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Bride of Lammermoor

Sir Walter Scott

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Bride of Lammermoor

by Sir Walter Scott

March, 1996 [Etext #471]

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The Bride of Lammermoor

by Sir Walter Scott

INTRODUCTION TO THE BRIDE OF LAMMERMOOR

THE Author, on a former occasion, declined giving the real source

from which he drew the tragic subject of this history, because,

though occurring at a distant period, it might possibly be

unpleasing to the feelings of the descendants of the parties.

But as he finds an account of the circumstances given in the

Notes to Law's Memorials, by his ingenious friend, Charles

Kirkpatrick Sharpe, Esq., and also indicated in his reprint of

the Rev. Mr. Symson's poems appended to the Large Description of

Galloway, as the original of the Bride of Lammermoor, the

Author feels himself now at liberty to tell the tale as he had it

from connexions of his own, who lived very near the period, and

were closely related to the family of the bride.

It is well known that the family of Dalrymple, which has

produced, within the space of two centuries, as many men of

talent, civil and military, and of literary, political, and

professional eminence, as any house in Scotland, first rose into

distinction in the person of James Dalrymple, one of the most

eminent lawyers that ever lived, though the labours of his

powerful mind were unhappily exercised on a subject so limited as

Scottish jurisprudence, on which he has composed an admirable

work.

He married Margaret, daughter to Ross of Balneel, with whom he

obtained a considerable estate. She was an able, politic, and

high-minded woman, so successful in what she undertook, that the

vulgar, no way partial to her husband or her family, imputed her

success to necromancy. According to the popular belief, this

Dame Margaret purchased the temporal prosperity of her family

from the Master whom she served under a singular condition, which

is thus narrated by the historian of her grandson, the great Earl

of Stair: "She lived to a great age, and at her death desired

that she might not be put under ground, but that her coffin

should stand upright on one end of it, promising that while she

remained in that situation the Dalrymples should continue to

flourish. What was the old lady's motive for the request, or

whether she really made such a promise, I shall not take upon me

to determine; but it's certain her coffin stands upright in the

isle of the church of Kirklistown, the burial-place belonging to

the family." The talents of this accomplished race were

suifficient to have accounted for the dignities which many

members of the family attained, without any supernatural

assistance. But their extraordinary prosperity was attended by

some equally singular family misfortunes, of which that which

befell their eldest daughter was at once unaccountable and

melancholy.

Miss Janet Dalrymple, daughter of the first Lord Stair and Dame

Margaret Ross, had engaged herself without the knowledge of her

parents to the Lord Rutherford, who was not acceptable to them

either on account of his political principles or his want of

fortune. The young couple broke a piece of gold together, and

pledged their troth in the most solemn manner; and it is said the

young lady imprecated dreadful evils on herself should she break

her plighted faith. Shortly after, a suitor who was favoured by

Lord Stair, and still more so by his lady, paid his addresses to

Miss Dalrymple. The young lady refused the proposal, and being

pressed on the subject, confessed her secret engagement. Lady

Stair, a woman accustomed to universal submission, for even her

husband did not dare to contradict her, treated this objection as

a trifle, and insisted upon her daughter yielding her consent to

marry the new suitor, David Dunbar, son and heir to David Dunbar

of Baldoon, in Wigtonshire. The first lover, a man of very high

spirit, then interfered by letter, and insisted on the right he

had acquired by his troth plighted with the young lady. Lady

Stair sent him for answer, that her daughter, sensible of her

undutiful behaviour in entering into a contract unsanctioned by

her parents, had retracted her unlawful vow, and now refused to

fulfil her engagement with him.

The lover, in return, declined positively to receive such an

answer from any one but his mistress in person; and as she had to

deal with a man who was both of a most determined character and

of too high condition to be trifled with, Lady Stair was obliged

to consent to an interview between Lord Rutherford and her

daughter. But she took care to be present in person, and argued

the point with the disappointed and incensed lover with

pertinacity equal to his own. She particularly insisted on the

Levitical law, which declares that a woman shall be free of a vow

which her parents dissent from. This is the passage of Scripture

she founded on:

"If a man vow a vow unto the Lord, or swear an oath to bind his

soul with a bond; he shall not break his word, he shall do

according to all that proceedeth out of his mouth.

"If a woman also vow a vow unto the Lord, and bind herself by a

bond, being in her father's house in her youth;

"And her father hear her vow, and her bond wherewith she hath

bound her soul, and her father shall hold his peace at her: then

all her vows shall stand, and every bond wherewith she hath

bound her soul shall stand.

"But if her father disallow her in the day that he heareth; not

any of her vows, or of her bonds wherewith she hath bound her

soul, shall stand: and the Lord shall forgive her, because her

father disallowed her."--Numbers xxx. 2-5.

While the mother insisted on these topics, the lover in vain

conjured the daughter to declare her own opinion and feelings.

She remained totally overwhelmed, as it seemed--mute, pale, and

motionless as a statue. Only at her mother's command, sternly

uttered, she summoned strength enough to restore to her plighted

suitor the piece of broken gold which was the emblem of her

troth. On this he burst forth into a tremendous passion, took

leave of the mother with maledictions, and as he left the

apartment, turned back to say to his weak, if not fickle,

mistresss: "For you, madam, you will be a world's wonder"; a

phrase by which some remarkable degree of calamity is usually

implied. He went abroad, and returned not again. If the last

Lord Rutherford was the unfortunate party, he must have been the

third who bore that title, and who died in 1685.

The marriage betwixt Janet Dalrymple and David Dunbar of

Baldoon now went forward, the bride showing no repugnance, but

being absolutely passive in everything her mother commanded or

advised. On the day of the marriage, which, as was then usual,

was celebrated by a great assemblage of friends and relations,

she was the same--sad, silent, and resigned, as it seemed, to her

destiny. A lady, very nearly connected with the family, told the

Author that she had conversed on the subject with one of the

brothers of the bride, a mere lad at the time, who had ridden

before his sister to church. He said her hand, which lay on his

as she held her arm around his waist, was as cold and damp as

marble. But, full of his new dress and the part he acted in the

procession, the circumstance, which he long afterwards remembered

with bitter sorrow and compunction, made no impression on him at

the time.

The bridal feast was followed by dancing. The bride and

bridegroom retired as usual, when of a sudden the most wild and

piercing cries were heard from the nuptial chamber. It was then

the custom, to prevent any coarse pleasantry which old times

perhaps admitted, that the key of the nuptial chamber should be

entrusted to the bridesman. He was called upon, but refused at

first to give it up, till the shrieks became so hideous that he

was compelled to hasten with others to learn the cause. On

opening the door, they found the bridegroom lying across the

threshold, dreadfully wounded, and streaming with blood. The

bride was then sought for. She was found in the corner of the

large chimney, having no covering save her shift, and that

dabbled in gore. There she sat grinning at them, mopping and

mowing, as I heard the expression used; in a word, absolutely

insane. The only words she spoke were, "Tak up your bonny

bridegroom." She survived this horrible scene little more than a

fortnight, having been married on the 24th of August, and dying

on the 12th of September 1669.

The unfortunate Baldoon recovered from his wounds, but sternly

prohibited all inquiries respecting the manner in which he had

received them. "If a lady," he said, "asked him any question

upon the subject, he would neither answer her nor speak to her

again while he lived; if a gentleman, he would consider it as a

mortal affront, and demand satisfaction as having received

such." He did not very long survive the dreadful catastrophe,

having met with a fatal injury by a fall from his horse, as he

rode between Leith and Holyrood House, of which he died the next

day, 28th March 1682. Thus a few years removed all the principal

actors in this frightful tragedy.

Various reports went abroad on this mysterious affair, many of

them very inaccurate, though they could hardly be said to be

exaggerated. It was difficult at that time to become acquainted

with the history of a Scottish family above the lower rank; and

strange things sometimes took place there, into which even the

law did not scrupulously inquire.

The credulous Mr. Law says, generally, that the Lord

President Stair had a daughter, who, "being married, the night

she was bride in, was taken from her bridegroom and harled

through the house (by spirits, we are given to understand) and

afterward died. Another daughter," he says, "was supposed to be

possessed with an evil spirit."

My friend, Mr. Sharpe, gives another edition of the tale.

According to his information, ti was the bridegroom who wounded

the bride. The marriage, according to this account, had been

against her mother's inclination, who had given her consent in

these ominous words: "Weel, you may marry him, but sair shall

you repent it."

I find still another account darkly insinuated in some highly

scurrilous and abusive verses, of which I have an original copy.

They are docketed as being written "Upon the late Viscount Stair

and his family, by Sir William Hamilton of Whitelaw. The

marginals by William Dunlop, writer in Edinburgh, a son of the

Laird of Househill, and nephew to the said Sir William

Hamilton." There was a bitter and personal quarrel and rivalry

betwixt the author of this libel, a name which it richly

deserves, and Lord President Stair; and the lampoon, which is

written with much more malice than art, bears the following

motto:

Stair's neck, mind, wife, songs, grandson, and the rest,

Are wry, false, witch, pests, parricide, possessed.

This malignant satirist, who calls up all the misfortunes of the

family, does not forget the fatal bridal of Baldoon. He seems,

though his verses are as obscure as unpoetical, to

intimate that the violence done to the bridegroom was by the

intervention of the foul fiend, to whom the young lady had

resigned herself, in case she should break her contract with her

first lover. His hypothesis is inconsistent with the account

given in the note upon Law's Memorials, but easily

reconcilable to the family tradition.

In all Stair's offspriung we no difference know,

They do the females as the males bestow;

So he of one of his daughters' marriages gave the ward,

Like a true vassal, to Glenluce's Laird;

He knew what she did to her master plight,

If she her faith to Rutherfurd should slight,

Which, like his own, for greed he broke outright.

Nick did Baldoon's posterior right deride,

And, as first substitute, did seize the bride;

Whate'er he to his mistress did or said,

He threw the bridegroom from the nuptial bed,

Into the chimney did so his rival maul,

His bruised bones ne'er were cured but by the fall.

One of the marginal notes ascribed to William Dunlop

applies to the above lines. "She had betrothed herself to Lord

Rutherfoord under horrid imprecations, and afterwards married

Baldoon, his nevoy, and her mother was the cause of her breach of

faith."

The same tragedy is alluded to in the following couplet and

note:

What train of curses that base brood pursues,

When the young nephew weds old uncle's spouse.

The note on the word "uncle" explains it as meaning

"Rutherfoord, who should have married the Lady Baldoon, was

Baldoon's uncle." The poetry of this satire on Lord Stair and

his family was, as already noticed, written by Sir William

Hamilton of Whitelaw, a rival of Lord Stair for the situation of

President of the Court of Session; a person much inferior to that

great lawyer in talents, and equally ill-treated by the calumny

or just satire of his contemporaries as an unjust and partial

judge. Some of the notes are by that curious and laborious

antiquary, Robert Milne, who, as a virulent Jacobite, willingly

lent a hand to blacken the family of Stair.

Another poet of the period, with a very different purpose, has

left an elegy, in which he darkly hints at and bemoans the fate

of the ill-starred young person, whose very uncommon

calamity Whitelaw, Dunlop, and Milne thought a fitting subject

for buffoonery and ribaldry. This bard of milder mood was Andrew

Symson, before the Revolution minister of Kirkinner, in

Galloway, and after his expulsion as an Episcopalian following

the humble occupation of a printer in Edinburgh. He furnished

the family of Baldoon, with which he appears to have been

intimate, with an elegy on the tragic event in their family. In

this piece he treats the mournful occasion of the bride's death

with mysterious solemnity.

The verses bear this title, "On the unexpected death of the

virtuous Lady Mrs. Janet Dalrymple, Lady Baldoon, younger," and

afford us the precise dates of the catastrophe, which could not

otherwise have been easily ascertained. "Nupta August 12.

Domum Ducta August 24. Obiit September 12. Sepult. September

30, 1669." The form of the elegy is a dialogue betwixt a

passenger and a domestic servant. The first, recollecting that

he had passed that way lately, and seen all around enlivened by

the appearances of mirth and festivity, is desirous to know what

had changed so gay a scene into mourning. We preserve the reply

of the servant as a specimen of Mr. Symson's verses, which are

not of the first quality:

Sir, 'tis truth you've told.

We did enjoy great mirth; but now, ah me!

Our joyful song's turn'd to an elegie.

A virtuous lady, not long since a bride,

Was to a hopeful plant by marriage tied,

And brought home hither. We did all rejoice,

Even for her sake. But presently our voice

Was turn'd to mourning for that little time

That she'd enjoy: she waned in her prime,

For Atropus, with her impartial knife,

Soon cut her thread, and therewithal her life;

And for the time we may it well remember,

It being in unfortunate September;

. . .

Where we must leave her till the resurrection.

'Tis then the Saints enjoy their full perfection.

Mr. Symson also poured forth his elegiac strains upon the fate

of the widowed bridegroom, on which subject, after a long and

querulous effusion, the poet arrives at the sound conclusion,

that if Baldoon had walked on foot, which it seems was his

general custom, he would have escaped perishing by a fall from

horseback. As the work in which it occurs is so scarce as almost

to be unique, and as it gives us the most full account of one of

the actors in this tragic tale which we have rehearsed, we will,

at the risk of being tedious, insert some short specimens of Mr.

Symson's composition. It is entitled:

"A Funeral Elegie, occasioned by the sad and much lamented death

of that worthily respected, and very much accomplished

gentleman, David Dunbar, younger, of Baldoon, only son and

apparent heir to the right worshipful Sir David Dunbar of

Baldoon, Knight Baronet. He departed this life on March 28,

1682, having received a bruise by a fall, as he was riding the

day preceding betwixt Leith and Holyrood House; and was

honourably interred in the Abbey Church of Holyrood House, on

April 4, 1682."

Men might, and very justly too, conclude

Me guilty of the worst ingratitude,

Should I be silent, or should I forbear

At this sad accident to shed a tear;

A tear! said I? ah! that's a petit thing,

A very lean, slight, slender offering,

Too mean, I'm sure, for me, wherewith t'attend

The unexpected funeral of my friend:

A glass of briny tears charged up to th' brim.

Would be too few for me to shed for him.

The poet proceeds to state his intimacy with the deceased, and

the constancy of the young man's attendance on public

worship, which was regular, and had such effect upon two or three

other that were influenced by his example:

So that my Muse 'gainst Priscian avers,

He, only he, WERE my parishioners;

Yea, and my only hearers.

He then describes the deceased in person and manners, from which

it appears that more accomplishments were expected in the

composition of a fine gentleman in ancient than modern times:

His body, though not very large or tall,

Was sprightly, active, yea and strong withal.

His constitution was, if right I've guess'd,

Blood mixt with choler, said to be the best.

In's gesture, converse, speech, discourse, attire,

He practis'd that which wise men still admire,

Commend, and recommend. What's that? you'll say.

'Tis this: he ever choos'd the middle way

'Twixt both th' extremes. Amost in ev'ry thing

He did the like, 'tis worth our noticing:

Sparing, yet not a niggard; liberal,

And yet not lavish or a prodigal,

As knowing when to spend and when to spare;

And that's a lesson which not many are

Acquainted with. He bashful was, yet daring

When he saw cause, and yet therein not sparing;

Familiar, yet not common, for he knew

To condescend, and keep his distance too.

He us'd, and that most commonly, to go

On foot; I wish that he had still done so.

Th' affairs of court were unto him well known;

And yet meanwhile he slighted not his own.

He knew full well how to behave at court,

And yet but seldom did thereto resort;

But lov'd the country life, choos'd to inure

Himself to past'rage and agriculture;

Proving, improving, ditching, trenching, draining,

Viewing, reviewing, and by those means gaining;

Planting, transplanting, levelling, erecting

Walls, chambers, houses, terraces; projecting

Now this, now that device, this draught, that measure,

That might advance his profit with his pleasure.

Quick in his bargains, honest in commerce,

Just in his dealings, being much adverse

From quirks of law, still ready to refer

His cause t' an honest country arbiter.

He was acquainted with cosmography,

Arithmetic, and modern history;

With architecture and such arts as these,

Which I may call specifick sciences

Fit for a gentleman; and surely he

That knows them not, at least in some degree,

May brook the title, but he wants the thing,

Is but a shadow scarce worth noticing.

He learned the French, be't spoken to his praise,

In very little more than fourty days."

Then comes the full burst of woe, in which, instead of saying

much himself, the poet informs us what the ancients would have

said on such an occasion:

A heathen poet, at the news, no doubt,

Would have exclaimed, and furiously cry'd out

Against the fates, the destinies and starrs,

What! this the effect of planetarie warrs!

We might have seen him rage and rave, yea worse,

'Tis very like we might have heard him curse

The year, the month, the day, the hour, the place,

The company, the wager, and the race;

Decry all recreations, with the names

Of Isthmian, Pythian, and Olympick games;

Exclaim against them all both old and new,

Both the Nemaean and the Lethaean too:

Adjudge all persons, under highest pain,

Always to walk on foot, and then again

Order all horses to be hough'd, that we

Might never more the like adventure see.

Supposing our readers have had enough of Mr. Symson's woe, and

finding nothing more in his poem worthy of transcription, we

return to the tragic story.

It is needless to point out to the intelligent reader that the

witchcraft of the mother consisted only in the ascendency of a

powerful mind over a weak and melancholy one, adn that the

harshness with which she exercised her superiority in a case of

delicacy had driven her daughter first to despair, then to

frenzy. Accordingly, the Author has endeavoured to explain the

tragic tale on this principle. Whatever resemblance Lady Ashton

may be supposed to possess to the celebrated Dame Margaret Ross,

the reader must not suppose that there was any idea of tracing

the portrait of the first Lord Viscount Stair in the tricky and

mean-spirited Sir William Ashton. Lord Stair, whatever might be

his moral qualities, was certainly one of the first statesmen and

lawyers of his age.

The imaginary castle of Wolf's Crag has been identified by some

lover of locality with that of Fast Castle. The Author is not

competent to judge of the resemblance betwixt the real and

imaginary scenes, having never seen Fast Castle except from the

sea. But fortalices of this description are found occupying,

like ospreys' nests, projecting rocks, or promontories, in many

parts of the eastern coast of Scotland, and the position of Fast

Castle seems certainly to resemble that of Wolf's Crag as much as

any other, while its vicinity to the mountain ridge of Lammermoor

renders the assimilation a probable one.

