had made good his entrance\ninto the court-yard. \"Nay, nay, I am not hurt. I'm no such eggshells,\ni'faith. Yet what a fiend made thee so impatient? I behooved to be\ncareful who I let in, seeing that I was strictly charged to open to\nnone but Murdoch Stewart himself there,\" pointing to Sir Patrick,\nwho was standing a few paces aloof. \"More by token, I required to be\nall the warier, seeing that there was none living within the walls,\nbesides myself, save the old Knight Sir Allan, and the Lady Stradawn.\"\n\n\"How comes that?\" demanded Dugald; \"Though so many went to Curgarf,\nthere were still some left behind, surely.\"\n\n\"True enough, true enough,\" replied the Warder. \"But I know not what\nhath possessed the lady. They have all been sent hither and thither, on\nsome errand or another;--even the very women folk have all gone forth.\"\n\nSir Patrick Stewart stood to hear no more, but making a signal to\nDugald and the others to follow him, he crossed the court-yard towards\nthe door of the keep tower, where they stood aside, whilst he knocked\ngently, yet loud enough to be heard in the hall above. Soon afterwards,\na timid and unsteady footstep was heard descending the stair.\n\n\"Open, good mother,\" said Sir Patrick.\n\n\"Oh, how thankful I am that thou art come!\" said the Lady Stradawn,\nmistaking him for her son Murdoch, their voices being a good deal\nlike to each other, and opening the door, pale and trembling, with a\nlamp in her hand, which the gust immediately extinguished. \"A plague\non the wind, my lamp is out! But oh, I am thankful that thou art\ncome! 'Tis fearful to be left alone in the house with a dead man,\nand one, too----Oh 'twas fearful!\"\n\n\"Dead!\" cried Sir Patrick, with an accent of horror, which might have\nbetrayed him, but for the agitation which then possessed her whom he\naddressed. \"A dead man, saidst thou?\"\n\n\"Aye!\" replied the lady, in a hollow tone, \"aye! I saw that thou hadst\nyearnings. Yet, after all, it was but giving him ease, by ridding him\nof a lingering life of pain. It was kindness, in truth, to help him\naway from such misery. Yet, 'tis no marvel that thou, who art his very\nblood, should have some compunction. But thou mayest be at rest now,\nfor he is gone beyond thy help, or that of any one else.\"\n\n\"Gone!\" exclaimed Sir Patrick again--\"Gone! how did he die?\"\n\n\"Horribly! most horribly!\" replied the lady, shuddering. \"It was\nfearful to behold him in his agonies! Knowing, as I did, the potency\nof the poison, I could hardly have believed that the old man would\nhave taken so long to die.\"\n\n\"Horrible!\" exclaimed Sir Patrick, involuntarily.\n\n\"Aye, it was horrible!\" replied the lady; \"horrible indeed, as thou\nwouldst have said if thou hadst seen it. For a moment, the poison\nseemed to have given him new strength, and he rose from his chair as\nif he would have done vengeance on me. 'Twas fearful to behold him!\"\n\n\"Art sure he is quite dead?\" said Sir Patrick again.\n\n\"Aye,\" replied the lady, \"as dead as his son Walter; so dead, as to\nmake thee surely the Laird of Stradawn, the moment that thou shalt\nhave made as sicker of Patrick, as we may now soon hope thou wilt\nbe able to do. I did but help him, as I was saying, out of the pains\nand wretchedness of old age and dotage. Yet it was an awful work for\nme. And oh, his last look was fearful! I wish I may ever be able to\nget rid of it! Would that thou couldst have steeled thyself up to\nhave done it thyself Murdoch! But come in--come in quickly! Hast thou\nsecured the prisoner?\"\n\n\"I have,\" replied Sir Patrick, now exerting a certain degree of\ncommand over his feelings; \"he will be here anon.\"\n\n\"That is well,\" replied the Lady Stradawn; \"then all is thine own. His\ntrial must be short, and his execution speedy. But come, we have much\nto do to make things seemly ere they arrive. He must appear to have\ndied of a broken heart, caused by the wickedness of his son. Every\nthing suspicious must be removed from about him. I could not dare\nto touch him. Why stand ye so long hesitating? But 'tis no wonder,\nfor I could not look upon him myself without fancying that the devil\nwas grinning over my shoulder. 'Tis horrible to think on't! But come,\"\ncontinued she, as she at last seemed to summon up resolution to climb\nthe stair; \"lock the door, Murdoch, and follow me up quickly, for we\nhave no time to lose.\"\n\nSir Patrick Stewart made a signal to Dugald and the others, and then\nascended to the hall after the Lady Stradawn. A deathlike silence\nprevailed within it. A single lamp was glimmering feebly on a sconce\nat the upper end of it: and there stood the lady, pale and trembling,\nat that side of the chimney which was farthest from Sir Allan's\nchair. Sir Patrick, in his agitation, moved hurriedly forward; and\nthe moment the light of the lamp fell upon his features, the lady\nuttered a loud scream, and swooned away upon the floor.\n\nThe spectacle that now met his eyes harrowed up his very soul. His\nfather lay dead in his chair, with his features and his limbs fixed\nin the last frightful convulsion, by which the racking poison had\nterminated his existence. His mouth was twisted, his tongue thrust\nout, and his eyeballs so fearfully staring, that even his tenderly\naffectionate son felt it a dreadful effort to look upon that, which\nused to be to him an object of the deepest veneration and love. Beside\nhis chair was the small table, on which he was usually served with\nhis food. There stood a silver porringer containing the minced meat,\nwhich his extreme age required; and notwithstanding all that the Lady\nStradawn had said to the contrary, the operation of the poison seemed\nto have been so quick, as to have mortally affected him, ere he had\ntaken the fourth part of the mess that had been provided for him. Sir\nPatrick was overpowered by his feelings. He sank into a chair, and\ncovering his face with his hands, he gave way to his grief, in which\nhe remained so entirely absorbed, that neither the entrance of Dugald,\nnor the thundering which some time afterwards took place at the outer\ngate, nor the noise of the many voices of those who came pouring in,\nwere sufficient to arouse him.