We have only to add, that the death of the unfortunate

bridegroom by a fall from horseback has been in the novel

transferred to the no less unfortunate lover.

CHAPTER I

By Cauk and keel to win your bread,

Wi' whigmaleeries for them wha need,

Whilk is a gentle trade indeed

To carry the gaberlunzie on.

Old Song.

FEW have been in my secret while I was compiling these

narratives, nor is it probable that they will ever become public

during the life of their author. Even were that event to happen,

I am not ambitious of the honoured distinction, digito

monstrari. I confess that, were it safe to cherish such dreams

at all, I should more enjoy the thought of remaining behind the

curtain unseen, like the ingenious manager of Punch and his wife

Joan, and enjoying the astonishment and conjectures of my

audience. Then might I, perchance, hear the productions of the

obscure Peter Pattieson praised by the judicious and admired by

the feeling, engrossing the young and attracting even the old;

while the critic traced their fame up to some name of literary

celebrity, and the question when, and by whom, these tales were

written filled up the pause of conversation in a hundred circles

and coteries. This I may never enjoy during my lifetime; but

farther than this, I am certain, my vanity should never induce me

to aspire.

I am too stubborn in habits, and too little polished in manners,

to envy or aspire to the honours assigned to my literary

contemporaries. I could not think a whit more highly of myself

were I found worthy to "come in place as a lion" for a winter in

the great metropolis. I could not rise, turn round, and show all

my honours, from the shaggy mane to the tufted tail, "roar you

an't were any nightingale," and so lie down again like a well-

behaved beast of show, and all at the cheap and easy rate of a

cup of coffee and a slice of bread and butter as thin as a wafer.

And I could ill stomach the fulsome flattery with which the lady

of the evening indulges her show-monsters on such occasions, as

she crams her parrots with sugar-plums, in order to make them

talk before company. I cannot be tempted to "come aloft" for

these marks of distinction, and, like imprisoned Samson, I would

rather remain--if such must be the alternative--all my life in

the mill-house, grinding for my very bread, than be brought forth

to make sport for the Philistine lords and ladies. This proceeds

from no dislike, real or affected, to the aristocracy of these

realms. But they have their place, and I have mine; and, like

the iron and earthen vessels in the old fable, we can scarce come

into collision without my being the sufferer in every sense. It

may be otherwise with the sheets which I am now writing. These

may be opened and laid aside at pleasure; by amusing themselves

with the perusal, the great will excite no false hopes; by

neglecting or condemning them, they will inflict no pain; and how

seldom can they converse with those whose minds have toiled for

their delight without doing either the one or the other.

In the better and wiser tone of feeling with Ovid only expresses

in one line to retract in that which follows, I can address these

quires--

Parve, nec invideo, sine me, liber, ibis in urbem.

Nor do I join the regret of the illustrious exile, that he

himself could not in person accompany the volume, which he sent

forth to the mart of literature, pleasure, and luxury. Were

there not a hundred similar instances on record, the rate of my

poor friend and school-fellow, Dick Tinto, would be sufficient

to warn me against seeking happiness in the celebrity which

attaches itself to a successful cultivator of the fine arts.

Dick Tinto, when he wrote himself artist, was wont to derive his

origin from the ancient family of Tinto, of that ilk, in

Lanarkshire, and occasionally hinted that he had somewhat

derogated from his gentle blood in using the pencil for his

principal means of support. But if Dick's pedigree was

correct, some of his ancestors must have suffered a more heavy

declension, since the good man his father executed the necessary,

and, I trust, the honest, but certainly not very distinguished,

employment of tailor in ordinary to the village of Langdirdum in

the west.. Under his humble roof was Richard born, and to his

father's humble trade was Richard, greatly contrary to his

inclination, early indentured. Old Mr. Tinto had, however, no

reason to congratulate himself upon having compelled the youthful

genius of his son to forsake its natural bent. He fared like the

school-boy who attempts to stop with his finger the spout of a

water cistern, while the stream, exasperated at this compression,

escapes by a thousand uncalculated spurts, and wets him all over

for his pains. Even so fared the senior Tinto, when his hopeful

apprentice not only exhausted all the chalk in making sketches

upon the shopboard, but even executed several caricatures of his

father's best customers, who began loudly to murmur, that it was

too hard to have their persons deformed by the vestments of the

father, and to be at the same time turned into ridicule by the

pencil of the son. This led to discredit and loss of practice,

until the old tailor, yielding to destiny and to the entreaties

of his son, permitted him to attempt his fortune in a line for

which he was better qualified.

There was about this time, in the village of Langdirdum, a

peripatetic brother of the brush, who exercised his vocation sub

Jove frigido, the object of admiration of all the boys of the

village, but especially to Dick Tinto. The age had not yet

adopted, amongst other unworthy retrenchments, that illiberal

measure of economy which, supplying by written characters the

lack of symbolical representation, closes one open and easily

accessible avenue of instruction and emolument against the

students of the fine arts. It was not yet permitted to write

upon the plastered doorway of an alehouse,. or the suspended sign

of an inn, "The Old Magpie," or "The Saracen's Head,"

substituting that cold description for the lively effigies of the

plumed chatterer, or the turban'd frown of the terrific soldan.

That early and more simple age considered alike the necessities

of all ranks, anddepicted the symbols of good cheer so as to be

obvious to all capacities; well judging that a man who could not

read a syllable might nevertheless love a pot of good ale as well

as his better-educated neighbours, or even as the parson himself.

Acting upon this liberal principle, publicans as yet hung forth

the painted emblems of their calling, and sign-painters, if they

seldom feasted, did not at least absolutely starve.

To a worthy of this decayed profession, as we have already

intimated, Dick Tinto became an assistant; and thus, as is not

unusual among heaven-born geniuses in this department of the

fine arts, began to paint before he had any notion of drawing.

His talent for observing nature soon induced him to rectify the

errors, adn soar above the instructions, of his teacher. He

particularly shone in painting horses, that being a favourite

is beautiful to observe how by degrees he learned to shorten the

backs and prolong the legs of these noble animals, until they

came to look less like crocodiles, and more like nags.

Detraction, which always pursues merit with strides proportioned

to its advancement, has indeed alleged that Dick once upon a time

painted a horse with five legs, instead of four. I might have

rested his defence upon the license allowed to that branch of his

profession, which, as it permits all sorts of singular and

irregular combinations, may be allowed to extend itself so far as

to bestow a limb supernumerary on a favourite subject. But the

cause of a deceased friend is sacred; and I disdain to bottom it

so superficially. I have visited the sign in question, which yet

swings exalted in the village of Langdirdum; and I am ready to

depone upon the oath that what has been idly mistaken or

misrepresented as being the fifth leg of the horse, is, in fact,

the tail of that quadruped, and, considered with reference to the

posture in which he is delineated, forms a circumstance

introduced and managed with great and successful, though daring,

art. The nag being represented in a rampant or rearing posture,

the tail, which is prolonged till it touches the ground, appears

to form a point d'appui, and gives the firmness of a tripod to

the figure, without which it would be difficult to conceive,

placed as the feet are, how the courser could maintain his ground

without tumbling backwards. This bold conception has fortunately

fallen into the custody of one by whom it is duly valued; for,

when Dick, in his more advanced state of proficiency, became

dubious of the propriety of so daring a deviation to execute a

picture of the publican himself in exchange for this juvenile

production, the courteous offer was declined by his judicious

employer, who had observed, it seems, that when his ale failed to

do its duty in conciliating his guests, one glance at his sign

was sure to put them in good humour.

It would be foreign to my present purpose to trace the steps by

which Dick Tinto improved his touch, and corrected, by the rules

of art, the luxuriance of a fervid imagination. The scales fell

from his eyes on viewing the sketches of a contemporary, the

Scottish Teniers, as Wilkie has been deservedly styled. He threw

down the brush. took up the crayons, and, amid hunger and toil,

and suspense and uncertainty, pursued the path of his profession

under better auspices than those of his original master. Still

the first rude emanations of his genius, like the nursery rhymes

of Pope, could these be recovered, will be dear to the companions

of Dick Tinto's youth. There is a tankard and gridiron painted

over the door of an obscure change-house in the Back Wynd of

Gandercleugh----But I feel I must tear myself from the subject,

or dwell on it too long.

Amid his wants and struggles, Dick Tinto had recourse, like his

brethren, to levying that tax upon the vanity of mankind which he

could not extract from their taste and liberality--on a word, he

painted portraits. It was in this more advanced state of

proficiency, when Dick had soared above his original line of

business, and highly disdained any allusion to it, that, after

having been estranged for several years, we again met in the

village of Gandercleugh, I holding my present situation, and Dick

painting copies of the human face divine at a guinea per head.

This was a small premium, yet, in the first burst of business, it

more than sufficed for all Dick's moderate wants; so that he

occupied an apartment at the Wallace Inn, cracked his jest with

impunity even upon mine host himself, and lived in respect and

observance with the chambermaid, hostler, and waiter.

Those halcyon days were too serene to last long. When his

honour the Laird of Gandercleugh, with his wife and three

daughters, the minister, the gauger, mine esteemed patron Mr.

Jedediah Cleishbotham, and some round dozen of the feuars and

farmers, had been consigned to immortality by Tinto's brush,

custom began to slacken, and it was impossible to wring more

than crowns and half-crowns from the hard hands of the peasants

whose ambition led them to Dick's painting-room.

Still, though the horizon was overclouded, no storm for some

time ensued. Mine host had Christian faith with a lodger who had

been a good paymaster as long as he had the means. And from a

portrait of our landlord himself, grouped with his wife and

daughters, in the style of Rubens, which suddenly appeared in the

best parlour, it was evident that Dick had found some mode of

bartering art for the necessaries of life.

Nothing, however, is more precarious than resources of this

nature. It was observed that Dick became in his turn the

whetstone of mine host's wit, without venturing either at defence

or retaliation; that his easel was transferred to a garret0room,

in which there was scarce space for it to stand upright; and that

he no longer ventured to join the weekly club, of which he had

been once the life and soul. In short, Dick Tinto's friends

feared that he had acted like the animal called the sloth, which,

heaving eaten up the last green leaf upon the tree where it has

established itself, ends by tumbling down from the top, and dying

of inanition. I ventured to hint this to Dick, recommended his

transferring the exercise of his inestimable talent to some other

sphere, and forsaking the common which he might be said to have

eaten bare.

"There is an obstacle to my change of residence," said my

friend, grasping my hand with a look of solemnity.

"A bill due to my landlord, I am afraid?" replied I, with

heartfelt sympathy; "if any part of my slender means can assist

in this emergence----"

"No, by the soul of Sir Joshua!" answered the generous youth, "I

will never involve a friend in the consequences of my own

misfortune. There is a mode by which I can regain my

liberty; and to creep even through a common sewer is better than

to remain in prison."

I did not perfectly understand what my friend meant. The muse

of painting appeared to have failed him, and what other goddess

he could invoke in his distress was a mystery to me. We parted,

however, without further explanation, and I did not see him until

three days after, when he summoned me to partake of the "foy"

with which his landlord proposed to regale him ere his departure

for Edinburgh.

I found Dick in high spirits, whistling while he buckled the

small knapsack which contained his colours, brushes, pallets, and

clean shirt. That he parted on the best terms with mine host was

obvious from the cold beef set forth in the low parlour, flanked

by two mugs of admirable brown stout; and I own my curiosity was

excited concerning the means through which the face of my

friend's affairs had been so suddenly improved. I did not

suspect Dick of dealing with the devil, and by what earthly means

he had extricated himself thus happily I was at a total loss to

conjecture.

He perceived my curiosity, and took me by the hand. "My

friend," he said, "fain would I conceal, even from you, the

degradation to which it has been necessary to submit, in order to

accomplish an honourable retreat from Gandercleaugh. But what

avails attempting to conceal that which must needs betray itself

even by its superior excellence? All the village--all the

parish--all the world--will soon discover to what poverty has

reduced Richard Tinto.:

A sudden thought here struck me. I had observed that our

landlord wore, on that memorable morning, a pair of bran new

velveteens instead of his ancient thicksets.

"What," said I, drawing my right hand, with the forefinger and

thumb pressed together, nimbly from my right haunch to my left

shoulder, "you have condescended to resume the

paternal arts to which you were first bred--long stitches, ha,

Dick?"

He repelled this unlucky conjecture with a frown and a pshaw,

indicative of indignant contempt, and leading me into another

room, showed me, resting against the wall, the majestic head of

Sir William Wallace, grim as when severed from the trunk by the

orders of the Edward.

The painting was executed on boards of a substantial

thickness, and the top decorated with irons, for suspending the

honoured effigy upon a signpost.

"There," he said, "my friend, stands the honour of Scotland, and

my shame; yet not so--rather the shame of those who, instead of

encouraging art in its proper sphere, reduce it to these

unbecoming and unworthy extremities."

I endeavoured to smooth the ruffled feelings of my misused and

indignant friend. I reminded him that he ought not, like the

stag in the fable, to despise the quality which had extricated

him from difficulties, in which his talents, as a portrait or

landscape painter, had been found unavailing. Above all, I

praised the execution, as well as conception, of his painting,

and reminded him that, far from feeling dishonoured by so superb

a specimen of his talents being exposed to the general view of

the public, he ought rather to congratulate himself upon the

augmentation of his celebrity to which its public exhibition must

necessarily give rise.

"You are right, my friend--you are right," replied poor Dick,

his eye kindling with enthusiasm; "why should I shun the name of

an--an--(he hesitated for a phrase)--an out-of-doors artist?

Hogarth has introduced himself in that character in one of his

best engravings; Domenichino, or somebody else, in ancient

times, Morland in our own, have exercised their talents in this

manner. And wherefore limit to the rich and higher classes alone

the delight which the exhibition of works of art is calculated to

inspire into all classes? Statues are placed in the open air,

why should Painting be more niggardly in displaying her

masterpieces than her sister Sculpture? And yet, my friend, we

must part suddenly; the carpenter is coming in an hour to put up

the--the emblem; and truly, with all my philosophy, and your

consolatory encouragement to boot, I would rather wish to leave

Gandercleugh before that operation commences."

We partook of our genial host's parting banquet, and I escorted

Dick on his walk to Edinburgh. We parted about a mile from the

village, just as we heard the distant cheer of the boys which

accompanied the mounting of the new symbol of the Wallace Head.

Dick Tinto mended his pace to get out of hearing, so little had

either early practice or recent philosophy reconciled him to the

character of a sign-painter.

In Edinburgh, Dick's talents were discovered and

appreciated, and he received dinners and hints from several

distinguished judges of the fine arts. But these gentlemen

dispensed their criticism more willingly than their cash, and

Dick thought he needed cash more than criticism. He therefore

sought London, the universal mart of talent, and where, as is

usual in general marts of most descriptions, much more of each

commodity is exposed to sale than can ever find purchasers.

Dick, who, in serious earnest, was supposed to have

considerable natural talents for his profession, and whose vain

and sanguine disposition never permitted him to doubt for a

moment of ultimate success, threw himself headlong into the crowd

which jostled and struggled for notice and preferment. He

elbowed others, and was elbowed himself; and finally, by dint of

intrepidity, fought his way into some notice, painted for the

prize at the Institution, had pictures at the exhibition at

Somerset House, and damned the hanging committee. But poor Dick

was doomed to lose the field he fought so gallantly. In the fine

arts, there is scarce an alternative betwixt distinguished

success and absolute failure; and as Dick's zeal and industry

were unable to ensure the first, he fell into the distresses

which, in his condition, were the natural consequences of the

latter alternative. He was for a time patronised by one or two

of those judicious persons who make a virtue of being singular,

and of pitching their own opinions against those of the world in

matters of taste and criticism. But they soon tired of poor

Tinto, and laid him down as a load, upon the principle on which a

spoilt child throws away its plaything. Misery, I fear, took him

up, and accompanied him to a premature grave, to which he was

carried from an obscure lodging in Swallow Street, where he had

been dunned by his landlady within doors, and watched by bailiffs

without, until death came to his relief. A corner of the

Morning Post noticed his death, generously adding, that his

manner displayed considerable genius, though his style was rather

sketchy; and referred to an advertisement, which announced that

Mr. Varnish, a well-known printseller, had still on hand a very

few drawings and painings by Richard Tinto, Esquire, which those

of the nobility and gentry who might wish to complete their

collections of modern art were invited to visit without delay.

So ended Dick Tinto! a lamentable proof of the great truth, that

in the fine arts mediocrity is not permitted, and that he who

cannot ascend to the very top of the ladder will do well not to

put his foot upon it at all.

The memory of Tinto is dear to me, from the recollection of the

many conversations which we have had together, most of them

turning upon my present task. He was delighted with my

progress, and talked of an ornamented and illustrated edition,

with heads, vignettes, and culs de lampe, all to be designed by

his own patriotic and friendly pencil. He prevailed upon an old

sergeant of invalids to sit to him in the character of Bothwell,

the lifeguard's-man of Charles the Second, and the bellman of

Gandercleugh in that of David Deans. But while he thus proposed

to unite his own powers with mine for the illustration of these

narratives, he mixed many a dose of salutary criticism with the

panegyrics which my composition was at times so fortunate as to

call forth.

"Your characters," he said, "my dear Pattieson, make too much

use of the gob box; they patter too much (an elegant

phraseology which Dick had learned while painting the scenes of

an itinerant company of players); there is nothing in whole pages

but mere chat and dialogue."

"The ancient philosopher," said I in reply, "was wont to say,

'Speak, that I may know thee'; and how is it possible for an

author to introduce his personae dramatis to his readers in a

more interesting and effectual manner than by the dialogue in

which each is represented as supporting his own appropriate

character?"

"It is a false conclusion," said Tinto; "I hate it, Peter, as I

hate an unfilled can. I grant you, indeed, that speech is a

faculty of some value in the intercourse of human affairs, and I

will not even insist on the doctrine of that Pythagorean toper,

who was of opinion that over a bottle speaking spoiled

conversation. But I will not allow that a professor of the fine

arts has occasion to embody the idea of his scene in language, in

order to impress upon the reader its reality and its effect. On

the contrary, I will be judged by most of your readers, Peter,

should these tales ever become public, whether you have not given

us a page of talk for every single idea which two words might

have communicated, while the posture, and manner, and incident,

accurately drawn, and brougth out by appropriate colouring, would

have preserved all that was worthy of preservation, and saved

these everlasting 'said he's' and 'said she's,' with which it has

been your pleasure to encumber your pages."

I replied, "That he confounded the operations of the pencil and

the pen; that the serene and silent art, as painting has been

called by one of our first living poets, necessarily appealed to

the eye, because it had not the organs for addressing the ear;

whereas poetry, or that species of composition which approached

to it, lay under the necessity of doing absolutely the reverse,

and addressed itself to the ear, for the purpose of exciting that

interest which it could not attain through the medium of the

eye."

Dick was not a whit staggered by my argument, which he contended

was founded on misrepresentation. "Description," he said, "was

to the author of a romance exactly what drawing and tinting were

to a painter: words were his colours, and, if properly employed,

they could not fail to place the scene which he wished to conjure

up as effectually before the mind's eye as the tablet or canvas

presents it to the bodily organ. The same rules," he contended,

"applied to both, and an exuberance of dialogue, in the former

case, was a verbose and laborious mode of composition which went

to confound the proper art of fictitious narrative with that of

the drama, a widely different species of composition, of which

dialogue was the very essence, because all, excepting the

language to be made use of, was presented to the eye by the

dresses, and persons, and actions of the performers upon the

stage. But as nothing," said Dick, "can be more dull than a long

narrative written upon the plan of a drama, so where you have

approached most near to that species of composition, by

indulging in prolonged scenes of mere

conversation, the course of your story has become chill and

constrained, and you have lost the power of arresting the

attention and exciting the imagination, in which upon other

occasions you may be considered as having succeeded tolerably

well."

I made my bow in requital of the compliment, which was probably

thrown in by way of placebo, and expressed myself willing at

least to make one trial of a more straightforward style of

composition, in which my actors should do more, and say less,

than in my former attempts of this kind. Dick gave me a

patronising and approving nod, and observed that, finding me so

docile, he would communicate, for the benefit of my muse, a

subject which he had studied with a view to his own art.

"The story," he said, "was, by tradition, affirmed to be truth,

although, as upwards of a hundred years had passed away since the

events took place, some doubts upon the accuracy of all the

particulars might be reasonably entertained."

When Dick Tinto had thus spoken, he rummaged his portfolio for

the sketch from which he proposed one day to execute a picture of

fourteen feet by eight. The sketch, which was

cleverly executed, to use the appropriate phrase, represented an

ancient hall, fitted up and furnished in what we now call the

taste of Queen Elizabeth's age. The light, admitted from the

upper part of a high casement, fell upon a female figure of

exquisite beauty, who, in an attitude of speechless terror,

appeared to watch the issue of a debate betwixt two other

persons. The one was a young man, in the Vandyke dress common to

the time of Charles I., who, with an air of indignant priude,

testified by the manner in which he raised his head and extended

his arm, seemed to be urging a claim of right, rather than of

favour, to a lady whose age, and some resemblance in their

features, pointed her out as the mother of the younger female,

and who appeared to listen with a mixture of displeasure and

impatience.

Tinto produced his sketch with an air of mysterious triumph, and

gazed on it as a fond parent looks upon a hopeful child, while he

anticipates the future figure he is to make in the world, and the

height to which he will raise the honour of his family. He held

it at arm's length from me--he helt it closer--he placed it upon

the top of a chest of drawers--closed the lower shutters of the

casement, to adjust a downward and favourable light--fell back

to the due distance, dragging me after him--shaded his face with

his hand, as if to exclude all but the favourite object--and

ended by spoiling a child's copy-book, which he rolled up so as

to serve for the darkened tube of an amateur. I fancy my

expressions of enthusiasm had not been in proportion to his own,

for he presently exclaimed with vehemence: "Mr. Pattieson, I

used to think you had an eye in your head."

I vindicated my claim to the usual allowance of visual organs.

"Yet, on my honour," said Dick, "I would swear you had been born

blind, since you have failed at the first glance to discover the

subject and meaning of that sketch. I do not mean to praise my

own performance, I leave these arts to others; I am sensible of

my deficiencies, conscious that my drawing and colouring may be

improved by the time I intend to dedicate to the art. But the

conception--the expression--the positions--these tell the story

to every one who looks at the sketch; and if I can finish the

picture without diminution of the original conception, the name

of Tinto shall no more be smothered by the mists of envy and

intrigue."

I replied: "That I admired the sketch exceedingly; but that to

understand its full merit, I felt it absolutely necessary to be

informed of the subject."

"That is the very thing I complain of," answered Tinto; "you

have accustomed yourself so much to these creeping twilight

details of yours, that you are become incapable of receiving that

instant and vivid flash of conviction which darts on the mind

from seeing the happy and expressive combinations of a single

scene, and which gathers from the position, attitude, and

countenance of the moment, not only the history of the past lives

of the personages represented, and the nature of the business on

which they are immediately engaged, but lifts even the veil of

futurity, and affords a shrewd guess at their future fortunes."

"In that case," replied I, "Paining excels the ape of the

renowned Gines de Passamonte, which only meddled with the past

and the present; nay, she excels that very Nature who affords

her subject; for I protest to you, Dick, that were I permitted to

peep into that Elizabeth-chamber, and see the persons you have

sketched conversing in flesh and blood, I should not be a jot

nearer guessing the nature of their business than I am at this

moment while looking at your sketch. Only generally, from the

languishing look of the young lady, and the care you have taken

to present a very handsome leg on the part of the gentleman, I

presume there is some reference to a love affair between them."

"Do you really presume to form such a bold conjecture?" said

Tinto. "And the indignant earnestness with which you see the man

urge his suit, the unresisting and passive despair of the

younger female, the stern air of inflexible determination in the

elder woman, whose looks express at once consciousness that she

is acting wrong and a firm determination to persist in the course

she has adopted----"

"If her looks express all this, my dear Tinto," replied I,

interrupting him, "your pencil rivals the dramatic art of Mr.

Puff in The Critic, who crammed a whole complicated sentence

into the expressive shake of Lord Burleigh's head."

"My good friend, Peter," replied Tinto, "I observe you are

perfectly incorrigible; however, I have compassion on your

dulness, and am unwilling you should be deprived of the pleasure

of understanding my picture, and of gaining, at the same time, a

subject for your own pen. You must know then, last summer, while

I was taking sketches on the coast of East Lothian and

Berwickshire, I was seduced into the mountains of Lammermoor by

the account I received of some remains of antiquity in that

district. Those with which I was most struck were the ruins of

an ancient castle in which that Elizabeth-chamber, as you call

it, once existed. I resided for two or three days at a farmhouse

in the neighbourhood, where the aged goodwife was well acquainted

with the history of the castle, and the events which had taken

place in it. One of these was of a nature so interesting and

singular, that my attention was divided between my wish to draw

the old ruins in landscape, and to represent, in a history-

piece, the singular events which have taken place in it. Here

are my notes of the tale," said poor Dick, handing a parcel of

loose scraps, partly scratched over with his pencil, partly with

his pen, where outlines of caricatures, sketches of turrets,

mills, old gables, and dovecots, disputed the ground with his

written memoranda.

I proceeded, however, to decipher the substance of the

manuscript as well as I could, and move it into the following

Tale, in which, following in part, though not entirely, my friend

Tinto"s advice, I endeavoured to render my narrative rather

descriptive than dramatic. My favourite propensity, however, has

at times overcome me, and my persons, like many others in this

talking world, speak now what then a great deal more than they

act.

CHAPTER II.

Well, lord, we have not got that which we have;

'Tis not enough our foes are this time fled,

Being opposites of such repairing nature.

Henry VI. Part II.

IN the gorge of a pass or mountain glen, ascending from the

fertile plains of East Lothian, there stood in former times an

extensive castle, of which only the ruins are now visible. Its

ancient proprietors were a race of powerful and warlike carons,

who bore the same name with the castle itself, which was

Ravenswood. Their line extended to a remote period of antiquity,

and they had intermarried with the Douglasses, Humes, Swintons,

Hays, and other families of power and distinction in the same

country. Their history was frequently involved in that of

Scotland itself, in whose annals their feats are recorded. The

Castle of Ravenswood, occupying, and in some measure commanding,

a pass betweixt Berwickshire, or the Merse, as the southeastern

province of Scotland is termed, and the Lothians, was of

importance both in times of foreign war and domestic discord. It

was frequently beseiged with ardour, and defended with obstinacy,

and, of course, its owners played a conspicuous part in story.

But their house had its revolutions, like all sublunary things:

it became greatly declined from its splendour about the middle of

the 17th century; and towards the period of the Revolution, the

last proprietor of Ravenswood Castle saw himself compelled to

part with the ancient family seat, and to remove himself to a

lonely and sea-beaten tower, which, situated on the bleak shores

between St. Abb's Head and the village of Eyemouth, looked out on

the lonely and boisterous German Ocean. A black domain of wild

pasture-land surrounded their new residence, and formed the

remains of their property.

Lord Ravenswood, the heir of this ruined family, was far from

bending his mind to his new condition of life. In the civil war

of 1689 he had espoused the sinking side, and although he had

escaped without the forfeiture of life or land, his blood had

been attainted, and his title abolished. He was now called Lord

Ravenswood only in courtesy.

This forfeited nobleman inherited the pride and turbulence,

though not the forture, of his house, and, as he imputed the

final declension of his family to a particular individual, he

honoured that person with his full portion of hatred. This was

the very man who had now become, by purchase, proprietor of

Ravenswood, and the domains of which the heir of the house now

stood dispossessed. He was descended of a family much less

ancient than that of Lord Ravenswood, and which had only risen to

wealth and political importance during the great civil wars. He

himself had been bred to the bar, and had held high offices in

the state, maintaining through life the character of a skilful

fisher in the troubled waters of a state divided by factions, and

governed by delegated authority; and of one who contrived to

amass considerable sums of money in a country where there was but

little to be gathered, and who equally knew the value of wealth

and the various means of

augmenting it and using it as an engine of increasing his power

and influence.

Thus qualified and gifted, he was a dangerous antagonist to the

fierce and imprudent Ravenswood. Whether he had given him good

cause for the enmity with which the Baron regarded him, was a

point on which men spoke differently. Some said the quarrel

arose merely from the vicdictive spirit and envy of Lrod

Ravenswood, who could not patiently behold another, though by

just and fair purchase, become the proprietor of the estate and

castle of his forefathers. But the greater part of the public,

prone to slander the wealthy in their absence as to flatter them

in their presence, held a less charitable opinion. They said

that the Lord Keeper (for to this height Sir William Ashton had

ascended) had, previous to the final purchase of the estate of

Ravenswood, been concerned in extensive pecuniary transactions

with the former proprietor; and, rather intimating what was

probable than affirming anything positively, they asked which

party was likely to have the advantage in stating and enforcing

the claims arising out of these complicated affairs, and more

than hinted the advantages which the cool lawyer and able

politician must necessarily possess over the hot, fiery, and

imprudent character whom he had involved in legel toils and

pecuniary snares.

The character of the times aggravated these suspicions. "In

those days there was no king in Israel." Since the departure of

James VI. to assume the richer and more powerful crown of

England, there had existed in Scotland contending parties, formed

among the aristocracy, by whom, as their intrigues at the court

of St. James's chanced to prevail, the delegated powers of

sovereignty were alternately swayed. The evils attending upon

this system of government resembled those which afflict the

tenants of an Irish estate, the property of an absentee. There

was no supreme power, claiming and possessing a general interest

with the community at large, to whom the oppressed might appeal

from subordinate tyranny, either for justic or for mercy. Let a

monarch be as indolent, as selfish, as much disposed to arbitrary

power as he will, still, in a free country, his own interests are

so clearly connected weith those of the public at large, and the

eveil consequences to his own authority are so obvious and

imminent when a different course is pursued, that common policy,

as well as ocmmon feeling, point to the equal distribution of

justice, and to the establishment of the throne in righteousness.

Thus, even sovereigns remarkable for usurpation and tyranny have

been found rigorous in the administration of justice among their

subjects, in cases where their own power and passions were not

compromised.

It is very different when the powers of sovereignty are

delegated to the head of an aristocratic faction, rivalled and

pressed closely in the race of ambition by an adverse leader.

His brief and precarious enjoyment of power must be employed in

rewarding his partizans, in extending his incluence, in

oppressing and crushing his adversaries. Even Abou Hassan, the

most disinterested of all viceroys, forgot not, during his

caliphate of one day, to send a douceur of one thousand pieces

of gold to his own household; and the Scottish vicegerents,

raised to power by the strength of their faction, failed not to

embrace the same means of rewarding them.

The administration of justice, in particular, was infected by

the most gross partiality. A case of importance scarcely

occurred in which there was not some ground for bias or

partiality on the part of the judges, who were so little able to

withstand the temptation that the adage, "Show me the man, and I

will show you the law," became as prevalent as it was scandalous.

One corruption led the way to others still mroe gross and

profligate. The judge who lent his sacred authority in one case

to support a friend, and in another to crush an enemy, and who

decisions were founded on family connexions or political

relations, could not be supposed inaccessible to direct personal

motives; and the purse of the wealthy was too often believed to

be thrown into the scale to weigh down the cause of the poor

litigant. The subordinate officers of the law affected little

scruple concerning bribery. Pieces of plate and bags of money

were sent in presents to the king's counsel, to influence their

conduct, and poured forth, says a contemporary writer, like

billets of wood upon their floors, without even the decency of

concealment.

In such times, it was not over uncharitable to suppose that the

statesman, practised in courts of law, and a powerful member of a

triumphant cabal, might find and use means of advantage over his

less skilful and less favoured adversary; and if it had been

supposed that Sir William Ashton's conscience had been too

delicate to profit by these advantages, it was believed that his

ambition and desire of extending his wealth and consequence found

as strong a stimulus in the exhortations of his lady as the

daring aim of Macbeth in the days of yore.

Lady Ashton was of a family more distinguished than that of her

lord, an advantage which she did not fail to use to the

uttermost, in maintaining and extending her husband's influence

over others, and, unless she was greatly belied, her own over

him. She had been beautiful, and was stately and majestic in her

appearance. Endowed by nature with strong powers and violent

passions, experience had taught her to employ the one, and to

conceal, if not to moderate, the other. She was a severe adn

strict observer of the external forms, at least, fo devotion; her

hospitality was splendid, even to ostentation; her address and

manners, agreeable to the pattern most valued in Scotland at the

period, were grave, dignified, and severely regulated by the

rules of etiquette. Her character had always been beyond the

breath of slander. And yet, with all these qualities to excite

respect, Lady Ashton was seldom mentioned in the terms of love or

affection. Interest--the interest of her family, if not her own-

-seemed too obviously the motive of her actions; and where this

is the case, teh sharp-judging and malignant public are not

easily imposed upon by outward show. It was seen and

ascertained that, in her most graceful courtesies and

compliments, Lady Ashton no more lost sight of her object than

the falcon in his airy wheel turns his quick eyes from his

destined quarry; and hence, somethign of doubt and suspicion

qualified the feelings with which her equals received her

attentions. With her inferiors these feelings were mingled with

fear; an impression useful to her purposes, so far as it enforced

ready compliance with her requests and implicit obedience to her

commands, but detrimental, because it cannot exist with affection

or regard.

Even her husband, it is said, upon whose fortunes her talents

and address had produced such emphatic influence,

regarded her with respectful awe rather than confiding

attachment; and report said, there were times when he considered

his grandeur as dearly purchased at the expense of domestic

thraldom. Of this, however, much might be suspected, but little

could be accurately known: Lady Ashton regarded the honour of her

husband as her own, and was well aware how much that would suffer

in the public eye should he appear a vassal to his wife. In all

her arguments his opinion was quoted as infallible; his taste was

appealed to, and his sentiments received, with the air of

deference which a dutiful wife might seem to owe to a husband of

Sir William Ashton's rank adn character. But there was something

under all this which rung false and hollow; and to those who

watched this couple with close, and perhaps malicious, scrutiny

it seemed evident that, in the haughtiness of a firmer character,

higher birth, and more decided views of aggrandisement, the lady

looked with some contempt on her husband, and that he regarded

her with jealous fear, rather than with love or admiration.

Still, however, the leading and favourite interests of Sir

William Ashton and his lady were the same, and they failed not to

work in concert, although without cordiality, and to testify, in

all exterior circumstances, that respect for each other which

they were aware was necessary to secure that of the public.

Their union was crowned with several children, of whom three

survived. One, the eldest son, was absent on his travels; the

second, a girl of seventeen, adn the third, a boy about three

years younger, resided with their parents in

Edinburgh during the sessions of the Scottish Parliament and

Privy Council, at other times in the old Gothic castle of

Ravenswood, to which the Lord Keeper had made large additions in

the style of the 17th century.

Allan Lord Ravenswood, the late proprietor of that ancient

mansion adn the large estate annexed to it, continued for some

time to wage ineffectual war with his successor concerning

various points to which their former transactions had given rise,

and which were successively determined in favour of the wealthy

and powerful competitor, until death closed the litigation, by

summoning Ravenswood to a higher bar. The thread of life, which

had been long wasting, gave way during a fit of violent and

impotent fury with which he was assailed on receiving the news of

the loss of a cause, founded, perhaps, rather in equity than in

law, the last which he had maintained against his powerful

antagonist. His son witnessed his dying agonies, and heard the

curses which he breathed against his adversary, as if they had

conveyed to him a legacy of vengeance. Other circumstances

happened to exasperate a passion which was, and had long been, a

prevalent vice in the Scottish disposition.

It was a November morning, and the cliffs which overlooked the

ocean were hung with thick and heavy mist, when the portals of

the ancient and half-ruinous tower, in which Lord Ravenswood had

spent the last and troubled years of his life, opened, that his

mortal remains might pass forward to an abode yet more dreary

and lonely. The pomp of attendance, to which the deceased had,

in his latter years, been a stranger, was revived as he was about

to be consigned to the realms of forgetfulness.