\n\nDugald Roy had the presence of mind to hurry down to the court-yard,\nto prepare the Lord of Curgarf, and those who came with him, for the\ndreadful spectacle they were to witness. Thunderstruck and shocked\nby his intelligence, they crowded up to the hall, where the general\nhorror was for some time so great, as to render every one incapable of\nacting; but at length they gathered sufficient recollection to bestir\nthemselves. The poisoned porringer was first carefully preserved;\nthe Lady Stradawn was carried off in strong fits to her apartment;\nthe body of Sir Walter Stewart was borne up into the hall; and there,\nafter undergoing the necessary preparations used on such occasions,\nthe father and son were laid out in state together, and the couches\non which the bodies rested were surrounded by so great a multitude\nof wax tapers, as to exchange the melancholy gloom of the place into\na blaze of light, which, reflected as it was from the various pieces\nof armour that glittered in vain pomp upon the walls, shone but to\nproduce a greater intensity of sadness. The good priest of Dounan\nwas sent for; and the appalling news having spread quickly around,\nthe retainers began to swarm into the Castle, from all quarters, in\nsorrowing groups, full of lamentation. Meanwhile the Lord of Curgarf\nand his son, the Master of Forbes, occupied themselves in soothing\nthe afflicted Sir Patrick Stewart, and in aiding and encouraging him\nto go through with those trying and painful duties which this most\nafflicting occasion demanded of him.\n\nFood and wine had been carried to the Lady Stradawn, where she\nsat alone in her bower, so deeply sunk in remorse, and dejection,\nand dread, as to be quite unconscious of the entrance or departure\nof those who brought her these comforts. Those who were compelled\nto be the bearers of them, gazed on her with fear, and hastened\nfrom her with expedition, and no one else could be persuaded to go\nnear her, even her woman refused to remain with her, as something\naccursed, so that she was left abandoned by all, as a prey to her\nevil thoughts. Had any one ventured to look in upon her, as she sat\nmotionless in her great chair, with a lamp flickering on a table beside\nher, and throwing an uncertain light by fits and snatches on her face,\nnow pale and fixed as marble,--and on her glazed and tearless eyes,\nand her dry and withered lips, he might have fancied that she was\nalready a corpse; yet deep, deep was the mental agony that she felt.\n\nThe midnight watch had been set, and all had been for some time silent\nwithin the walls of Drummin, save the distant hum of the subdued\nvoices of those who, according to custom, sat waking the corpses in\nthe hall, when the door of the Lady Stradawn's bower opened, and her\nson Murdoch appeared. If the spirit of her murdered husband had arisen\nbefore her eyes, she could not have started with more astonishment,\nor recoiled with greater apparent horror.\n\n\"Murdoch!\" cried she, in a loud and agitated voice, \"Is it thee,\nMurdoch?\"--And then, sinking back into the same fixed and motionless\nattitude, whence she had been thus momentarily aroused, she added,\nin a faint, low, and feeble tone, \"Murdoch!--would that thou hadst\nnever been born!\"\n\n\"Mother,\" said Murdoch, calmly shutting the door behind him, and taking\na seat beside her chair, \"I have heard all from Nicol, the playfellow\nof my boyhood, who chanced to be set to guard me, in the apartment\nbelow. I wished to see thee ere we die; and I purchased from the\nsordid wretch this midnight hour--this last hour of privacy with thee.\"\n\n\"Ha!\" cried the Lady Stradawn, with a strange and sudden\ntransition from the apathy and torpor of despair, to the most\nenergetic anxiety of hope; \"If Nicol did that for thee, why may\nwe not bribe him to open a way for us through those who guard the\ngate?--Quick!--quick!--quick!--Oh, let us quickly escape!--Oh, let\nus not tarry one moment longer! There are my keys; we have treasure\nin that cabinet, which may well bribe him, and yet leave us rich!\"\n\n\"Be composed, my most worthy mother,\" said Murdoch Stewart; \"There\nis not the shadow of a chance for us in that way. The door of the\nkeep is doubly barred, and doubly guarded, and no one leaves it\nunexamined beneath the light of a blazing torch. The whole men-at-arms\nand clansmen within the walls, infuriated against us, are of their\nown free will engaged in vigilant watching. The portcullis is down,\nthe gate barricaded, the barbican manned, and the walls surrounded\nby patroles. Mother, cast aside all such hopes as useless, for as the\nguilt of both of us must soon appear as clear as to-morrow's noonday,\nso that sun, which shall certainly arise to-morrow morning, shall as\nsurely look upon our graves ere he sets.\"\n\nThe Lady Stradawn sank again into the chair, from which the sudden\nimpulse of hope had so energetically raised her, and, groaning deeply,\nshe relapsed into her former state of deathlike stillness, broken\nonly by the long drawn sob that at certain intervals convulsed her\nwhole frame.\n\n\"Mother!\" said Murdoch Stewart, after a pause; \"Where are all the\nfruits of that career of crime for which thou nursed me as an infant,\ntutored me as a boy, and prompted me as a man? Have I not followed\nthy bidding through deceit, robbery, and murder, and where is now my\nreward?--Thine is locked up there in that secret cabinet of glittering\ntoys, which to-morrow thou must leave, to go out to be hanged by\nthe neck on the gallows-tree, with the son, whom thou wouldst have\nhad Lord of the Aven, grinning at thee like a caitiff cur from the\nfarther end of its beam--\"\n\n\"Oh!--Oh--ho!\" cried the agonized woman, shaken through every limb\nby the palsy of her fears; \"Is there no--no deliverance for us?\"\n\n\"Yes,\" said Murdoch Stewart, calmly; \"yes, there is a deliverance,\nand a speedy one too.\"\n\n\"Oh, name it!\" cried the frantic woman; \"Oh, name it! and quickly\nlet us avail ourselves of it!