Banner after banner, with the various devices and coats of this

ancient family and its connexions, followed each other in

mournful procession from under the low-browed archway of the

courtyard. The principal gentry of the country attended in the

deepest mourning, and tempered the pace of their long train of

horses to the solemn march befitting the occasion. Trumpets, with

banners of crape attached to them, sent forth their long and

melancholy notes to regulate the movements of the procession. An

immense train of inferior mourners and menials closed the rear,

which had not yet issued from the castle gate when the van had

reached the chapel where the body was to be deposited.

Contrary to the custom, and even to the law, of the time, the

body was met by a priest of the Scottish Episcopal communion,

arrayed in his surplice, and prepared to read over the coffin of

the deceased the funeral service of the church. Such had been

the desire of Lord Ravenswood in his last illness, and it was

readily complied with by the Tory gentlemen, or Cavaliers, as

they affected to style themselves, in which faction most of his

kinsmen were enrolled. The Presbyterian Church judicatory of the

bounds, considering the ceremony as a bravading insult upon their

authority, had applied to the Lord Keeper, as the nearest privy

councillor, for a warrant to prevent its being carried into

effect; so that, when the clergyman had opened his prayer-book,

an officer of the law, supported by some armed men, commanded him

to be silent. An insult which fired the whol assembly with

indignation was particularly and instantly resented by the only

son of the deceased, Edgar, popularly called the Master of

Ravenswood, a youth of about twenty years of age. He clapped his

hand on his sword, and bidding the official person to desist at

his peril from farther interruption, commanded the clergyman to

proceed. The man attempted to enforce his commission; but as an

hundred swords at once glittered in the air, he contented himself

with protesting against the violence which had been offered to

him in the execution of his duty, and stood aloof, a sullen adn

moody spectator of the ceremonial, muttering as one who should

say: "You'll rue the day that clogs me with this answer."

The scene was worthy of an artist's pencil. Under the very arch

of the house of death, the clergyman, affrighted at the scene,

and trembling for his own safety, hastily and unwillingly

rehearsed the solemn service of the church, and spoke "dust to

dust and ashes to ashes," over ruined pride and decayed

prosperity. Around stood the relations of the deceased, their

countenances more in anger than in sorrow, and the drawn swords

which they brandished forming a violent contrast with their deep

mourning habits. In the countenance of the young man alone,

resentment seemed for the moment overpowered by the deep agony

with which he beheld his nearest, and almost his only, friend

consigned to the tomb of his ancestry. A relative

observed him turn deadly pale, when, all rites being now duly

observed, it became the duty of the chief mourner to lower down

into the charnel vault, where mouldering coffins showed their

tattered velvet and decayed plating, the head of the corpse which

was to be their partner in corruption. He stept to the youth and

offered his assistance, which, by a mute motion, Edgar Ravenswood

rejected. Firmly, and without a tear, he performed that last

duty. The stone was laid on the sepulchre, the door of the aisle

was locked, and the youth took possession of its massive key.

As the crowd left the chapel, he paused on the steps which led

to its Gothic chancel. "Gentlemen and friends," he said, "you

have this day done no common duty to the body of your deceaesd

kinsman. The rites of due observance, which, in other

countries, are allowed as the due of the meanest Christian, would

this day have been denied to the body of your relative--not

certainly sprung of the meanest house in Scotland--had it not

been assured to him by your courage. Others bury their dead in

sorrow and tears, in silence and in reverence; our funeral rites

are marred by the intrusion of bailiffs and ruffians, and our

grief--the grief due to our departed friend--is chased from our

cheeks by the glow of just indignation. But it is well that I

know from what quiver this arrow has come forth. It was only he

that dug the drave who could have the mean cruelty to disturb the

obsequies; and Heaven do as much to me and more, if I requite not

to this man and his house the ruin and disgrace he has brought on

me and mine!"

A numerous part of the assembly applauded this speech, as the

spirited expression of just resentment; but the more cool and

judicious regretted that it had been uttered. The fortunes of

the heir of Ravenswood were too low to brave the farther

hostility which they imagined these open expressions of

resentment must necessarily provoke. Their apprehensions,

however, proved groundless, at least in the immediate

consequences of this affair.

The mourners returned to the tower, there, according to a custom

but recently abolished in Scotland, to carouse deep healths to

the memory of the deceased, to make the house of sorrow ring with

sounds of joviality and debauch, and to

diminish, by the expense of a large and profuse entertainment,

the limited revenues of ther heir of him whose funeral they thus

strangely honoured. It was the custom, however, and on the

present occasion it was fully observed. The tables swam in wine,

the populace feasted in the courtyard, the yeomen in the kitchen

and buttery; and two years' rent of Ravenswood's remaining

property hardly defrayed the charge of the funeral revel. The

wine did its office on all but the Master of Ravenswood, a title

which he still retained, though forfeiture had attached to that

of his father. He, while passing around the cup which he himself

did not taste, soon listened to a thousand exclamations against

the Lord Keeper, and passionate protestations of attachment to

himself, and to the honour of his house. He listened with dark

and sullen brow to ebullitions which he considered justly as

equally evanescent with the crimson bubbles on the brink of the

goblet, or at least with the vapours which its contents excited

in the brains of the revellers around him.

When the last flask was emptied, they took their leave with deep

protestations--to be forgotten on the morrow, if, indeed, those

who made them should not think it necessary for their safety to

make a more solemn retractation.

Accepting theri adieus with an air of contempt which he could

scarce conceal, Ravenswood at length beheld his ruinous

habitation cleared of their confluence of riotous guests, and

returned to the deserted hall, which now appeared doubly lonely

from the cessation of that clamour to which it had so lately

echoed. But its space was peopled by phantoms which the

imagination of the young heir conjured up before him--the

tarnished honour and degraded fortunes of his house, the

destruction of his own hopes, and the triumph of that family by

whom they had been ruined. To a mind naturally of a gloomy cast

here was ample room for meditation, and the musings of young

Ravenswood were deep and unwitnessed.

The peasant who shows the ruins of the tower, which still crown

the beetling cliff and behold the war of the waves, though no

mroe tenanted saved by the sea-mew and cormorant, even yet

affirms that on this fatal night the Master of Ravenswood, by the

bitter exclamations of his despair, evoked some evil fiend, under

whose malignant influence the future tissue of incidents was

woven. Alas! what fiend can suggest more desperate counsels

than those adopted under the guidance of our own violent and

unresisted passions?

CHAPTER III.

Over Gods forebode, then said the King,

That thou shouldst shoot at me.

William Bell, Clim 'o the Cleugh, etc.

On the morning after the funeral, the legal officer whose

authority had been found insufficient to effect an interruption

of the funeral solemnities of the late Lord Ravenswood, hastened

to state before the Keeper the resistance which he had met with

in the execution of his office.

The statesman was seated in a spacious library, once a

banqueting-room in the old Castle of Ravenswood, as was evident

from the armorial insignia still displayed on the carved roof,

which was vaulted with Spanish chestnut, and on the stained glass

of the casement, through which gleamed a dim yet rich light on

the long rows of shelves, bending under the weight of legal

commentators and monkish historians, whose ponderous volumes

formed the chief and most valued contents of a Scottish historian

[library] of the period. On the massive oaken table and

reading-desk lay a confused mass of letters, petitions, and

parchments; to toil amongst which was the pleasure at once and

the plague of Sir William Ashton's life. His appearance was

grave and even noble, well becoming one who held an high office

in the state; and it was not save after long and intimate

conversation with him upon topics of pressing and personal

interest, that a stranger could have discovered

something vacillating and uncertain in his resolutions; an

infirmity of purpose, arising from a cautious and timid

disposition, which, as he was conscious of its internal influence

on his mind, he was, from pride as well as policy, most anxious

to conceal from others.

He listened with great apparent composure to an exaggerated

account of the tumult which had taken place at the funeral, of

the contempt thrown on his own authority and that of the church

and state; nor did he seem moved even by the faithful report of

the insulting and threatening language which had been uttered by

young Ravenswood and others, and obviously directed against

himself. He heard, also, what the man had been able to collect,

in a very distorted and aggravated shape, of the toasts which had

been drunk, and the menaces uttered, at the susequent

entertainment. In fine, he made careful notes of all these

particulars, and of the names of the persons by whom, in case of

need, an accusation, founded upon these violent proceedings,

could be witnessed and made good, and dismissed his informer,

secure that he was now master of the remaining fortune, and even

of the personal liberty, of young Ravenswood.

When the door had closed upon the officer of the law, the Lord

Keeper remained for a moment in deep meditation; then, starting

from his seat, paced the apartment as one about to take a sudden

and energetic resolution. "Young Ravenswood," he muttered, "is

now mine--he is my own; he has placed himself in my hand, and he

shall bend or break. I have not forgot the

determined and dogged obstinacy with which his father fought

every point to the last, resisted every effort at compromise,

embroiled me in lawsuits, and attempted to assail my character

when he could not otherwise impugn my rights. This boy he has

left behind him--this Edgar--this hot-headed, hare-brained fool,

has wrecked his vessel before she has cleared the harbor. I must

see that he gains no advantage of some turning tide which may

again float him off. These memoranda, properly stated to the

privy council, cannot but be construed into an aggravated riot,

in which the dignity both of the civil and ecclesiastical

authorities stands committed. A heavy fine might be imposed; an

order for committing him to Edinburgh or Blackness Castle seems

not improper; even a charge of treason might be laid on many of

these words and expressions, though God forbid I should prosecute

the matter to that extent. No, I will not; I will not touch his

life, even if it should be in my power; and yet, if he lives till

a change of times, what follows? Restitution--perhaps revenge.

I know Athole promised his interest to old Ravenswood, and here

is his son already bandying and making a faction by his own

contemptible influence. What a ready tool he would be for the

use of those who are watching the downfall of our

administration!"

While these thoughts were agitating the mind of the wily

statesman, and while he was persuading himself that his own

interest and safety, as well as those of his friends and party,

depended on using the present advantage to the uttermost against

young Ranveswood, the Lord Keeper sate down to his desk, and

proceeded to draw up, for the information of the privy council,

an account of the disorderly proceedings which, in contempt of

his warrant, had taken place at the funeral of Lord Ravenswood.

The names of most of the parties concerned, as well as the fact

itself, would, he was well aware, sound odiously in the ears of

his colleagues in administration, and most likely instigate them

to make an example of young Ravenswood, at least, in terrorem.

It was a point of delicacy, however, to select such

expressions as might infer the young man's culpability, without

seeming directly to urge it, which, on the part of Sir William

Ashton, his father's ancient antagonist, could not but appear

odious and invidious. While he was in the act of composition,

labouring to find words which might indicate Edgar Ravenswood to

be the cause of the uproar, without specifically making such a

charge, Sir William, in a pause of his task, chanced, in looking

upward, to see the crest of the family for whose heir he was

whetting the arrows and disposing the toils of the law carved

upon one of the corbeilles from which the vaulted roof of the

apartment sprung. It was a black bull's head, with the legend,

"I bide my time"; and the occasion upon which it was adopted

mingled itself singularly and impressively with the subject of

his present reflections.

It was said by a constant tradition that a Malisius de

Ravenswood had, in the 13th century, been deprived of his castle

and lands by a powerful usurper, who had for a while enjoyed his

spoils in quiet. At length, on the eve of a costly banquet,

Ravenswood, who had watched his opportunity, introduced himself

into the castle with a small band of faithful retainers. The

serving of the expected feast was impatiently looked for by the

guests, and clamorously demended by the temporary master of the

castle. Ravenswood, who had assumed the disguise of a sewer upon

the occasion, answered, in a stern voice, "I bide my time"; and

at the same moment a bull's head, the ancient symbol of death,

was placed upon the table. The explosion of the conspiracy took

place upon the signal, and the usurper and his followers were put

to death. Perhaps there was something in this still known and

often repeated story which came immediately home to the breast

and conscience of the Lord Keeper; for, putting from him the

paper on which he had begun his report, and carefully locking the

memoranda which he had prepared into a cabinet which stood

beside him, he proceeded to walk abroad, as if for the purpose of

collecting his ideas, and reflecting farther on the consequences

of the step which he was about to take, ere yet they became

inevitable.

In passing through a large Gothic ante-room, Sir William Ashton

heard the sound of his daughter's lute. Music, when the

performers are concealed, affects us with a pleasure mingled

with surprise, and reminds us of the natural concert of birds

among the leafy bowers. The statesman, though little accustomed

to give way to emotions of this natural and simple class, was

still a man and a father. he stopped, therefore, and listened,

while the silver tones of Lucy Ashton's voice mingled with the

accompaniment in an ancient air, to which soem one had adapted

the following words:

"Look not thou on beauty's charming,

Sit thou still when kings are arming,

Taste not when the wine-cup glistens,

Speak not when the people listens,

Stop thine ear against the singer,

From the red gold keep they finger,

Vacant heart, and hand, and eye,

Easy live and quiet die."

The sounds ceased, and the Keeper entered his daughter's

apartment.

The words she had chosen seemed particularly adapted to her

character; for Lucy Ashton's exquisitely beautiful, yet somewhat

girlish features were formed to express peace of mind, serenity,

and indifference to the tinsel of wordly pleasure. Her locks,

which were of shadowy gold, divided on a brow of exquisite

whiteness, like a gleam of broken and pallid sunshine upon a hill

of snow. The expression of the countenance was in the last

degree gentle, soft, timid, and feminine, and seemed rather to

shrink from the most casual look of a stranger than to court his

admiration. Something there was of a Madonna cast, perhaps the

result of delicate health, and of residence in a family where the

dispositions of the inmates were fiercer, more active, and

energetic than her own.

Yet her passiveness of disposition was by no means owing to an

indifferent or unfeeling mind. Left to the impulse of her own

taste and feelings, Lucy Ashton was peculiarly accessible to

those of a romantic cast. her secret delight was in the old

legendary tales of ardent devotion and unalterable affection,

chequered as they so often are with strange adventures and

supernatural horrors. This was her favoured fairy realm, and

here she erected her aerial palaces. But it was only in secret

that she laboured at this delusive though delightful

architecture. In her retired chamber, or in the woodland bower

which she had chosen for her own, and called after her name, she

was in fancy distributing the prizes at the tournament, or

raining down influence from her eyes on the valiant combatants:

or she was wandering in the wilderness with Una, under escort of

the generous lion; or she was identifying herself with the simple

yet noble-minded Miranda in the isle of wonder and enchantment.

But in her exterior relations to things of this world, Lucy

willingly received the ruling impulse from those around her. The

alternative was, in general, too indifferent to her to render

resistance desirable, and she willingly found a motive for

decision in the opinion of her friends which perhaps she might

have sought for in vain in her own choice. Every reader must

have observed in some family of his acquaintance some individual

of a temper soft and yielding, who, mixed with stronger and more

ardent minds, is borne along by the will of others, with as

little power of opposition as the flower which is flung into a

running stream. It usually happens that such a compliant and

easy disposition, which resigns itself without murmur to the

guidance of others, becomes the darling of those to whose

inclinations its own seem to be offered, in ungrudging and ready

sacrifice.

This was eminently the case with Lucy Ashton. Her politic,

wary, and wordly father felt for her an affection the strength of

which sometimes surprised him into an unusual emotion. Her

elder brother, who trode the path of ambition with a haughtier

step than his father, had also more of human affection. A

soldier, and in a dissolute age, he preferred his sister Lucy

even to pleasure and to military preferment and distinction. Her

younger brother, at an age when trifles chiefly occupied his

mind, made her the confidante of all his pleasures and anxieties,

his success in field-sports, and his quarrels with his tutor and

instructors. To these details, however trivial, Lucy lent

patient and not indifferent attention. They moved and interested

Henry, and that was enough to secure her ear.

Her mother alone did not feel that distinguished and

predominating affection with which the rest of the family

cherished Lucy. She regarded what she termed her daughter's want

of spirit as a decided mark that the more plebeian blood of her

father predominated in Lucy's veins, and used to call her in

derision her Lammermoor Shepherdess. To dislike so gentle and

inoffensive a being was impossible; but Lady Ashton preferred her

eldest son, on whom had descended a large portion of her own

ambitious and undaunted disposition, to a daughter whose softness

of temper seemed allied to feebleness of mind. Her eldest son

was the more partially beloved by his mother because, contrary to

the usual custom of Scottish families of distinction, he had been

named after the head of the house.

"My Sholto," she said, "will support the untarnished honour of

his maternal house, and elevate and support that of his father.

Poor Lucy is unfit for courts or crowded halls. Some country

laird must be her husband, rich enough to supply her with every

comfort, without an effort on her own part, so that she may have

nothing to shed a tear for but the tender apprehension lest he

may break his neck in a foxchase. It was not so, however, that

our house was raised, nor is it so that it can be fortified and

augmented. The Lord Keeper's dignity is yet new; it must be

borne as if we were used to its weight, worthy of it, and prompt

to assert and maintain it. Before ancient authorities men bend

from customary and hereditary deference; in our presence they

will stand erect, unless they are compelled to prostrate

themselves. A daughter fit for the sheepfold or the cloister is

ill qualified to exact respect where it is yielded with

reluctance; and since Heaven refused us a third boy, Lucy should

have held a character fit to supply his place. The hour will be

a happy one which disposes her hand in marriage to some one whose

energy is greater than her own, or whose ambition is of as low an

order."

So meditated a mother to whom the qualities of her

children's hearts, as well as the prospect of their domestic

happiness, seemed light in comparison to their rank and temporal

greatness. But, like many a parent of hot and impatient

character, she was mistaken in estimating the feelings of her

daughter, who, under a semblance of extreme indifference,

nourished the germ of those passions which sometimes spring up in

one night, like the gourd of the pro phet, and astonish the

observer by their unexpected ardour and intensity. In fact,

Lucy's sentiments seemed chill because nothing had occurred to

interest or awaken them. Her life had hitherto flowed on in a

uniform and gentle tenor, and happy for her had not its present

smoothness of current resembled that of the stream as it glides

downwards to the waterfall!

"So, Lucy," said her father, entering as her song was ended,

"does your musical philosopher teach you to contmn the world

before you know it? That is surely something premature. Or did

you but speak according to the fashion of fair maidens, who are

always to hold the pleasures of life in contempt till they are

pressed upon them by the address of some gentle knight?"

Lucy blushed, disclaimed any inference respecting her own choice

being drawn from her selection of a song, and readily laid aside

her instrument at her father's request that she would attend him

in his walk.

A large and well-wooded park, or rather chase, stretched along

the hill behind the castle, which, occupying, as we have

noticed, a pass ascending from the plain, seemed built in its

very gorge to defend the forest ground which arose behind it in

shaggy majesty. Into this romantic region the father and

daughter proceeded, arm in arm, by a noble avenue overarched by

embowering elms, beneath which groups of the fallow-deer were

seen to stray in distant perspective. As they paced slowly on,

admiring the different points of view, for which Sir William

Ashton, notwithstanding the nature of his usual avocations, had

considerable taste and feeling, they were overtaken by the

forester, or park-keeper, who, intent on silvan sport, was

proceeding with his cross-bow over his arm, and a hound led in

leash by his boy, into the interior of the wood.

"Going to shoot us a piece of venison, Norman?" said his master,

as he returned the woodsman's salutation.

"Saul, your honour, and that I am. Will it please you to see

the sport?"

"Oh no," said his lordship, after looking at his daughter, whose

colour fled at the idea of seeing the deer shot, although, had

her father expressed his wish that they should accompany Norman,

it was probable she would not even have hinted her reluctance.

The forester shrugged his shoulders. "It was a

disheartening thing," he said, "when none of the gentles came

down to see the sport. He hoped Captain Sholto would be soon

hame, or he might shut up his shop entirely; for Mr. Harry was

kept sae close wi' his Latin nonsense that, though his will was

very gude to be in the wood from morning till night, there would

be a hopeful lad lost, and no making a man of him. It was not

so, he had heard, in Lord Ravenswood's time: when a buck was to

be killed, man and mother's son ran to see; and when the deer

fell, the knife was always presented to the knight, and he never

gave less than a dollar for the compliment. And there was Edgar

Ravenswood--Master of Ravenswood that is now--when he goes up to

the wood--there hasna been a better hunter since Tristrem's time-

-when Sir Edgar hauds out, down goes the deer, faith. But we hae

lost a' sense of woodcraft on this side of the hill."

There was much in this harangue highly displeasing to the Lord

Keeper's feelings; he could not help observing that his menial

despised him almost avowedly for not possessing that taste for

sport which in those times was deemed the natural and

indispensable attribute of a real gentleman. But the master of

the game is, in all country houses, a man of great importance,

and entitled to use considerable freedom of speech. Sir William,

therefore, only smiled and replied, "He had something else to

think upon to-day than killing deer"; meantime, taking out his

purse, he gave the ranger a dollar for his encouragement. The

fellow received it as the waiter of a fashionable hotel receives

double his proper fee from the hands of a country gentleman--that

is, with a smile, in which pleasure at the gift is mingled with

contempt for the ignorance of the donor. "Your honour is the bad

paymaster," he said, "who pays before it is done. What would you

do were I to miss the buck after you have paid me my wood-fee?"

"I suppose," said the Keeper, smiling, "you would hardly guess

what I mean were I to tell you of a condictio indebiti?"

"Not I, on my saul. I guess it is some law phrase; but sue a

beggar, and--your honour knows what follows. Well, but I will

be just with you, and if bow and brach fail not, you shall have a

piece of game two fingers fat on the brisket."

As he was about to go off, his master again called him, and

asked, as if by accident, whether the Master of Ravenswood was

actually so brave a man and so good a shooter as the world spoke

him.

"Brave!--brave enough, I warrant you," answered Norman. "I was

in the wood at Tyninghame when there was a sort of gallants

hunting with my lord; on my saul, there was a buck turned to bay

made us all stand back--a stout old Trojan of the first head,

ten-tyned branches, and a brow as broad as e'er a bullock's.

Egad, he dashed at the old lord, and there would have been

inlake among the perrage, if the Master had not whipt roundly in,

and hamstrung him with his cutlass. He was but sixteen then,

bless his heart!"

"And is he as ready with the gun as with the couteau?" said Sir

William.

"He'll strike this silver dollar out from between my finger and

thumb at fourscore yards, and I'll hold it out for a gold merk;

what more would ye have of eye, hand, lead, and gunpowder?"

"Oh, no more to be wished, certainly," said the Lord Keeper;

"but we keep you from your sport, Norman. Good morrow, good

Norman."

And, humming his rustic roundelay, the yeoman went on his road,

the sound of his rough voice gradually dying away as the

distance betwixt them increased:

"The monk must arise when the matins ring,

The abbot may sleep to their chime;

But the yeoman must start when the bugles sing

'Tis time, my hearts, 'tis time.

There's bucks and raes on Bilhope braes,

There's a herd on Shortwood Shaw;

But a lily-white doe in the garden goes,

She's fairly worth them a'."

"Has this fellow," said the Lord Keeper, when the yeoman's song

had died on the wind, "ever served the Ravenswood people, that he

seems so much interested in them? I suppose you know, Lucy, for

you make it a point of conscience to record the special history

of every boor about the castle."

"I am not quite so faithful a chronicler, my dear father; but I

believe that Norman once served here while a boy, and before he

ewnt to Ledington, whence you hired him. But if you want to know

anything of the former family, Old Alice is the best authority."

"And what should I have to do with them, pray, Lucy," said her

father, "or with their history or accomplishments?"

"Nay, I do not know, sir; only that you were asking

questions of Norman about young Ravenswood."

"Pshaw, child!" replied her father, yet immediately added: "And

who is Old Alice? I think you know all the old women in the

country."

"To be sure I do, or how could I help the old creatures when

they are in hard times? And as to Old Alice, she is the very

empress of old women and queen of gossips, so far as legendary

lore is concerned. She is blind, poor old soul, but when she

speaks to you, you would think she has some way of looking into

your very heart. I am sure I often cover my face, or turn it

away, for it seems as if she saw one change colour, though she

has been blind these twenty years. She is worth visiting, were

it but to say you have seen a blind and paralytic old woman have

so much acuteness of perception and dignity of manners. I assure

you, she might be a countess from her language and behaviour.

Come, you must go to see Alice; we are not a quarter of a mile

from her cottage."

"All this, my dear," said the Lord Keeper, "is no answer to my

question, who this woman is, and what is her connexion with the

former proprietor's family?"

"Oh, it was somethign of a nouriceship, I believe; and she

remained here, because her two grandsons were engaged in your

service. But it was against her will, I fancy; for the poor old

creature is always regretting the change of times and of

property."

"I am much obliged to her," answered the Lord Keeper. "She and

her folk eat my bread and drink my cup, and are lamenting all

the while that they are not still under a family which never

could do good, either to themselves or any one else!"

"Indeed," replied Lucy, "I am certain you do Old Alice

injustice. She has nothing mercenary about her, and would not

accept a penny in charity, if it were to save her from being

starved. She is only talkative, like all old folk when you put

them upon stories of their youth; and she speaks abotu the

Ravenswood people, because she lived under them so many years.

But I am sure she is grateful to you, sir, for your protection,

adn taht she would rather speak to you than to any other person

in the whole world beside. Do, sir, come and see Old Alice."

And with the freedom of an indulged daughter she dragged the

Lord Keeper in the direction she desired.

CHAPTER IV.

Through tops of the high trees she did descry

A little smoke, whose vapour, thin and light,

Reeking aloft, uprolled to the sky,

Which cheerful sign did send unto her sight,

That in the same did wonne some living wight.

SPENSER.

LUCY acted as her father's guide, for he was too much engrossed

with his political labours, or with society, to be perfectly

acquainted with his own extensive domains, and,

moreover, was generally an inhabitant of the city of Edinburgh;

and she, on the other hand, had, with her mother, resided the

whole summer in Ravenswood, and, partly from taste, partly from

want of any other amusement, had, by her frequent rambles,

learned to know each lane, alley, dingle, or bushy dell,

And every bosky bourne from side to side.

We have said that the Lord Keeper was not indifferent to the

beauties of nature; and we add, in justice to him, that he felt

them doubly when pointed out by the beautiful, simple, and

interesting girl who, hanging on his arm with filial kindness,

now called him to admire the size of some ancient oak, and now

the unexpected turn where the path, developing its maze from glen

or dingle, suddenly reached an eminence commanding an extensive

view of the plains beneath them, and then gradually glided away

from the prospect to lose itself among rocks and thickets, and

guide to scenes of deeper seclusion.

It was when pausing on one of those points of extensive and

commanding view that Lucy told her father they were close by the

cottage of her blind protegee; and on turning from the little

hill, a path which led around it, worn by the daily steps of the

infirm inmate, brought them in sight of the hut, which, embosomed

in a deep and obscure dell, seemed to have been so situated

purposely to bear a correspondence with the darkened state of its

inhabitant.

The cottage was situated immediately under a tall rock, which in

some measure beetled over it, as if threatening to drop some

detached fragment from its brow on the frail tenement beneath.

The hut itself was constructed of turf and stones, and rudely

roofed over with thatch, much of which was in a

dilapidated condition. The thin blue smoke rose from it in a

light column, and curled upward along the white face of the

incumbent rock, giving the scene a tint of exquisite softness.

In a small and rude garden, surrounded by straggling elder-

bushes, which formed a sort of imperfect hedge, sat near to the

beehives, by the produce of which she lived, that "woman old"

whom Lucy had brought her father hither to visit.

Whatever there had been which was disastrous in her fortune,

whatever there was miserable in her dwelling, it was easy to

judge by the first glance that neither years, poverty,

misfortune, nor infirmity had broken the spirit of this

remarkable woman.

She occupied a turf seat, placed under a weeping birch of

unusual magnitude and age, as Judah is represented sitting under

her palm-tree, with an air at once of majesty and of dejection.

Her figure was tall, commanding, and but little bent by the

infirmities of old age. Her dress, though that of a peasant, was

uncommonly clean, forming in that particular a strong contrast to

most of her rank, and was disposed with an attention to neatness,

and even to taste, equally unusual. But it was her expression of

countenance which chiefly struck the spectator, and induced most

persons to address her with a degree of deference and civility

very inconsistent with the miserable state of her dwelling, and

which, nevertheless, she received with that easy composure which

showed she feelt it to be her due. She had once been beautiful,

but her beauty had been of a bold and masculine cast, such as

does not survive the bloom of youth; yet her features continued

to express strong sense, deep reflection, and a character of

sober pride, which, as we have already said of her dress,

appeared to argue a conscious superiority to those of her own

rank. It scarce seemed possible that a face, deprived of the

advantage of sight, could have expressed character so

strongly; but her eyes, which were almost totally closed, did

not, by the display of their sightless orbs, mar the countenance

to which they could add nothing. She seemed in a ruminating

posture, soothed, perhaps, by the murmurs of the busy tribe

around her to abstraction, though not to slumber.

Lucy undid the latch of the little garden gate, and

solicited the old woman's attention. "My father, Alice, is come

to see you."

"He is welcome, Miss Ashton, and so are you," said the old

woman, turning and inclining her head towards her visitors.

"This is a fine morning for your beehives, mother," said the

Lord Keeper, who, struck with the outward appearance of Alice,

was somewhat curious to know if her conversation would

correspond with it.

"I believe so, my lord," she replied; "I feel the air breathe

milder than of late."

"You do not," resumed the statesman, "take charge of these bees

yourself, mother? How do you manage them?"

"By delegates, as kings do their subjects," resumed Alice; "and

I am fortunate in a prime minister. Here, Babie."

She whistled on a small silver call which ung around her neck,

and which at that time was sometimes used to summon

domestics, and Babie, a girl of fifteen, made her appearance from

the hut, not altogether so cleanly arrayed as she would probably

have been had Alice had the use of her yees, but with a greater

air of neatness than was upon the whole to have been expected.

"Babie," said her mistress, "offer some bread and honey to the

Lord Keeper and Miss Ashton; they will excuse your

awkwardness if you use cleanliness and despatch."

Babie performed her mistress's command with the grace which was

naturally to have been expected, moving to and fro with a

lobster-like gesture, her feet and legs tending one way, while

her head, turned in a different direction, was fixed in wonder

upon the laird, who was more frequently heard of than seen by his

tenants and dependants. The bread and honey, however, deposited

on a plantain leaf, was offered and accepted in all due courtesy.

The Lord Keeper, still retaining the place which he had occupied

on the decayed trunk of a fallen tree, looked as if he wished to

prolong the interview, but was at a loss how to introduce a

suitable subject.

"You have been long a resident on this property?" he said, after

a pause.

"It is now nearly sixty years since I first knew

Ravenswood," answered the old dame, whose conversation, though

perfectly civil and respectful, seemed cautiously limited to the

unavoidable and necessary task of replying to Sir William.

"You are not, I should judge by your accent, of this country

originally?" said the Lord Keeper, in continuation.

"No; I am by birth an Englishwoman."

"Yet you seem attached to this country as if it were your own."

"It is here," replied the blind woman, "that I have drank the

cup of joy and of sorrow which Heaven destined for me. I was

here the wife of an upright and affectionate husband for more

than twenty years; I was here the mother of six promising

children; it was here that God deprived me of all these

blessings; it was here they died, and yonder, by yon ruined

chapel, they lie all buried. I had no ocuntry but theirs while

they lived; I have none but theirs now they are no more."

"But your house," said the Lord Keeper, looking at it, "is

miserably ruinous?"

"Do, my dear father," said Lucy, eagerly, yet bashfully,

catching at the hint, "give orders to make it better; that is, if

you think it proper."

"It will last my time, my dear Miss Lucy," said the blind woman;

"I would not have my lord give himself the least trouble about

it."

"But," said Lucy, "you once had a much better house, and were

rich, and now in your old age to live in this hovel!"

"It is as good as I deserve, Miss Lucy; if my heart has not

broke with what I have suffered, and seen others suffer, it must

have been strong enough, adn the rest of this old frame has no

right to call itself weaker."

"You have probably witnessed many changes," said the Lord

Keeper; "but your experience must have taught you to expect

them."

"It has taught me to endure them, my lord," was the reply.

"Yet you knew that they must needs arrive in the course of

years?" said the statesman.

"Ay; as I knew that the stump, on or beside which you sit, once

a tall and lofty tree, must needs one day fall by decay, or by

the axe; yet I hoped my eyes might not witness the downfall of

the tree which overshadowed my dwelling."

"Do not suppose," said the Lord Keeper, "that you will lose any

interest with me for looking back with regret to the days when

another family possessed my estates. You had reason, doubtless,

to love them, and I respect your gratitude. I will order some

repairs in your cottage, and I hope we shall live to be friends

when we know each other better."

"Those of my age," returned the dame, "make no new friends. I

thank you for your bounty, it is well intended undoubtedly; but

I have all I want, and I cannot accept more at your lordship's

hand."

"Well, then," continued the Lord Keeper, "at least allow me to

say, that I look upon you as a woman of sense and education

beyond your appearance, and that I hope you will continue to

reside on this property of mine rent-free for your life."

"I hope I shall," said the old dame, composedly; "I believe that

was made an article in the sale of Ravenswood to your lordship,

though such a trifling circumstance may have escaped your

recollection."

"I remember--I recollect," said his lordship, somewhat confused.

"I perceive you are too much attached to your old friends to

accept any benefit from their successor."

"Far from it, my lord; I am grateful for the benefits which I

decline, and I wish I could pay you for offering them, better

than what I am now about to say." The Lord Keeper looked at her

in some surprise, but said not a word. "My lord," she continued,

in an impressive and solemn tone, "take care what you do; you are

on the brink of a precipice."

"Indeed?" said the Lord Keeper, his mind reverting to the

political circumstances of the country. "Has anything come to

your knowledge--any plot or conspiracy?"

"No, my lord; those who traffic in such commodities do not call

to their councils the old, blind, and infirm. My warning is of

another kind. You have driven matters hard with the house of

Ravenswood. Believe a true tale: they are a fierce house, and

there is danger in dealing with men when they become desperate."

"Tush," answered the Keeper; "what has been between us has been

the work of the law, not my doing; and to the law they must

look, if they would impugn my proceedings."

"Ay, but they may think otherwise, and take the law into their

own hand, when they fail of other means of redress."

"What mean you?" said the Lord Keeper. "Young Ravenswood would

not have recourse to personal violence?"

"God forbid I should say so! I know nothing of the youth but

what is honourable and open. Honourable and open, said I? I

should have added, free, generous, noble. But he is still a

Ravenswood, and may bide his time. Remember the fate of Sir

George Lockhart."

The Lord Keeper started as she called to his recollection a

tragedy so deep and so recent. The old woman proceeded:

"Chiesley, who did the deed, was a relative of Lord Ravenswood.

In the hall of Ravenswood, in my presence and in that of others,

he avowed publicly his determination to do the cruelty which he

afterwards committed. I could not keep silence, though to speak

it ill became my station. 'You are devising a dreadful crime,' I

said, 'for which you must reckon before the judgment seat.'

Never shall I forget his look, as he replied, 'I must reckon then

for many things, and will reckon for this also.' Therefore I may

well say, beware of pressing a desperate man with the hand of

authority. There is blood of Chiesley in the veins of

Ravenswood, and one drop of it were enough to fire him in the

circumstances in which he is placed. I say, beware of him."

The old dame had, either intentionally or by accident, harped

aright the fear of the Lord Keeper. The desperate and dark

resource of private assassination, so familiar to a Scottish

baron in former times, had even in the present age been too

frequently resorted to under the pressure of unusual temptation,

or where the mind of the actor was prepared for such a crime.

Sir William Ashton was aware of this; as also that young

Ravenswood had received injuries sufficient to prompt him to that

sort of revenge, which becomes a frequent though fearful

consequence of the partial administration of justice. He

endeavoured to disguise from Alice the nature of the

apprehensions which he entertained; but so ineffectually, that a

person even of less penetration than nature had endowed her with

must necessarily have been aware that the subject lay near his

bosom. His voice was changed in its accent as he replied to her,

"That the Master of Ravenswood was a man of honour; and, were it

otherwise, that the fate of Chiesley of Dalry was a sufficient

warning to any one who should dare to assume the office of

avenger of his own imaginary wrongs." And having hastily uttered

these expressions, he rose and left the place without waiting

for a reply.

CHAPTER V.

Is she a Capulet?

O dear account! my life is my foe's debt.