\"\n\n\"Here it is,\" said Murdoch Stewart, quietly taking a small paper\npacket from his bosom; \"Here it is, mother. A few small pinches of\nthis powder, mingled in a cup of that wine, will snatch us both from\nthe torture of being made a disgraceful public spectacle to-morrow--of\nbeing gazed at by the vulgar eyes, and pointed at by the vile fingers\nof those wretched serfs, and their grovelling mates and spawn, whom,\na little better luck and better fortune for us, had by that time made\nthe abject slaves of our will. See! here it is mingled, already it\nis dissolved, and now the draught is potent. Good mother, I pledge\nthee,\" said he, drinking down half of what the goblet contained;\n\"and now here is thy share.\"\n\n\"No,--no,--no!--I cannot!--no, I cannot!\" cried the Lady Stradawn,\nwith frantic horror in her averted eyes.\n\n\"Then do I tell thee, mother mine,\" said Murdoch Stewart sternly;\n\"thou hast not trained me up to deal in deeds of blood and death for\nnaught. I shall never suffer thy womanish fears to bring the disgrace\nof the gallows upon thee. I love thee too much for that. See here,\ngood mother! 'tis but a choice of deaths. Here is a concealed dagger,\nlook you. Say! wouldst thou bring one more murder--the murder of\na mother on my already overburdened soul, to sink it deeper in that\nsea of torment, to which these priests would fain have us believe that\nthose, who, like us, have used the wit and the strength with which they\nhave been gifted, for bettering their own condition in this world,\nmust hasten from hence. Drink! or by every fiend that suffers there,\nthou diest in the instant!\"\n\nThe Lady Stradawn glared at her son with a vacant stare, as if all\nreason had fled from her. She took the cup mechanically from his hand,\nand drained it to the bottom.\n\n\"What hast thou done?\" cried the man-at-arms, who had been brought to\nthe door by the violent tone of some of Murdoch Stewart's last words,\nand who rushed in just as the Lady Stradawn had swallowed the poison.\n\n\"Do what thou wilt now, Nicol,\" said Murdoch Stewart, with perfect\ncomposure; \"We are both beyond thy power, or that of any one else\nwithin the castle of Drummin.\"\n\nNicol at once guessed at what had happened, and ran instantly for\nthe Priest. The good Father of Dounan was deeply skilled in medicine,\nas well as in divinity. He called for assistance, and antidotes were\nforcibly given to Murdoch Stewart, and passively received by his\nmother the Lady Stradawn. Their wretched existence was thus prolonged,\nthough death could not be altogether averted. They lingered on,\nin great pain, for many days, during which all judicial proceedings\nwere suspended. The pious priest lost not one moment of this precious\ntime. By exerting all his religious learning, and all his eloquence,\nhe at length succeeded in bringing both of them to a full sense of\nthe enormity of their guilt, as well as to an ample confession of\nall their crimes. It is not for us to interpret the decrees of the\nAlmighty in such a case as theirs; but if the apparent deep contrition\nthat followed was real, and heartfelt, we may trust that the mercy,\nas well as the benefit of the merits of that blessed Saviour, who died\nfor us all upon the cross, even for the thief that was crucified with\nhim, was extended to them, dreadful as their crimes had been.\n\nMy legend now draws to a hasty conclusion. The days of mourning were\nfully numbered by Sir Patrick Stewart, for his murdered father and\nbrother. The kindness of the old Lord of Curgarf, and his son Arthur\nMaster of Forbes, towards him, was unwearied and most consolatory. Nor\nwere the delicate affections of the Lady Catherine Forbes less tenderly\nor unremittingly displayed, so that, in due time, by becoming her\nhusband, he bound himself to both his friends by the closest and\ndearest ties. In pious remembrance of his brother Sir Walter's murder,\nhe erected the pillar of stone I spoke of, as that which stood so long\nby the side of the well-eye where he was slain; but he refrained from\ninscribing any thing upon it, lest his doing so might have revived\nthe recollection of Murdoch Stewart's atrocity. He likewise ordered\na stone to be set up, where the proud Priest of Dalestie was burned,\nrather as a sort of expiation of the stern act of justice, which his\nbrother Sir Walter had inflicted upon him, than to perpetuate the\ndetested memory of the depraved wretch who suffered there.\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\nFATE OF THE OULD AUNCIENT MONUMENTS.\n\n\nClifford.--(as we arose to pursue our journey.)--And what became of\nthese two monuments, Serjeant Stewart?\n\nSerjeant.--A certain gentleman, who was building a house somewhere\nin this neighbourhood, (for I had rather not designate him too\nparticularly,) cast his eyes on the fine stone that stood by the\nwell-eye, and perceiving that it would make an excellent lintel,\nhe took immediate measures to get it carried off to his rising\nedifice. Having accomplished his intention, with no little difficulty,\nit was speedily employed in the building, where it promised to\nconduct itself with the same quiet and decorum which were observed\nby all the other stones of the edifice, after being put to rest,\neach in his separate bed of mortar. But no sooner did the house\ncome to be inhabited, than it began to be haunted by strange and\nmysterious noises. Some of these were quite unintelligible, for they\nresembled no earthly sound that had ever been heard before. Then long\nconversations began, and were continued, in small sharp clear voices;\nbut although the words fell distinctly enough on the ears of those\nwho heard them, the language was as a sealed book to them. And ever\nand anon the seeming dialogue would be interrupted by strange uncouth\nfits of laughter, as if of several persons together, or in different\nparts of the premises, that were so far from creating a corresponding\ndisposition to mirth or merriment in the listeners, that they froze up\nthe very blood in their veins. But this was not all. The most dismal\ncroaking of frogs arose in every part of the house. You would have\nsworn that the creatures were in the cup-boards--the presses--the\nchimnies--in the beds--on the floors--nay, on the very tables, and\namong the dishes which the good folks of the family had set before\nthem. It was as if the frogs, that formed the great plague in Egypt,\nhad filled the house with their hoarse voices. One would begin as if\nhe were the leader of the band, and then others would start