SHAKESPEARE

THE Lord Keeper walked for nearly a quarter of a mile in

profound silence. His daughter, naturally timid, and bred up in

those ideas of filial awe and implicit obedience which were

inculcated upon the youth of that period, did not venture to

interrupt his meditations.

"Why do you look so pale, Lucy?" said her father, turning

suddenly round and breaking silence.

According to the ideas of the time, which did not permit a young

woman to offer her sentiments on any subject of importance

unless required to do so, Lucy was bound to appear ignorant of

the meaning of all that had passed betwixt Alice and her father,

and imputed the emotion he had observed to the fear of the wild

cattle which grazed in that part of the extensive chase through

which they were now walking.

Of these animals, the descendants of the savage herds which

anciently roamed free in the Caledonian forests,. it was formerly

a point of state to preserve a few in the parks of the Scottish

nobility. Specimens continued within the memory of man to be

kept at least at three houses of distinction--Hamilton, namely,

Drumlanrig, and Cumbernauld. They had degenerated from the

ancient race in size and strength, if we are to judge from the

accounts of old chronicles, and from the formidable remains

frequently discovered in bogs and morasses when drained and laid

open. The bull had lost the shaggy honours of his mane, and the

race was small and light made, in colour a dingy white, or rather

a pale yellow, with black horns and hoofs. They retained,

however, in some measure, the ferocity of their ancestry, could

not be domesticated on account of their antipathy to the human

race, and were often dangerous if approached unguardedly, or

wantonly disturbed. It was this last reason which has occasioned

their being extirpated at the places we have mentioned, where

probably they would otherwise have been retained as appropriate

inhabitants of a Scottish woodland, and fit tenants for a

baronial forest. A few, if I mistake not, are still preserved at

Chillingham Castle, in Northumberland, the seat of the Earl of

Tankerville.

It was to her finding herself in the vicinity of a group of

three or four of these animals, that Lucy thought proper to

impute those signs of fear which had arisen in her countenance

for a different reason. For she had been familiarised with the

appearance of the wil cattle during her walks in the chase; and

it was not then, as it may be now, a necessary part of a young

lady's demeanour to indulge in causeless tremors of the nerves.

On the present occasion, however, she speedily found cause for

real terror.

Lucy had scarcely replied to her father in the words we have

mentioned, and he was just about to rebuke her supposed timidity,

when a bull, stimulated either by the scarlet colour of Miss

Ashton's mantle, or by one of those fits of capricious ferocity

to which their dispositions are liable, detached himself suddenly

from the group which was feeding at the upper extremity of a

grassy glade, that seemed to lose itself among the crossing and

entangled boughs. The animal approached the intruders on his

pasture ground, at first slowly, pawing the ground with his hoof,

bellowing from time to time, and tearing up the sand with his

horns, as if to lash himself up to rage and violence.

The Lord Keeper, who observed the animal's demeanour, was aware

that he was about to become mischievous, and, drawing his

daughter's arm under his own, began to walk fast along the

avenue, in hopes to get out of his sight and his reach. This was

the most injudicious course he could have adopted, for,

encouraged by the appearance of flight, the bull began to pursue

them at full speed. Assailed by a danger so imminent, firmer

courage than that of the Lord Keeper might have given way. But

paternal tenderness, "love strong as death," sustained him. He

continued to support and drag onward his daughter, until her

fears altogether depriving her of the power of flight, she sunk

down by his side; and when he could no longer assist her to

escape, he turned round and placed himself betwixt her and the

raging animal, which, advancing in full career, its brutal fury

enhanced by the rapidity of the pursuit, was now within a few

yards of them. The Lord Keeper had no weapons; his age and

gravity dispensed even with the usual appendage of a walking

sword--could such appendage have availed him anything.

It seemed inevitable that the father or daughter, or both,

should have fallen victims to the impending danger, when a shot

from the neighbouring thicket arrested the progress of the

animal. He was so truly struck between the junction of the spine

with the skull, that the wound, which in any other part of his

body might scarce have impeded his career, proved instantly

fatal. Stumbling forward with a hideous bellow, the progressive

force of his previous motion, rather than any operation of his

limbs, carried him up to within three yards of the astonished

Lord Keeper, where he rolled on the ground, his limbs darkened

with the black death-sweat, and quivering with the last

convulsions of muscular motion.

Lucy lay senseless on the ground, insensible of the

wonderful deliverance which she had experience. Her father was

almost equally stupified, so rapid and unexpected had been the

transition from the horrid death which seemed inevitable to

perfect security. He gazed on the animal, terrible even in

death, with a species of mute and confused astonishment, which

did not permit him distinctly to understand what had taken place;

and so inaccurate was his consciousness of what had passed, that

he might have supposed the bull had been arrested in its career

by a thunderbolt, had he not observed among the branches of the

thicket the figure of a man, with a short gun or musquetoon in

his hand.

This instantly recalled him to a sense of their situation: a

glance at his daughter reminded him of the necessity of procuring

her assistance. He called to the man, whom he concluded to be

one of his foresters, to give immediate attention to Miss Ashton,

while he himself hastened to call assistance. The huntsman

approached them accordingly, and the Lord Keeper saw he was a

stranger, but was too much agitated to make any farther remarks.

In a few hurried words he directed the shooter, as stronger and

more active than himself, to carry the young lady to a

neighbouring fountain, while he went back to Alice's hut to

procure more aid.

The man to whose timely itnerference they had been so much

indebted did not seem inclined to leave his good work half

finished. He raised Lucy from the ground in his arms, and

convenying her through the glades of the forest by paths with

which he seemed well acquainted, stopped not until he laid her in

safety by the side of a plentiful and pellucid fountain, which

had been once covered in, screened and decorated with

architectural ornaments of a Gothic character. But now the vault

which had covered it being broken down and riven, and the Gothic

font ruined and demolished, the stream burst forth from the

recess of the earth in open day, and winded its way among the

broken sculpture and moss-grown stones which lay in confusion

around its source.

Tradition, always busy, at least in Scotland, to grace with a

legendary tale a spot in itself interesting, had ascribed a

cause of peculiar veneration to this fountain. A beautiful young

lady met one of the Lords of Ravenswood while hunting near this

spot, and, like a second Egeria, had captivated the affections of

the feudal Numa. They met frequently afterwards, and always at

sunset, the charms of the nymph's mind completing the conquest

which her beauty had begun, and the mystery of the intrigue

adding zest to both. She always appeared and disappeared close

by the fountain, with which, therefore, her lover judged she had

some inexplicable connexion. She placed certain restrictions on

their intercourse, which also savoured of mystery. They met only

once a week--Friday was the appointed day--and she explained to

the Lord of Ravenswood that they were under the necessity of

separating so soon as the bell of a chapel, belonging to a

hermitage in the adjoining wood, now long ruinous, should toll

the hour of vespers. In the course of his confession, the Baron

of Ravenswood entrusted the hermit with the secret of this

singular amour, and Father Zachary drew the necessary and

obvious consequence that his patron was enveloped in the toils of

Satan, and in danger of destruction, both to body and soul. He

urged these perils to the Baron with all the force of monkish

rhetoric, and described, in the most frightful colours, the real

character and person of the apparently lovely Naiad, whom he

hesitated not to denounce as a limb of the kingdom of darkness.

The lover listened with obstinate incredulity; and it was not

until worn out by the obstinacy of the anchoret that he consented

to put the state and condition of his mistress to a certain

trial, and for that purpose acquiesced in Zachary's proposal that

on their next interview the vespers bell should be rung half an

hour later than usual. The hermit maintained and bucklered his

opinion, by quotations from Malleus Malificarum, Sprengerus,

Remigius, and other learned demonologists, that the Evil One,

thus seduced to remain behind the appointed hour, would assume

her true shape, and, having appeared to herterrified lover as a

fiend of hell, would vanish from him in a flash of sulphurous

lightning. Raymond of Ravenswood acquiesced in the experiment,

not incurious concerning the issue, though confident it would

disappoint the expectations of the hermit.

At the appointed hour the lovers met, and their interview was

protracted beyond that at which they usually parted, by the

delay of the priest to ring his usual curfew. No change took

place upon the nymph's outward form; but as soon as the

lengthening shadows made her aware that the usual hour of the

vespers chime was passed, she tore herself from her lover's arms

with a shriek of despair, bid him adieu for ever, and, plunging

into the fountain, disappeared from his eyes. The bubbles

occasioned by her descent were crimsoned with blood as they

arose, leading the distracted Baron to infer that his ill-judged

curiosity had occasioned the death of this interesting and

mysterious being. The remorse which he felt, as well as the

recollection of her charms, proved the penance of his future

life, which he lost in the battle of Flodden not many months

after. But, in memory of his Naiad, he had previously ornamented

the fountain in which she appeared to reside, and secured its

waters from profanation or pollution by the small vaulted

building of which the fragments still remained scattered around

it. From this period the house of Ravenswood was supposed to

have dated its decay.

Such was the generally-received legend, which some, who would

seem wiser than the vulgar, explained as obscurely

intimating the fate of a beautiful maid of plebeian rank, the

mistress of this Raymond, whom he slew in a fit of jealousy, and

whose blood was mingled with the waters of the locked foundtain,

as it was commonly called. Others imagined thatthe tale had a

more remote origin in the ancient heathen mythology. All,

however, agreed that the spot was fatal to the Ravenswood family;

and that to drink of the waters of the well, or even approach its

brink, was as ominous to a descendant of that house as for a

Grahame to wear green, a Bruce to kill a spider, or a St. Clair

to cross the Ord on a Monday.

It was on this ominous spot that Lucy Ashton first drew breath

after her long and almost deadly swoon. Beautiful and pale as

the fabulous Naiad in the last agony of separation from her

lover, she was seated so as to rest with her back against a part

of the ruined wall, while her mantle, dripping with the water

which her protector had used profusely to recall her senses,

clung to her slender and beautifully proportioned form.

The firts moment of recollection brought to her mind the danger

which had overpowered her senses; the next called to remembrance

that of her father. She looked around; he was nowhere to be

seen. "My father, my father!" was all that she could ejaculate.

"Sir William is safe," answered the voice of a stranger--

"perfectly safe, adn will be with you instantly."

"Are you sure of that?" exclaimed Lucy. "The bull was close by

us. Do not stop me: I must go to seek my father!"

And she rose with that purpose; but her strength was so much

exhausted that, far from possessing the power to execute her

purpose, she must have fallen against the stone on which she had

leant, probably not without sustaining serious injury.

The stranger was so near to her that, without actually suffering

her to fall, he could not avoid catching her in his arms, which,

however, he did with a momentary reluctance, very unusual when

youth interposes to prevent beauty from danger. It seemed as if

her weight, slight as it was, proved too heavy for her young and

athletic assistant, for, without feeling the temptation of

detaining her in his arms even for a single

instant, he again placed her on the stone from which she had

risen, and retreating a few steps, repeated hastily "Sir William

Ashton is perfectly safe and will be here instantly. Do not make

yourself anxious on his account: Fate has singularly preserved

him. You, madam, are exhausted, and must not think of rising

until you have some assistance more suitable than mine."

Lucy, whose senses were by this time more effectually collected,

was naturally led to look at the stranger with

attention. There was nothing in his appearance which should have

rendered him unwilling to offer his arm to a young lady who

required support, or which could have induced her to refuse his

assistance; and she could not help thinking, even in that moment,

that he seemed cold and reluctant to offer it. A shooting-dress

of dark cloth intimated the rank of the wearer, though concealed

in part by a large and loose cloak of a dark brown colour. A

montero cap and a black feather drooped over the wearer's brow,

and partly concealed his features, which, so far as seen, were

dark, regular, adn full of majestic, though somewhat sullen,

expression. Some secret sorrow, or the brooding spirit of some

moody passion, had quenched the light and ingenuous vivacity of

youth in a countenance singularly fitted to display both, and it

was not easy to gaze on the stranger without a secret impression

either of pity or awe, or at least of doubt and curiosity allied

to both.

The impression which we have necessarily been long in

describing, Lucy felt in the glance of a moment, and had no

sooner encountered the keen black eyes of the stranger than her

own were bent on the ground with a mixture of bashful

embarrassment and fear. Yet there was a necessity to speak, or

at last she thought so, and in a fluttered accent she began to

mention her wonderful escape, in which she was sure that the

stranger must, under Heaven, have been her father's protector

and her own.

He seemed to shrink from her expressions of gratitude, while he

replied abruptly, "I leave you, madam," the deep melody of his

voice rendered powerful, but not harsh, by something like a

severity of tone--"I leave you to the protection of those to whom

it is possible you may have this day been a guardian angel."

Lucy was surprised at the ambiguity of his language, and, with a

feeling of artless and unaffected gratitude, began to deprecate

the idea of having intended to give her deliverer any offence, as

if such a thing had been possible. "I have been unfortunate,"

she said, "in endeavouring to express my thanks--I am sure it

must be so, though I cannot recollect what I said; but would you

but stay till my father--till the Lord Keeper comes; would you

only permit him to pay you his thanks, and to inquire your name?"

"My name is unnecessary," answered the stranger; "your father--I

would rather say Sir William Ashton--will learn it soon enough,

for all the pleasure it is likely to afford him."

"You mistake him," said Lucy, earnestly; "he will be

grateful for my sake and for his own. You do not know my father,

or you are deceiving me with a story of his safety, when he has

already fallen a victim to the fury of that animal."

When she had caught this idea, she started from the ground and

endeavoured to press towards the avenue in which the accident

had taken place, while the stranger, though he seemed to

hesitate between the desire to assist and the wish to leave her,

was obliged, in common humanity, to oppose her both by entreaty

and action.

"On the word of a gentleman, madam, I tell you the truth; your

father is in perfect safety; you will expose yourself to injury

if you venture back where the herd of wild cattle grazed. If you

will go"--for, haing once adoped the idea that her father was

still in danger, she pressed forward in spite of him--"if you

WILL go, accept my arm, though I am not perhaps the person who

can with most propriety offer you support."

But, without heeding this intimation, Lucy took him at his word.

"Oh, if you be a man," she said--"if you be a gentleman, assist

me to find my father! You shall not leave me--you must go with

me; he is dying perhaps while we are talking here!"

Then, without listening to excuse or apology, and holding fast

by the stranger's arm, though unconscious of anything save the

support which it gave, and without which she could not have

moved, mixed with a vague feeling of preventing his escape from

her, she was urging, and almost dragging, him forward when Sir

William Ashton came up, followed by the female attendant of blind

Alice, and by two woodcutters, whom he had summoned from their

occupation to his assistance. His joy at seeing his daughter

safe overcame the surprise with which he would at another time

have beheld her hanging as familiarly on the arm of a stranger as

she might have done upon his own.

"Lucy, my dear Lucy, are you safe?--are you well?" were the only

words that broke from him as he embraced her in ecstasy.

"I am well, sir, thank God! and still more that I see you so;

but this gentleman," she said, quitting his arm and shrinking

from him, "what must he think of me?" and her eloquent blood,

flushing over neck and brow, spoke how much she was ashamed of

the freedom with which she had craved, and even compelled, his

assistance.

"This gentleman," said Sir William Ashton, "will, I trust, not

regret the trouble we have given him, when I assure him of the

gratitude of the Lord Keeper for the greatest service which one

man ever rendered to another--for the life of my child--for my

own life, which he has saved by his bravery and presence of

mind. He will, I am sure, permit us to request----"

"Request nothing of ME, my lord," said the stranger, in a stern

and peremptory tone; "I am the Master of Ravenswood."

There was a dead pause of surprise, not unmixed with less

pleasant feleings. The Master wrapt himself in his cloak, made a

haughty inclination toward Lucy, muttering a few words of

courtesy, as indistinctly heard as they seemed to be relunctantly

uttered, and, turning from them, was immediately lost in the

thicket.

"The Master of Ravenswood!" said the Lord Keeper, when he had

recovered his momentary astonishment. "Hasten after him--stop

him--beg him to speak to me for a single moment."

The two foresters accordingly set off in pursuit of the

stranger. They speedily reappeared, and, in an embarrassed and

awkward manner, said the gentleman would not return.

The Lord Keeper took one of the fellows aside, and

questioned him more closely what the Master of Ravenswood had

said.

"He just said he wadna come back," said the man, with the

caution of a prudent Scotchman, who cared not to be the bearer of

an unpleasant errand.

"He said something more, sir," said the Lord Keeper, "and I

insist on knowing what it was."

"Why, then, my lord," said the man, looking down, "he said----

But it wad be nae pleasure to your lordship to hear it, for I

dare say the Master meant nae ill."

"That's none of your concern, sir; I desire to hear the very

words."

"Weel, then," replied the man, "he said, 'Tell Sir William

Ashton that the next time he and I forgather, he will nto be half

sae blythe of our meeting as of our parting.'"

"Very well, sir," said the Lord Keeper, "I believe he alludes to

a wager we have on our hawks; it is a matter of no consequence."

He turned to his daughter, who was by this time so much

recovered as to be able to walk home. But the effect, which the

various recollections connected with a scene so terrific made

upon a mind which was susceptible in an extreme degree, was more

permanent than the injury which her nerves had sustained.

Visions of terror, both in sleep and in waking reveries, recalled

to her the form of the furious animal, and the dreadful bellow

with which he accompanied his career; and it was always the image

of the Master of Ravenswood, with his native nobleness of

countenance and form, that seemed to interpose betwixt her and

assured death. It is, perhaps, at all times dangerous for a

young person to suffer recollection to dwell repeatedly, and with

too much complacency, on the same individual; but in Lucy's

situation it was almost unavoidable. She had never happened to

see a young man of mien and features so romantic and so striking

as young Ravenswood; but had she seen an hundred his equals or

his superiors in those particulars, no one else would have been

linked to her heart by the strong

associations of remembered danger and escape, of gratitude,

wonder, and curiosity. I say curiosity, for it is likely that

the singularly restrained and unaccommodating manners of the

Master of Ravenswood, so much at variance with the natural

expression of his features and grace of his deportment, as they

excited wonder by the contrast, had their effect in riveting her

attention to the recollections. She knew little of Ravenswood,

or the disputes which had existed betwixt her father and his, and

perhaps could in her gentleness of mind hardly have comprehended

the angry and bitter passions which they had engendered. But she

knew that he was come of noble stem; was poor, though descended

from the noble and the wealthy; and she felt that she could

sympathise with the feelings of a proud mind, which urged him to

recoil from the proffered gratitude of the new proprietors of his

father's house and domains. Would he have equally shunned their

acknowledgments and avoided their intimacy, had her father's

request been urged more mildly, less abruptly, and softened with

the grace which women so well know how to throw into their

manner, when they mean to mediate betwixt the headlong passions

of the ruder sex? This was a perilous question to ask her own

mind--perilous both in the idea and its consequences.