off, one\nafter another, till the doleful chorus, resounding from all quarters,\nmade the concert loud and sonorous. It was no uncommon thing, during\nthe dark and dreary watches of the night, for the voice of the leader,\nwhich had something peculiarly striking in it, to arise of a sudden,\nas if he that uttered it was sitting astraddle on the nose of the\ngoodman of the house. In vain was the hand applied to the organ,\nto drive off what, in reality, appeared to be the organist. There\nwas nothing there; yet the sound continued as if it had come from the\ndeepest pipe in the organ loft of some cathedral, yea, of that of the\ngreat organ of Haerlem itself. The more he rubbed the more it grew,\nand the louder and more universal became the chorus. His very nose\nitself increased in size, from the frequent and severe rubbings to\nwhich it was thus subjected, whilst he began to grow thin and emaciated\nin proportion, till his whole person at length appeared rather as if\nit had been an appendage to his nose, than his nose an appendage to\nhis person. At last, being worn out in spirit, as he was very nearly\nin body also, he was fain to take out the stone from the building,\nand to carry it back to the hill-side again, and then, to be sure,\nhe enjoyed perfect quiet.\n\nClifford.--A sensible man, truly. But what had evil spirits or fairies\nto do with a monumental stone?\n\nSerjeant.--Nothing that I can see, sir, except that being guilty\nof so impious a deed as the removal of such a stone, he was for a\ntime left unprotected by all good angels, and consequently he was\naltogether at the mercy of those evil ones.\n\nGrant.--Very well made out, Mister Serjeant. But where is the\nstone now?\n\nSerjeant.--Why, sir, I am sure you will hardly believe me when I\ntell you, that a few years ago it was wantonly destroyed by another\ngentleman, who shall be also nameless.\n\nGrant.--What a Goth he must have been! Why should you conceal his name,\nSerjeant?--It deserves to be held up to public reprobation\n\nSerjeant.--I know my own interest too well to be the officious person\nwho shall publish it though. Yet I must own that it would have served\nhim right that it should have been so marked. What do you think he did,\ngentlemen? Happening to be in this part of Strathdawn, he, without\nrhyme or reason, and out of sheer wickedness, ordered his people\nto break both that and the Clach-na-Tagart, or the Priest's stone,\nwhich shocking pieces of barbarism he took care to see executed in\nhis own presence, whilst he stood by, like a mischievous baboon,\nchuckling over their destruction.\n\nClifford.--The fellow deserved to have been plunged over head and ears\ninto the Wallee in the first place, and after being thus well soaked,\nhe ought to have been leisurely consumed at the Priest's stone,\nlike a well watered sack of Newcastle coals.\n\nSerjeant.--Why, sir, I must allow that he has been punished severely\nenough. The whole people of the country cried out upon him, and every\none declared that it was quite impossible that the fellow could thrive,\nafter having demolished two such ould auncient antiquities. And so in\ntruth it turned out, for not long afterwards he lost the whole fushon\n[6] of his side. As for the Clach-na-Tagart, the Roman Catholics,\nwho form the chief population hereabouts, intended to have clasped\nit together with iron bands, but, (addressing author,) as you know\nvery well, sir, from having recorded the fact in your book, the great\nflood of August 1829 saved them the trouble of doing so, for the Aven\nthen carried the broken stone clean away, aye, and it swept off the\nbest part of the haugh it stood upon into the bargain.\n\nGrant.--But stay, my good friend, Archy. What do you mean by quitting\nthe level path to climb this confounded steep hill, as the direction\nof your nose, at this moment, would seem to indicate your present\nintention to be?\n\nSerjeant.--I would fain show you an extensive prospect, gentlemen. It\nis only a bit start of a pull up here. A mere breathing for you after\nthe long rest you had by the water side yonder.--(Then addressing\nthe gilly.)--My man, hold you on the road to Inchrory with the horse,\nand tell the gudewife there that we are coming.\n\nClifford.--'Tis a very stiff pull, Archy. But we shall be all the\nbetter for something of this sort to put us in wind. I calculate that\nwe shall have some worse climbing than this before we are done with\nthese mountains.\n\nSerjeant.--Troth, you may well say that, sir; and as for this hill,\nwe may be very thankful that we have not to climb it with a strong\ndemonstration of the enemies' riflemen lining the ridge of it.\n\nClifford.--You are out there, serjeant. Depend upon it, if we saw an\nenemy lining the height, we should both of us climb it like roebucks,\nto be at them.\n\nSerjeant.--I'm not saying but we might, sir; that is, if we saw that\nwe were sufficiently well backed. But for all that, we might find\nour graves before we were half way up the hill; and then what the\nbetter should we be, of our comrades saying, as they passed by us,\n\"Poor fellows, you are settled!\" Would that be any consolation to us,\nas we lay writhing in the last agonies?\n\nGrant.--Very small consolation indeed, Archy.\n\nSerjeant.--I wot it would be little indeed, sir. Yet ought a man to\ndo his duty for all that, simply because it is his duty. Many is the\ntime I have heard my good friend Captain Ketley say that; and there\nwere few words fell from his mouth that had not some good sense,\nor some good moral in them. And certain it is, that if we did not\nalways keep this rule of our conduct in view, we should neither be\ngood sodgers nor good Christians.\n\nClifford.--Right again, old boy.\n\nSerjeant.--And yet, Mr. Clifford, as I reckon, there is some pleasure\nin coming out of the skrimmage in a whole skin, and with ears that\ncan hear all the honest commendations that are bestowed upon your\nown brave and gallant conduct.\n\nGrant--(after reaching the summit of the hill.)--That was indeed\na breather; but now, Serjeant, for the prospect you promised us,\nI see nothing as yet but the bare flat moist moory hill-top.\n\nSerjeant--(leading us to the eastern verge of the top of the\nhill.)--Come this way, then, gentlemen. See here what an extensive\nprospect you have down the course of the river Don. It looks but a\nsmall stream there, especially from this height.\n\nAuthor.--What old castle is that which we see below us there, near\nyonder clump of trees?\n\nSerjeant.--That is Curgarf Castle. That is the very spot to which so\nmuch of my legend referred, though I shall not pretend to say that\nthe building you see there is precisely the same. But now, gentlemen,\nturn your eyes westward again. Is not that a fine mountain view? See\nhow proudly the Cairngorms rise yonder! But, observe me--you don't\nsee the very highest summits as yet, because those big black lumps\nopposite to us there, hide the highest tops from our eyes.\n\nAuthor.--It is a magnificent scene notwithstanding, especially as\nviewed at present, under that splendid display of evening light,\nthat is now shooting over those loftier ridges from the descending sun.\n\nGrant.--A very grand scene indeed!\n\nClifford.--Aye, Grant, we shall have some climbing there, I promise\nyou.\n\nGrant.--There can be little doubt of that. But tell me, Serjeant,\nwhat solitary house is that we see in the valley below?\n\nAuthor.--I can answer you that question. That is Inchrory, the\nsmall place, half farm-house, half hostel, where we are to sojourn\nto-night. It is used as a place of rest and refreshment, by the few\ntravellers who pass on foot, or on horseback, by the rugged path which\nwe left in the valley, and which goes hence southwards, up through\nthe valley of the Builg--past the lake of that name,--so across what\nis there the rivulet of the Don,--and then onwards over the hills to\nCastleton of Braemar. That deep hollow in the mountains, that turns\nsharp westwards beyond Inchrory yonder, is what is more properly called\nGlenaven. The river Aven comes pouring down hitherwards through it,\nand our way lies up its course.\n\nClifford.--I should be sorry if it did so this evening. I am quite\nprepared to hail yonder house of Inchrory below, as a welcome place\nof refuge for this night.\n\nAuthor.--Few places must be more welcome to a wayworn traveller than\nInchrory, especially when first descried by the weary wayfarer from\nCastleton, in a winter's evening, as the sun is hasting downwards.\n\nSerjeant.--You are not far wrong there, sir. A dreadful hill journey\nthat is, indeed, from Castleton to Inchrory, amid the storms of\nwinter. Not a vestige of a house by the way. Many a poor wretch\nhas perished in the snow, amidst these trackless wastes. Not to go\nvery far back, there was a terrible snow storm about the Martinmas\ntime in the 1829. It roared, and blew, and drifted so fast, that\nit was mid-day or ever Mrs. Shaw of Inchrory ventured to put her\nhead out beyond the threshold of her own door, to look at the thick\nand dreary shroud of white in which dead nature was wrapped, and\nwhich covered the whole lonely scene of hill and valley around her,\nand was in many places blown into wreathes of a great depth. There\nwas not a speck of colour, nor any moving thing to vary the glazed\nunbroken surface, except on one distant hillock, where a single\nhuman figure was seen, wandering to and fro, as if in a maze, like\nsome one bereft of reason. The male inhabitants of the house were\nall out looking after the stock belonging to the grazing farm; and,\nas Mrs. Shaw was in doubt whether the person she beheld might not in\nreality be some one who was deranged, as his movements rather seemed\nto indicate, she was afraid to venture to approach him. But curiosity\nas well as pity made her cast many a look towards him during that\nafternoon, as he still continued to move slowly round the hillock,\nand backwards and forwards, without any apparent sense or meaning,\nand stopping now and then, as if utterly bewildered. At length,\nas it was drawing towards night, Mrs. Shaw observed that the figure\nhad either fallen, or lain down among the snow, and her charitable\nfeelings then overcoming all her apprehensions, she proceeded to wade\nthrough the snow towards the hillock where he lay. Having, with very\nconsiderable difficulty, made her way to the spot, she found him lying\non his back, as composedly as if he had lain down in his bed. The\nintense cold had so benumbed his intellects, indeed, that he did not\nseem to be in the least aware of his own melancholy situation.--\"Wha\nare ye? and what are ye wantin?\" said he, to Mrs. Shaw, with a faint\nsmile on his emaciated face, as he beheld her stooping over him with\nan anxious gaze of inquiry. \"I came to help you,\" replied Mrs. Shaw;\n\"Will you let me try to lift you up?\"--\"Thank you, I can rise mysel',\"\nreplied he, making a vain effort to get up.--\"You had better let me\nhelp you,\" said Mrs. Shaw.--\"Ou, na, thank ye,\" replied he again;\n\"I can rise weel eneugh mysel.\"--\"Do so, then,\" said Mrs. Shaw,\nwhilst at the same time she prepared herself for giving him her best\nassistance during his attempt. In this way, a strong effort on her part\nenabled her at last to succeed in getting the poor man on his legs;\nand then, after the expenditure of as much time as might have easily\nenabled her to have gone five or six miles, and with immense labour and\nfatigue, this heroic woman was finally successful in supporting him,\nor rather, I should say, in half carrying him to Inchrory. When she\nhad got him fairly out of the snow, and into the house, she had the\nhorror to discover, that not only were his shoes and stockings gone,\nbut that even the very flesh was worn off his feet. When help arrived,\nthey got him into bed, and did all for him that charitable Christians\ncould do. Food was brought to him, but it was some time before he\ncould be made to swallow any portion of it, and that only by feeding\nhim like a child. The poor fellow turned out to be a young man of\nthe name of Thomas Macintosh, servant to the Rev. Mr. MacEachan,\nthe Roman Catholic priest at Castleton, which place he had left on\nthe Wednesday morning, and he had wandered among the snow, without\nfood or shelter, and becoming every moment more and more bewildered,\nuntil the Friday evening, when Mrs. Shaw's praiseworthy exertions\nbrought him to her house. On the Saturday, the good people carried\nhim down the valley to the next farm, on his way to the doctor. But,\nalas! no doctor was ever destined to do him any good, for he died that\nsame evening. Two one pound notes, and a few shillings, were found\nin his pocket, which sum went to pay the expense of his interment in\nthe newly made church-yard at Tomantoul, of which, as it so happened,\nhe was the second tenant.