Lucy Ashton, in short, was involved in those mazes of the

imagination which are most dangerous to the young and the

sensitive. Time, it is true, absence, change of scene and new

faces, might probably have destroyed the illusion in her

instance, as it has done in many others; but her residence

remained solitary, and her mind without those means of

dissipating her pleasing visions. This solitude was chiefly

owing to the absence of Lady Ashton, who was at this time in

Edinburgh, watching the progress of some state-intrigue; the Lord

Keeper only received society out of policy or ostentation, and

was by nature rather reserved and unsociable; and thus no

cavalier appeared to rival or to obscure the ideal picture of

chivalrous excellence which Lucy had pictured to herself in the

Master of Ravenswood.

While Lucy indulged in these dreams, she made frequent visits to

old blind Alice, hoping it would be easy to lead her to talk on

the subject which at present she had so imprudently admitted to

occupy so large a portion of her thoughts. But Alice did not in

this particular gratify her wishes and expectations. She spoke

readily, and with pathetic feeling, concerning the family in

general, but seemed to observe an especial and cautious silence

on the subject of the present representative. The little she

said of him was not altogether so favourable as Lucy had

anticipated. She hinted that he was of a stern and unforgiving

character, more ready to resent than to pardon injuries; and Lucy

combined, with great alarm, the hints which she now dropped of

these dangerous qualities with Alice's advice to her father, so

emphatically given, "to beware of Ravenswood."

Btu that very Ravenswood, of whom such unjust suspicions had

been entertained, had, almost immediately after they had been

uttered, confuted them by saving at once her father's life and

her own. Had he nourished such black revenge as Alice's dark

hints seemed to indicate, no deed of active guilt was necessary

to the full gratification of that evil passion. He needed but to

have withheld for an instant his indispensable and effective

assistance, and the object of his resentment must have perished,

without any direct aggression on his part, by a death equally

fearful and certain. She conceived, therefore, that some secret

prejudice, or the suspicions incident to age and misfortune, had

led Alice to form conclusions injurious to the character, and

irreconcilable both with the generous conduct and noble features,

of the Master of Ravenswood. And in this belief Lucy reposed her

hope, and went on weaving her enchanted web of fairy tissue, as

beautiful and transient as the film of the gossamer when it is

pearled with the morning dew and glimmering to the sun.

Her father, in the mean while, as well as the Master of

Ravenswood, were making reflections, as frequent though more

solid than those of Lucy, upon the singular event which had

taken place. The Lord Keeper's first task, when he returned

home, was to ascertain by medical advice that his daughter had

sustained no injury from the dangerous and alarming situation in

which she had been placed. Satisfied on this topic, he proceeded

to revise the memoranda which he had taken down from the mouth of

the person employed to interrupt the funeral service of the late

Lord Ravenswood. Bred to casuistry, and well accustomed to

practise the ambidexter ingenuity of the bar, it cost him little

trouble to soften the features of the tumult which he had been

at first so anxiuous to exaggerate. He preached to his

colleagues of the privy council the necessity of using

conciliatory measures with young men, whose blood and temper were

hot, and their experience of life limited. He did not hesitate

to attribute some censure to the conduct of the officer, as

having been unnecessarily irritating.

These were the contents of his public despatches. The letters

which he wrote to those private friends into whose management the

matter was likely to fall were of a yet more favourable tenor.

He represented that lenity in this case would be equally politic

and popular, whereas, considering the high respect with which the

rites of interment are regarded in

Scotland, any severity exercised against the Master of Ravenswood

for protecting those of his father from interruption, would be on

all sides most unfavourably construed. And, finally, assuming

the language of a generous and high-spirited man, he made it his

particular request that this affair should be passed over without

severe notice. He alluded with delicacy to the predicament in

which he himself stood with young Ravenswood, as having succeeded

in the long train of litigation by which the fortunes of that

noble house had been so much reduced, and confessed it would be

most peculiarly acceptable to his own feelings, could he find in

some sort to counterbalance the disadvantages which he had

occasioned the family, though only in the prosecution of his just

and lawful rights. He therefore made it his particular and

personal request that the matter should have no farther

consequences, an insinuated a desire that he himself should have

the merit of having put a stop to it by his favourable report and

intercession. It was particularly remarkable that, contrary to

his uniform practice, he made no special communication to Lady

Ashton upon the subject of the tumult; and although he mentioned

the alarm which Lucy had received from one of the wild cattle,

yet he gave no detailed account of an incident so interesting and

terrible.

There was much surprise among Sir William Ashton's political

friends and colleagues on receiving letters of a tenor so

unexpected. On comparing notes together, one smiled, one put up

his eyebrows, a third nodded acquiescence in the general wonder,

and a fourth asked if they were sure these were ALL the letters

the Lord Keeper had written on the subject. "It runs strangely

in my mind, my lords, that none of these advices contain the root

of the matter."

But no secret letters of a contrary nature had been

received, although the question seemed to imply the possibility

of their existence.

"Well," said an old grey-headed statesman, who had

contrived, by shifting and trimming, to maintain his post at the

steerage through all the changes of course which the vessel had

held for thirty years, "I thought Sir William would hae verified

the auld Scottish saying, 'As soon comes the lamb's skin to

market as the auld tup's'"

"We must please him after his own fashion," said another,

"though it be an unlooked0for one."

"A wilful man maun hae his way," answered the old

counsellor.

"The Keeper will rue this before year and day are out," said a

third; "the Master of Ravenswood is the lad to wind him a pirn."

"Why, what would you do, my lords, with the poor young fellow?"

said a noble Marquis present. "The Lord Keeper has got all his

estates; he has not a cross to bless himself with."

On which the ancient Lord Turntippet replied

"If he hasna gear to fine,

He ha shins to pine.

And that was our way before the Revolution: Lucitur cum persona,

qui luere non potest cum crumena. Hegh, my lords, that's gude

law Latin."

"I can see no motive," replied the Marquis, "that any noble lord

can have for urging this matter farther; let the Lord Keeper

have the power to deal in it as he pleases."

"Agree, agree--remit to the Lord Keeper, with any other person

for fashion's sake--Lord Hirplehooly, who is bed-ridden--one to

be a quorum. Make your entry in the minutes, Mr. Clerk. And

now, my lords, there is that young scattergood the Laird of

Bucklaw's fine to be disposed upon. I suppose it goes to my Lord

Treasurer?"

"Shame be in my meal-poke, then," exclaimed the Lord

Turntippet, "and your hand aye in the nook of it! I had set that

down for a bye-bit between meals for mysell."

"To use one of your favourite saws, my lord," replied the

Marquis, "you are like the miller's dog, that licks his lips

before the bag is untied: the man is not fined yet."

"But that costs but twa skarts of a pen," said Lord

Turntippet; "and surely there is nae noble lord that will presume

to say that I, wha hae complied wi' a' compliances, taen all

manner of tests, adjured all that was to be abjured, and sworn a'

that was to be sworn, for these thirty years bye-past, sticking

fast by my duty to the state through good report and bad report,

shouldna hae something now and then to synd my mouth wi' after

sic drouthy wark? Eh?"

"It would be very unreasonable indeed, my lord," replied the

Marquis, "had we either thought that your lordship's drought was

quenchable, or observed anything stick in your throat that

required washing down."

And so we close the scene on the privy council of that period.

CHAPTER VI.

For this are all these warriors come,

To hear an idle tale;

And o'er our death-accustom'd arms

Shall silly tears prevail?

HENRY MACKENZIE.

ON the evening of the day when the Lord Keeper and his daughter

were saved from such imminent peril, two strangers were seated in

the most private apartment of a small obscure inn, or rather

alehouse, called the Tod's Den [Hole], about three or four [five

or six] miles from the Castle of Ravenswood and as far from the

ruinous tower of Wolf's Crag, betwixt which two places it was

situated.

One of these strangers was about forty years of age, tall, and

thin in the flanks, with an aquiline nose, dark penetrating

eyes, and a shrewd but sinister cast of countenance. The other

was about fifteen years younger, short, stout, ruddy-faced, and

red-haired, with an open, resolute, and cheerful eye, to which

careless and fearless freedom and inward daring gave fire and

expression, notwithstanding its light grey colour. A stoup of

wine (for in those days it was erved out from the cask in pewter

flagons) was placed on the table, and each had his quaigh or

bicker before him. But there was little appearance of

conviviality. With folded arms, and looks of anxious

expectation, they eyed each other in silence, each wrapt in his

own thoughts, and holding no communication with his neighbour.

At length the younger broke silence by exclaiming: "What the

foul fiend can detain the Master so long? He must have

miscarried in his enterprise. Why did you dissuade me from going

with him?"

"One man is enough to right his own wrong," said the taller and

older personage; "we venture our lives for him in coming thus

far on such an errand."

"Yopu are but a craven after all, Craigengelt," answered the

younger, "and that's what many folk have thought you before now."

"But what none has dared to tell me," said Craigengelt,

laying his hand on the hilt of his sword; "and, but that I hold a

hasty man no better than a fool, I would----" he paused for his

companion's answer.

"WOULD you?" said the other, coolly; "and why do you not then?"

Craigengelt drew his cutlass an inch or two, and then returned

it with violence into the scabbard--"Because there is a deeper

stake to be played for than the lives of twenty

harebrained gowks like you."

"You are right there," said his companion, "for it if were not

that these forfeitures, and that last fine that the old

driveller Turntippet is gaping for, and which, I dare say, is

laid on by this time, have fairly driven me out of house and

home, I were a coxcomb and a cuckoo to boot to trust your fair

promises of getting me a commission in the Irish brigade. What

have I to do with the Irish brigade? I am a plain Scotchman, as

my father was before me; and my grand-aunt, Lady Girnington,

cannot live for ever."

"Ay, Bucklaw," observed Craigengelt, "but she may live for many

a long day; and for your father, he had land and living, kept

himself close from wadsetters and money-lenders, paid each man

his due, and lived on his own."

"And whose fault it it that I have not done so too?" said

Bucklaw--"whose but the devil's and yours, and such-like as you,

that have led me to the far end of a fair estate? And now I

shall be obliged, I suppose, to shelter and shift about like

yourself: live one week upon a line of secret intelligence from

Saint Germains; another upon a report of a rising in the

Highlands; get my breakfast and morning draught of sack from old

Jacobite ladies, and give them locks of my old wig for the

Chevalier's hair; second my friend in his quarrel till he comes

to the field, and then flinch from him lest so important a

political agent should perish from the way. All this I must do

for bread, besides calling myself a captain!"

"You think you are making a fine speech now," said

Craigengelt, "and showing much wit at my expense. Is starving or

hanging better than the life I am obliged to lead, because the

present fortunes of the king cannot sufficiently support his

envoys?"

"Starving is honester, Craigengelt, and hanging is like to be

the end on't. But what you mean to make of this poor fellow

Ravenswood, I know not. He has no money left, any more than I;

his lands are all pawned and pledged, and the interest eats up

the rents, and is not satisfied, and what do you hope to make by

meddling in his affairs?"

"Content yourself, Bucklaw; I know my business," replied

Craigengelt. "Besides that his name, and his father's services

in 1689, will make such an acquisition sound well both at

Versailles and Saint Germains, you will also please be informed

that the Master of Ravenswood is a very different kind of a young

fellow from you. He has parts and address, as well as courage

and talents, and will present himself abroad like a young man of

head as well as heart, who knows something more than the speed of

a horse or the flight of a hawk. I have lost credit of late, by

bringing over no one that had sense to know more than how to

unharbour a stag, or take and reclaim an eyas. The Master has

education, sense, and penetration."

"And yet is not wise enough to escape the tricks of a kidnapper,

Craigengelt?" replied the younger man. "But don't be angry; you

know you will nto fight, and so it is as well to leave your hilt

in peace andquiet, and tell me in sober guise how you drew the

Master into your confidence?"

"By flattering his love of vengeance, Bucklaw," answered

Craigengelt. "He has always distrusted me; but I watched my

time, and struck while his temper was red-hot with the sense of

insult and of wrong. He goes now to expostulate, as he says, and

perhaps thinks, with Sir William Ashton. I say, that if they

meet, and the lawyer puts him to his defence, the Master will

kill him; for he had that sparkle in his eye which never deceives

you when you would read a man's purpose. At any rate, he will

give him such a bullying as will be construed into an assault on

a privy councillor; so there will be a total breach betwixt him

and government. Scotland will be too hot for him; France will

gain him; and we will all set sail together in the French brig

'L'Espoir,' which is hovering for us off Eyemouth."

"Content am I," said Bucklaw; "Scotland has little left that I

care about; and if carrying the Master with us will get us a

better reception in France, why, so be it, a God's name. I doubt

our own merits will procure us slender preferment; and I trust he

will send a ball through the Keeper's head before he joins us.

One or two of these scoundrel statesmen should be shot once a

year, just to keep the others on their good behaviour."

"That is very true," replied Craigengelt; "and it reminds me

that I must go and see that our horses have been fed and are in

readiness; for, should such deed be done, it will be no time for

grass to grow beneath their heels." He proceeded as far as the

door, then turned back with a look of earnestness, and said to

Bucklaw: "Whatever should come of this business, I am sure you

will do me the justice to remember that I said nothing to the

Master which could imply my accession to any act of violence

which he may take it into his head to commit."

"No, no, not a single word like accession," replied Bucklaw;

"you know too well the risk belonging to these two terrible

words, 'art and part.'" Then, as if to himself, he recited the

following lines:

"The dial spoke not, but it made shrewd signs,

And pointed full upon the stroke of murder.

"What is that you are talking to yourself?" said

Craigengelt, turning back with some anxiety.

"Nothing, only two lines I have heard upon the stage," replied

his companion.

"Bucklaw," said Craigengelt, "I sometimes think you should have

been a stage-player yourself; all is fancy and frolic with you."

"I have often thought so myself," said Bucklaw. "I believe it

would be safer than acting with you in the Fatal Conspiracy.

But away, play your own part, and look after the horses like a

groom as you are. A play-actor--a stage-player!" he repeated to

himself; "that would have deserved a stab, but that Craigengelt's

a coward. And yet I should like the profession well enough.

Stay, let me see; ay, I would come out in Alexander:

Thus from the grave I rise to save my love,

Draw all your swords, and quick as lightning move.

When I rush on, sure none will dare to stay:

'Tis love commands, and glory leads the way."

As with a voice of thunder, and his hand upon his sword, Bucklaw

repeated the ranting couplets of poor Lee, Craigengelt re-entered

with a face of alarm.

"We are undone, Bucklaw! The Master's led horse has cast

himself over his halter in the stable, and is dead lame. His

hackney will be set up with the day's work, and now he has no

fresh horse; he will never get off."

"Egad, there will be no moving with the speed of lightning this

bout," said Bucklaw, drily. "But stay, you can give him yours."

"What! and be taken myself? I thank you for the proposal," said

Craigengelt.

"Why," replied Bucklaw, "if the Lord Keeper should have met with

a mischance, which for my part I cannot suppose, for the Master

is not the lad to shoot an old and unarmed man--but IF there

should have been a fray at the Castle, you are neither art not

part in it, you know, so have nothing to fear."

"True, true," answered the other, with embarrassment; "but

consider my commission from Saint Germains."

"Which many men think is a commission of your own making, noble

Captain. Well, if you will not give him your horse, why, d----n

it, he must have mine."

"Yours?" said Craigengelt.

"Ay, mine," repeated Bucklaw; "it shall never be said that I

agreed to back a gentleman in a little affair of honour, and

neither helped him on with it nor off from it."

"You will give him your horse? and have you considered the

loss?"

"Loss! why, Grey Gilbert cost me twenty Jacobuses, that's true;

but then his hackney is worth something, and his Black Moor is

worth twice as much were he sound, and I know how to handle him.

Take a fat sucking mastiff whelp, flay and bowel him, stuff the

body full of black and grey snails, roast a reasonable time, and

baste with oil of spikenard, saffron, cinnamon, and honey, anoint

with the dripping, working it in----"

"Yes, Bucklaw; but in the mean while, before the sprain is

cured, nay, before the whelp is roasted, you will be caught and

hung. Depend on it, the chase will be hard after Ravenswood. I

wish we had made our place of rendezvous nearer to the coast."

"On my faith, then," said Bucklaw, "I had best go off just now,

and leave my horse for him. Stay--stay, he comes: I hear a

horse's feet."

"Are you sure there is only one?" said Craigengelt. "I fear

there is a chase; I think I hear three or four galloping

together. I am sure I hear more horses than one."

"Pooh, pooh, it is the wench of the house clattering to the well

in her pattens. By my faith, Captain, you should give up both

your captainship and your secret service, for you are as easily

scared as a wild goose. But here comes the Master alone, and

looking as gloomy as a night in November."

The Master of Ravenswood entered the room accordingly, his cloak

muffled around him, his arms folded, his looks stern, and at the

same time dejected. He flung his cloak from him as he entered,

threw himself upon a chair, and appeared sunk in a profound

reverie.

"What has happened? What have you done?" was hastily demanded

by Craigengelt and Bucklaw in the same moment.

"Nothing!" was the short and sullen answer.

"Nothing! and left us, determined to call the old villain to

account for all the injuries that you, we, and the country have

received at his hand? Have you seen him?"

"I have," replied the Master of Ravenswood.

"Seen him--and come away without settling scores which have been

so long due?" said Bucklaw; "I would not have expected that at

the hand of the Master of Ravenswood."

"No matter what you expected," replied Ravenswood; "it is not to

you, sir, that I shall be disposed to render any reason for my

conduct."

"Patience, Bucklaw," said Craigengelt, interrupting his

companion, who seemed about to make an angry reply. "The Master

has been interrupted in his purpose by some accident; but he

must excuse the anxious curiosity of friends who are devoted to

his cause like you and me."