\n\nGrant.--What a melancholy fate!\n\nSerjeant.--Sad, indeed, sir. But there are many stories of the same\nkind connected with this wild path through these desolate mountains.\n\nAuthor.--Do you remember any more of them, Archy?\n\nSerjeant.--Ou, yes, sir. It was upon that terrible night of drift,\nthe 25th of November, 1826, no farther gone, when so many poor people\nperished, that a man, three women, and two horses, were buried in\nthe snow upon yon hill, which is called Cairn Elsach, as they were\non their way back from the Tomantoul market. So deep was the snow\nin many places, that one of the horses was found frozen stiff dead,\nand the beast was so supported in it, as to be sticking upright upon\nhis legs, and a woman was discovered standing dead beside him. Some\nlittle time afterwards, a shepherd, who happened to have occasion to\ncross the hill, had his attention attracted by some long hair which was\nseen above the icy surface, waving in the wintry blast. On scraping\naway the snow, he found that it was attached to a woman's head, who\nhad unfortunately perished. He procured the assistance of some of his\nfriends, who were afraid to dig out the body for fear it might have\nbecome offensive. I, who chanced to be there, had no such scruples,\nfirst, because I knew very well that the snow must have preserved it,\nand, secondly, because, if it had been otherwise, I knew that I had\nlost my sense of smelling in consequence of the desperate wound in my\njaw, of which I told you. When the snow was removed, the poor young\nwoman's body was found quite fresh and entire, but it was perfectly\nblue in colour.\n\nAuthor.--These are melancholy details; yet, it must be confessed,\nthey are quite in harmony with the wild and lonely scenery now before\nour eyes.\n\nGrant.--They remind one of the horrors of the Alps.\n\nClifford.--The gaunt wolves are wanting, though, to make up the\npicture completely.\n\nSerjeant.--We had the wolves also ourselves once upon a time, sir;\nand now the corby, and the hill-fox, and the eagle, do their best to\nmake up for the want of them. But such a wilderness as this, covered\ndeep with snow, and the howling wind carrying the drift across it,\nhas quite terrors enough in it for my taste.\n\nAuthor.--I am quite of your opinion, Archy.\n\nSerjeant.--Yet it is wonderful how Providence will interfere to\npreserve people alive, amidst such complicated horrors. I remember a\nstory of a man of the name of Macintosh, who left Braemar, with his\nwife, to come over this way. A dreadful snow storm came upon them, and,\nbeing blinded by the snow-drift, and encumbered in the deep and heavy\nwreathes, the poor people were separated from each other. The man made\nhis way, with great difficulty, to a whisky bothy, where he arrived\nmuch exhausted, and quite inconsolable for the loss of his wife. Being\nthus saved himself, he procured the assistance of people to help him\nto look for the corpse of his lost partner. For two whole days they\nsought in vain; when, just as they were about to abandon their search,\ntill the surface of the ground should become less burdened with snow,\nthey observed a figure coming slowly and wearily down the hill of\nGart. This, as it drew nearer, appeared to be a woman; and, on her\napproaching nearer still, the overjoyed husband discovered that she\nwas his living wife, for whom he had been weeping as dead. She had\nbeen wandering for nearly three days, without either food or shelter,\namid the mountain snows, but, although she was dreadfully exhausted,\nshe eventually recovered.\n\nGrant.--That was indeed the support of Providence, Archy!\n\nAuthor.--Most wonderful indeed! Her preservation was little short of\na miracle.\n\nSerjeant.--Aye, truly, you may well say that, sir. Nothing but a\nmiracle could have preserved the poor woman from so many perils as\nshe must have encountered in her wanderings,--not to mention those of\ncold, hunger, and fatigue. It was the hand of Providence, assuredly,\nthat supported her. By what means he worked, we have no opportunity\nof knowing. But surely it was strange that he could have enabled any\nhuman being, and especially a woman, to have come through so much\nfatigue and suffering alive.\n\nClifford.--Truly, most miraculous!\n\nSerjeant.--And then, gentlemen, how very strangely--so far as we\nblind mortals can perceive--are others permitted to perish at the\nvery door, as it were, of help. I think it is now about sixteen\nyears ago--and, if I remember rightly, it was about the Christmas\ntime--that James Stewart, son of the miller of Delnabo, perished, on\nthe very haugh there, just below the House of Inchrory. The poor fellow\npassed by this place, on his way over to Braemar, one morning that I\nhappened to be here. He stopped a few minutes with me, and had some\ntalk.--\"I'm likely to get a fine day for crossing the hill, Archy,\"\nsaid he.--\"Well,\" said I, \"I hope you will, and I wish you may. Yet I\ndon't altogether like yon mountaneous heap of white tumbling-looking\nclouds, that are casting up afar off over the hill-top yonder.\"--\"They\ndinna look awthegither weel, to be sure,\" said Jemmy; \"but I houp I\nmay be in weel kent land lang or they break.\"--We parted. The snow\ncame on in a dreadful storm, about mid-day; and I had two or three\nanxious thoughts about Jemmy Stewart, as the recollection of him was\never and anon brought back to me, during the night, by the fearful\nwhistling of the wind, and the rattling of the hail. Next morning,\nI, and some of the other men about the place, found a human track,\nrunning in a bewildered, irregular, and uncertain line, between the\nhouse of Inchrory and the burn yonder, which must be a width of not\nmuch more than forty yards. We had not followed this far, when we\ncame to the poor man, whose worn-out feet had made these prints. His\nwalking-stick was standing erect among the snow beside him,--and\nthere lay poor Jemmy Stewart, on his face; his hands were closed,\nand his head rested on them, just as if he had lain quietly down to\nsleep. The lads who were with me, stupid gomerills that they were,\nhad a superstitious dread of touching him; but, deeply as I grieved\nfor the poor fellow, I had seen too many dead men in my time to have\nany such scruples. I accordingly turned him, and found, alas! that he\nwas quite gone. It appeared that he had been suddenly surprised and\nbewildered by the snow-drift among the hills, and that, having lost\nall knowledge of his way, he had unconsciously wandered in the very\nopposite direction to that in which he had intended to go. Becoming\nmore and more confused, as he wandered and wandered, he became at last\nso entirely stupified by the multiplied terrors of that awful night,\nthat he ultimately yielded to the last drowsiness of death, and so\nlaid himself down to court its fatal repose. Alas! he was unhappily\nignorant that he was within a few yards of the friendly house which he\nhad passed on his way upwards on the previous morning, to the reviving\nshelter of which, the least possible additional exertion might have\neasily brought him, had he but known in what direction to have made it.\n\nClifford.--What a sad and fearful story!\n\nSerjeant.--Aye, sir, sad and fearful indeed! Is it not dreadful to\nthink how often the recollection of him crossed my mind during that\nfatal night, and how little trouble, on my part, would have saved him,\nhad I only known that he was wandering in the snow so near me? Aye,\nand to think that I should have lain ignorantly all the while in my\nwarm bed, allowing him so cruelly to perish! Willing would I have\nbeen to have travelled all night through the drift to have saved poor\nJemmy Stewart!\n\nAuthor.--No one can doubt that, Archy.\n\nSerjeant.--Well, but sir, you see these matters are in the hand of\nGod, and at his wise disposal; and although we, blind moles of the\nyearth as we are, cannot easily descry why a worthy well-doing young\nman like Jemmy Stewart should be permitted thus wretchedly to die,\nwithout aid, either human or divine, we cannot doubt the justice and\nwisdom of God's ways, which are inscrutable, and past man's finding\nout. Well, I did all I could for the poor fellow, for I had his corpse\ncarried down to his afflicted father at Delnabo, and I saw him buried\nat Dounan, near the Bridge of Livat.\n\nClifford.--That, indeed, was all you could do for the poor man,\nArchy; and the manner in which you did that little, together with\nall the sentiments that you have uttered regarding him, are enough to\nconvince any one that you would not have scrupled to peril your life,\nif you could have thereby saved that of a fellow-creature, still more\nthat of a friend.\n\nSerjeant.--Thank you, sir, for your good opinion of me; but, as I\nsaid before, these matters are in the hand of God: and, whilst he\nallows the strong to perish, he can, if he so wills it, preserve\nthe weakest. I remember an extraordinary circumstance that happened\nabout eighteen or twenty years ago, which I may mention to you as\nan example of the truth of this observe of mine. Four women, who\nhad been in the south country at the harvest, were on their return\nhome over these mountains, when they were caught in a storm. The\nsnow came on so thickly upon them, and the wind raised so great a\nland-drift, that they became bewildered, lost their way, and, after\nmuch wandering, they at last got into the ruins of an old bothy,\nnear the side of the river Gairden, which runs, as I may tell ye,\nbeyond those farther hills there to the south. By this time their\nshoes were worn off. They were without food--without all means of\nmaking a fire--and the cold came on so intense during the night, that\nthe poor things were all frozen to death. There they were found in\nthe morning by a party of smugglers, who had been early a-stir after\ntheir trade. The whole of the four women were cold and stiff. But the\nmost wonderful, as well as the most touching circumstance of all was,\nthat a female child, of about sixteen months old, was found alive,\nvainly attempting to draw nourishment from its mother's breast. The\npoor woman's maternal anxiety had enabled her to use precautions to\nkeep her babe warm and in life, which she had failed to exercise for\nher own preservation. The child was taken charge of by Donald Shaw of\nLagganall, and brought up by him under the name of Kirstock; and she\nafterwards went to service in Glen Livat, where----But mark me now,\ngentlemen! Here we are at Caochan-Seirceag, of which you heard so\nmuch from me in my Legend of the Clan-Allan Stewarts.\n\nClifford.--I see there are no trees here now, as you say there were\nin the days of Sir Patrick Stewart of Clan-Allan.\n\nGrant.--The cliffs are fine though, and the ravine itself romantic. How\ncomes it that some of these rocks are so brilliantly white? They\nabsolutely shine like alabaster amid the dazzling radiance of that\nsetting sun.\n\nAuthor.--If I answer your question, it will draw me into a disquisition\nwhich may bring an attack upon us from Clifford, for prosing about\ngeology to one another.\n\nGrant.--Never mind him; he may shut his ears, if he likes.\n\nAuthor.--Those brilliant streaks of alabastrine white, are nothing more\nthan incrustations of calcareous stalactites, formed on those rocks\nof gneiss, by the evaporation of these trickling rills, the water\nof which holds lime in solution, probably derived from the little\naquatic marl snail in the moss above, from which they drain themselves.\n\nClifford.--I'd advise you to think less of your alabastrine\nincrustations of calcareous stalactites on gneiss, and more of your\nnecks and limbs, during this steep and somewhat hazardous descent,\nelse you may evaporate like some of those trickling rills you are\nspeaking of. These fellows you told us of, Mr. Serjeant, must have\nhad some little difficulty in carrying the Lady Catherine down and\nup here. But tell me, I pray you, what is the meaning of the name\nof Caochan-Seirceag? for I know that all your Gaelic names of places\nare highly poetical and descriptive.\n\nSerjeant.--The meaning of Caochan-Seirceag, sir, so far as I can make\nit out, is the rivulet of the beloved maiden.\n\nClifford.--Poetical in the highest degree!--Why, what scope does it\nnot afford to the poet's mind to fancy the ardour of the passion of\nthe lovers who must have made the romantic bed of this rivulet their\ntrysting place, as well as the beauty of the maiden by whose beloved\nimage the youth thus happily chose to distinguish it--to imagine all\nthe obstacles which the pure stream of their love may have encountered\nin its course, and of which this vexed and tortured little brook may\nhave formed but too lively a type, until at length it glided into a\npeaceful channel, as this does in its passage across the green meadow\nyonder below! What a glorious poetical romance might be suggested by\nthese rocks and rills!--Confound them!--I had nearly tumbled headlong\nover this slippery stone!--What a fall I should have had!\n\nGrant.--You made a narrow escape there, indeed, Clifford. I would have\nyou to remember, that it would have been quite as bad to have died\nthe victim of romantic enthusiasm, as of dry geological speculation.\n\nClifford.--I beg your pardon, my good fellow, you are quite\nwrong there. I at least would have infinitely preferred to have\ndied from thinking of the beloved maiden, than from a confusion\nof brain occasioned by a mixture of alabastrine incrustations of\ncalcareous stalactites and gneiss and marl snails! But to return to\nmy speculations as to the rivulet of the beloved maiden,--why may it\nnot have had its name from the Lady Catherine Forbes herself?\n\nSerjeant.--As I shall answer, you have hit the very thing, sir. There\ncannot be a doubt that it was from her that the rill was so called.\n\nClifford.--See now how lucky it was for you, Mister Archy, that I\nwas not killed by a fall, as I had so nearly been, else had you been\ndeprived of my ingenious elucidation of this most difficult point. But\nnow, thank heaven, we are all safe in the meadow, and I shall have\none touch at the trouts yet ere the light goes away entirely.\n\nAuthor.--I wish you great success, Clifford. Pray do your best,\nmy good fellow, for I know not what commons we may have in this our\nhostel of Inchrory here.\n\nClifford.--Aha! you see that my rod and my piscatorial skill are not\nwithout their use. Depend upon it, you shan't go without a supper,\nif I can help it.\n\nAs I suspected, we found that our accommodations at Inchrory were\nrather of the simplest description. But the good people of the house\nshowed every disposition to do the best, for our comfort, that lay\nin their power. A dozen and a half of large trouts, which Clifford\nsoon brought in, added to some of those provisions which we carried\nwith us, made up the best part of our repast, and we very speedily\nprepared ourselves for the intellectual enjoyment of the evening.\n\nClifford.--One would think that the worthy people here, had been\nforewarned of our story-telling propensities, and that they had made\nespecial provision accordingly for the serjeant's long yarns. Did you\never see a more magnificent pair of wax candles on any table? Why,\nthese would see out all the narratives that ever were told by Sindbad\nthe Sailor.\n\nGrant.--Who could have expected to have met with wax candles, such\nas these, in an humble place like this, in the midst of these lonely\nmountains, and so far from the haunts of men? Nay, who could have\nexpected to have met with any candles at all here?\n\nAuthor.--How happens it, Archy, that they can give us candles so\nsuperb as these, in a place like this, where they have so little else\nto produce, and nothing at all that can in the least degree correspond\nwith them? They are of enormous size--nearly three inches in diameter,\nI should say. I have seen no such candles as these, except in a Roman\nCatholic church, or procession.\n\nSerjeant.--Troth, sir, I imagine you have solved the mystery. The truth\nis, as I told you before, that the great mass of the population of\nthis Highland country consists of Roman Catholics; and it is probable\nthat these candles, which have been originally used for some religious\nrite, have, from necessity, been this night lighted for your use.\n\nClifford.--Come, then, serjeant, do you proceed to use the candles\nas fast as may be. Open your budget, my good man, and give us one of\nyour many legends.\n\nGrant.--You had better allow the serjeant to mix a tumbler of warm\nstuff in the first place, and whilst he is doing so, he can be\nconsidering as to what he had best give us.\n\nSerjeant.--Thank you, sir. I'll just be doing that same. Would you have\nany objections to another legend of the Clan-Allan Stewarts, gentlemen?\n\nAuthor.--Certainly not, Archy, if it be only as good as the last you\ngave us.\n\nSerjeant.--It is not for me to speak in its praise, sir, though I\nmust e'en say that I think it no worse than the last. But it is a\nhantel longer.\n\nGrant.--The longer the better, if it be good. We have a long night,\nand great candles before us, so that you may give your tongue its\nfullest licence.\n\nSerjeant.--Well, gentlemen, it's a good thing to be neither gagged\nin the mouth, nor stinted in the bicker.\n\nAuthor.--Depend upon it, Archy, you shall be neither the one nor\nthe other.\n\nClifford.--Come away, then, serjeant, begin as soon as you please.\n\nArchy then took a long snuff out of the box which I handed to him,\nduring which he seemed to be collecting his ideas, and then he\nbegan his narrative. Although I regret that I cannot always give the\nprecise words used by him, I shall endeavour to preserve as faithful\nan outline of its particulars as I can, and that in language which\nI hope may be at least as intelligible.\n\n\n\n                          END OF VOLUME FIRST.\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\nNOTES\n\n\n[1] Accidental, and rarely occurring.\n\n[2] A swing.\n\n[3] M\u00f2r, great, and Beg or Beag, little, are well known Highland\ncognomina, employed like Dubh, black, Ruadh, red, and B\u00e0n, white,\nto distinguish different individuals of the same name.\n\n[4] That is, having sixteen or more tynes upon his antlers.\n\n[5] Or Ruadh, red.\n\n[6] Power.","title":"Legendary Tales of the Highlands (Volume 1 of 3): A sequel to Highland Rambles","tradition":"myth-cosmogony","translated_text":null,"word_count":56069}