"Friends, Captain Craigengelt!" retorted Ravenswood,

haughtily; "I am ignorant what familiarity passed betwixt us to

entitle you to use that expression. I think our friendship

amounts to this, that we agreed to leave Scotland together so

soon as I should have visited the alienated mansion of my

fathers, and had an interview with its present possessor--I will

not call him proprietor."

"Very true, Master," answered Bucklaw; "and as we thought you

had in mind to do something to put your neck in jeopardy,

Craigie and I very courteously agreed to tarry for you, although

ours might run some risk in consequence. As to Craigie, indeed,

it does not very much signify: he had gallows written on his brow

in the hour of his birth; but I should not like to discredit my

parentage by coming to such an end in another man's cause."

"Gentlemen," said the Master of Ravenswood, "I am sorry if I

have occasioned you any inconvenience, but I must claim the right

of judging what is best for my own affairs, without rendering

explanations to any one. I have altered my mind, and do not

design to leave the country this season."

"Not to leave the country, Master!" exclaimed Craigengelt. "Not

to go over, after all the trouble and expense I have

incurred--after all the risk of discovery, and the expense of

freight and demurrage!"

"Sir," replied the Master of Ravenswood, "when I designed to

leave this country in this haste, I made use of your obliging

offer to procure me means of conveyance; but I do not recollect

that I pledged myself to go off, if I found occasion to alter my

mind. For your trouble on my account, I am sorry, and I thank

you; your expense," he added, putting his hand into his pocket,

"admits a more solid compensation: freight and demurrage are

matters with which I am unacquainted, Captain Craigengelt, but

take my purse and pay yourself according to your own conscience."

And accordingly he tendered a purse with some gold in it to the

soi-disant captain.

But here Bucklaw interposed in his turn. "Your fingers,

Craigie, seem to itch for that same piece of green network," said

he; "but I make my vow to God, that if they offer to close upon

it, I will chop them off with my whinger. Since the Master has

changed his mind, I suppose we need stay here no longer; but in

the first place I beg leave to tell him----"

"Tell him anything you will," said Craigengelt, "if you will

first allow me to state the inconveniences to which he will

expose himself by quitting our society, to remind him of the

obstacles to his remaining here, and of the difficulties

attending his proper introduction at Versailles and Saint

Germains without the countenance of those who have established

useful connexions."

"Besides forfeiting the friendship," said Bucklaw, "of at least

one man of spirit and honour."

"Gentlemen," said Ravenswood, "permit me once more to assure you

that you have been pleased to attach to our temporary

connexion more importance than I ever meant that it should have.

When I repair to foreign courts, I shall not need the

introduction of an intriguing adventurer, nor is it necessary for

me to set value on the friendship of a hot-headed bully." With

these words, and without waiting for an answer, he left the

apartment, remounted his horse, and was heard to ride off.

"Mortbleu!" said Captain Craigengelt, "my recruit is lost!"

"Ay, Captain," said Bucklaw, "the salmon is off with hook and

all. But I will after him, for I have had more of his insolence

than I can well digest."

Craigengelt offered to accompany him; but Bucklaw replied: "No,

no, Captain, keep you the check of the chimney-nook till I come

back; it's good sleeping in a haill skin.

Little kens the auld wife that sits by the fire,

How cauld the wind blaws in hurle-burle swire."

And singing as he went, he left the apartment.

CHAPTER VII.

Now, Billy Berwick, keep good heart,

And of they talking let me be;

But if thou art a man, as I am sure thou art,

Come over the dike and fight with me.

Old Ballad.

THE Master of Ravenswood had mounted the ambling hackney which

he before rode, on finding the accident which had happened to his

led horse, and, for the animal's ease, was proceeding at a slow

pace from the Tod's Den towards his old tower of Wolf's Crag,

when he heard the galloping of a horse behind him, and, looking

back, perceived that he was pursued by young Bucklaw, who had

been delayed a few minutes in the pursuit by the irresistable

temptation of giving the hostler at the Tod's Den some recipe for

treating the lame horse. This brief delay he had made up by hard

galloping, and now overtook ths Master where the road traversed a

waste moor. "Halt, sir," cried Bucklaw; "I am no political

agent--no Captain Craigengelt, whose life is too important to be

hazarded in defence of his honour. I am Frank Hayston of

Bucklaw, and no man injures me by word, deed, sign, or look, but

he must render me an account of it."

"This is all very well, Mr. Hayston of Bucklaw," replied the

Master of Ravenswood, in a tone the most calm and indifferent;

"but I have no quarrel with you, and desire to have none. Our

roads homeward, as well as our roads through life, lie in

different directions; there is no occasion for us crossing each

other."

"Is there not?" said Bucklaw, impetuously. "By Heaven! but I

say that there is, though: you called us intriguing

adventurers."

"Be correct in your recollection, Mr. Hayston; it was to your

companion only I applied that epithet, and you know him to be no

better."

"And what then? He was my companion for the time, and no man

shall insult my companion, right or wrong, while he is in my

company."

"Then, Mr. Hayston," replied Ravenswood, with the same

composure, "you should choose your society better, or you are

like to have much work in your capacity of their champion. Go

home, sir; sleep, and have more reason in your wrath to-morrow."

"Not so, Master, you have mistaken your man; high airs and wise

saws shall not carry it off thus. Besides, you termed me bully,

and you shall retract the word before we part."

"Faith, scarcely," said Ravenswood, "unless you show me better

reason for thinking myself mistaken than you are now producing."

"Then, Master," said Bucklaw, "though I should be sorry to offer

it to a man of your quality, if you will not justify your

incivility, or retract it, or name a place of meeting, you must

here undergo the hard word and the hard blow."

"Neither will be necessary," said Ravenswood; "I am

satisfied with what I have done to avoid an affair with you. If

you are serious, this place will serve as well as another."

"Dismount then, and draw," said Bucklaw, setting him an example.

"I always thought and said you were a pretty man; I should be

sorry to report you otherwise."

"You shall have no reason, sir," said Ravenswood, alighting, and

putting himself into a posture of defence.

Their swords crossed, and the combat commenced with great spirit

on the part of Bucklaw, who was well accustomed to affairs of the

kind, and distinguished by address and dexterity at his weapon.

In the present case, however, he did not use his skill to

advantage; for, having lost temper at the cool and

contemptuous manner in which the Master of Ravenswood had long

refused, and at length granted, him satisfaction, and urged by

his impatience, he adopted the part of an assailant with

inconsiderate eagerness. The Master, with equal skill, and much

greater composure, remained chiefly on the defensive, and even

declined to avail himself of one or two advantages afforded him

by the eagerness of his adversary. At length, in a desperate

lunge, which he followed with an attempt to close, Bucklaw's foot

slipped, and he fell on the short grassy turf on which they were

fighting. "Take your life, sir," said the Master of Ravenswood,

"and mend it if you can."

"It would be but a cobbled piece of work, I fear," said Bucklaw,

rising slowly and gathering up his sword, much less disconcerted

with the issue of the combat than could have been expected from

the impetuosity of his temper. "I thank you for my life,

Master," he pursued. "There is my hand; I bear no ill-will to

you, either for my bad luck or your better swordsmanship."

The Master looked steadily at him for an instant, then extended

his hand to him. "Bucklaw," he said, "you are a

generous fellow, and I have done you wrong. I heartily ask your

pardon for the expression which offended you; it was hastily and

incautiously uttered, and I am convinced it is totally

misapplied."

"Are you indeed, Master?" said Bucklaw, his face resuming at

once its natural expression of light-hearted carelessness and

audacity; "that is more than I expected of you; for, Master, men

say you are not ready to retract your opinion and your language."

"Not when I have well considered them," said the Master.

"Then you are a little wiser than I am, for I always give my

friend satisfaction first, and explanation afterwards. If one of

us falls, all accounts are settled; if not, men are never so

ready for peace as after war. But what does that bawling brat of

a boy want?" said Bucklaw. "I wish to Heaven he had come a few

minutes sooner! and yet it must have been ended some time, and

perhaps this way is as well as any other."

As he spoke, the boy he mentioned came up, cudgelling an ass, on

which he was mounted, to the top of its speed, and sending, like

one of Ossian's heroes, his voice before him: "Gentlemen--

gentlemen, save yourselves! for the gudewife bade us tell ye

there were folk in her house had taen Captain

Craigengelt, and were seeking for Bucklaw, and that ye behoved to

ride for it."

"By my faith, and that's very true, my man" said Bucklaw; "and

there's a silver sixpence for your news, and I would give any man

twice as much would tell me which way I should ride."

"That will I, Bucklaw," said Ravenswood; "ride home to Wolf's

Crag with me. There are places in the old tower where you might

lie hid, were a thousand men to seek you."

"But that will bring you into trouble yourself, Master; and

unless you be in the Jacobite scrape already, it is quite

needless for me to drag you in."

"Not a whit; I have nothing to fear."

"Then I will ride with you blythely, for, to say the truth, I do

not know the rendezvous that Craigie was to guide us to this

night; and I am sure that, if he is taken, he will tell all the

truth of me, and twenty lies of you, in order to save himself

from the withie."

They mounted and rode off in company accordingly, striking off

the ordinary road, and holding their way by wild moorish

unfrequented paths, with which the gentlemen were well

acquainted from the exercise of the chase, but through which

others would have had much difficulty in tracing their course.

They rode for some time in silence, making such haste as the

condition of Ravenswood's horse permitted, until night having

gradually closed around them, they discontinued their speed, both

from the difficulty of discovering their path, and from the hope

that they were beyond the reach of pursuit or observation.

"And now that we have drawn bridle a bit," said Bucklaw, "I

would fain ask you a question, Master."

"Ask and welcome," said Ravenswood, "but forgive not

answering it, unless I think proper."

"Well, it is simply this," answered his late antagonist "What,

in the name of old Sathan, could make you, who stand so highly on

your reputation, think for a moment of drawing up with such a

rogue as Craigengelt, and such a scapegrace as folk call

Bucklaw?"

"Simply, because I was desperate, and sought desperate

associates."

"And what made you break off from us at the nearest?" again

demanded Bucklaw.

"Because I had changed my mind," said the Master, "and renounced

my enterprise, at least for the present. And now that I have

answered your questions fairly and frankly, tell me what makes

you associate with Craigengelt, so much beneath you both in

birth and in spirit?"

"In plain terms," answered Bucklaw, "because I am a fool, who

have gambled away my land in thse times. My grand-aunt, Lady

Girnington, has taen a new tack of life, I think, and I could

only hope to get something by a change of government. Craigie

was a sort of gambling acquaintance; he saw my condition, and, as

the devil is always at one's elbow, told me fifty lies about his

credentials from Versailles, and his interest at Saint Germains,

promised me a captain's commission at Paris, and I have been ass

enough to put my thumb under his belt. I dare say, by this time,

he has told a dozen pretty stories of me to the government. And

this is what I have got by wine, women, and dice, cocks, dogs,

and horses."

"Yes, Bucklaw," said the Master, "you have indeed nourished in

your bosom the snakes that are now stinging you."

"That's home as well as true, Master," replied his

companion; "but, by your leave, you have nursed in your bosom one

great goodly snake that has swallowed all the rest, and is as

sure to devour you as my half-dozen are to make a meal on all

that's left of Bucklaw, which is but what lies between bonnet and

boot-heel."

"I must not," answered the Master of Ravenswood, "challenge the

freedom of speech in which I have set example. What, to speak

without a metaphor, do you call this monstrous passion which you

charge me with fostering?"

"Revenge, my good sir--revenge; which, if it be as gentle

manlike a sin as wine and wassail, with their et coeteras, is

equally unchristian, and not so bloodless. It is better breaking

a park-pale to watch a doe or damsel than to shoot an old man."

"I deny the purpose," said the Master of Ravenswood. "On my

soul, I had no such intention; I meant but to confront the

oppressor ere I left my native land, and upbraid him with his

tyranny and its consequences. I would have stated my wrongs so

that they would have shaken his soul within him."

"Yes," answered Bucklaw, "and he would have collared you, and

cried 'help,' and then you would have shaken the soul OUT of him,

I suppose. Your very look and manner would have frightened the

old man to death."

"Consider the provocation," answered Ravenswood--"consider the

ruin and death procured and caused by his hard-hearted cruelty--

an ancient house destroyed, an affectionate father murdered!

Why, in our old Scottish days, he that sat quiet under such

wrongs would have been held neither fit to back a friend nor face

a foe."

"Well, Master, I am glad to see that the devil deals as

cunningly with other folk as he deals with me; for whenever I am

about to commit any folly, he persuades me it is the most

necessary, gallant, gentlemanlike thing on earth, and I am up to

saddlegirths in the bog before I see that the ground is soft.

And you, Master, might have turned out a murd----a homicide, just

out of pure respect for your father's memory."

"There is more sense in your language, Bucklaw," replied the

Master, "than might have been expected from your conduct. It is

too true, our vices steal upon us in forms outwardly as fair as

those of the demons whom the superstitious represent as

intriguing with the human race, and are not discovered in their

native hideousness until we have clasped them in our arms."

"But we may throw them from us, though," said Bucklaw, "and that

is what I shall think of doing one of these days--that is, when

old Lady Girnington dies."

"Did you ever hear the expression of the English divine?" said

Ravenswood--"'Hell is paved with good intentions,'--as much as to

say, they are more often formed than executed."

"Well," replied Bucklaw, "but I will begin this blessed night,

and have determined not to drink above one quart of wine, unless

your claret be of extraordinary quality."

"You will find little to tempt you at Wolf's Crag," said the

Master. "I know not that I can promise you more than the shelter

of my roof; all, and more than all, our stock of wine and

provisions was exhausted at the late occasion."

"Long may it be ere provision is needed for the like

purpose," answered Bucklaw; "but you should not drink up the last

flask at a dirge; there is ill luck in that."

"There is ill luck, I think, in whatever belongs to me," said

Ravenswood. "But yonder is Wolf's Crag, and whatever it still

contains is at your service."

The roar of the sea had long announced their approach to the

cliffs, on the summit of which, like the nest of some sea-eagle,

the founder of the fortalice had perched his eyrie. The pale

moon, which had hitherto been contending with flitting clouds,

now shone out, and gave them a view of the solitary and naked

tower, situated on a projecting cliff that beetled on the German

Ocean. On three sides the rock was precipitous; on the fourth,

which was that towards the land, it had been originally fenced by

an artificial ditch and drawbridge, but the latter was broken

down and ruinous, and the former had been in part filled up, so

as to allow pasage for a horseman into the narrow courtyard,

encircled on two sides with low offices and stables, partly

ruinous, and closed on the landward front by a low embattled

wall, while the remaining side of the quadrangle was occupied by

the tower itself, which, tall and narrow, and built of a greyish

stone, stood glimmering in the moonlight, like the sheeted

spectre of some huge giant. A wilder or more disconsolate

dwelling it was perhaps difficult to conceive. The sombrous and

heavy sound of the billows, successively dashing against the

rocky beach at a profound distance beneath, was to the ear what

the landscape was to the eye--a symbol of unvaried and monotonous

melancholy, not unmingled with horror.

Although the night was not far advanced, there was no sign of

living inhabitant about this forlorn abode, excepting that one,

and only one, of the narrow and stanchelled windows which

appeared at irregular heights and distances in the walls of the

building showed a small glimmer of light.

"There," said Ravenswood, "sits the only male domestic that

remains to the house of Ravenswood; and it is well that he does

remain there, since otherwise we had little hope to find either

light or fire. But follow me cautiously; the road is narrow, and

admits only one horse in front."

In effect, the path led along a kind of isthmus, at the

peninsular extremity of which the tower was situated, with that

exclusive attention to strength and security, in preference to

every circumstances of convenience, which dictated to the

Scottish barons the choice of their situations, as well as their

style of building.

By adopting the cautious mode of approach recommended by the

proprietor of this wild hold, they entered the courtyard in

safety. But it was long ere the efforts of Ravenswood, though

loudly exerted by knocking at the low-browed entrance, and

repeated shouts to Caleb to open the gate and admit them,

received any answer.

"The old man must be departed," he began to say, "or fallen into

some fit; for the noise I have made would have waked the seven

sleepers."

At length a timid and hesitating voice replied: "Master--Master

of Ravenswood, is it you?"

"Yes, it is I, Caleb; open the door quickly."

"But it is you in very blood and body? For I would sooner face

fifty deevils as my master's ghaist, or even his wraith;

wherefore, aroint ye, if ye were ten times my master, unless ye

come in bodily shape, lith and limb."

"It is I, you old fool," answered Ravenswood, "in bodily shape

and alive, save that I am half dead with cold."

The light at the upper window disappeared, and glancing from

loophole to loophole in slow succession, gave intimation that the

bearer was in the act of descending, with great deliberation, a

winding staircase occupying one of the turrets which graced the

angles of the old tower. The tardiness of his descent extracted

some exclamations of impatience from Ravenswood, and several

oaths from his less patient and more mecurial companion. Caleb

again paused ere he unbolted the door, and once more asked if

they were men of mould that demanded entrance at this time of

night.

"Were I near you, you old fool," said Bucklaw, "I would give you

sufficient proofs of MY bodily condition."

"Open the gate, Caleb," said his master, in a more soothing

tone, partly from his regard to the ancient and faithful

seneschal, partly perhaps because he thought that angry words

would be thrown away, so long as Caleb had a stout iron-clenched

oaken door betwixt his person and the speakers.

At length Caleb, with a trembling hand, undid the bars, opened

the heavy door, and stood before them, exhibiting his thin grey

hairs, bald forehead, and sharp high features, illuminated by a

quivering lamp which he held in one hand, while he shaded and

protected its flame with the other. The timorous, courteous

glance which he threw around him, the effect of the partial light

upon his white hair and illumined features, might have made a

good painting; but our travellers were too impatient for security

against the rising storm to permit them to indulge themselves in

studying the picturesque. "Is it you, my dear master?--is it you

yourself, indeed?" exclaimed the old domestic. "I am wae ye suld

hae stude waiting at your ain gate; but wha wad hae thought o'

seeing ye sae sune, and a strange gentleman with a---- (Here he

exclaimed apart, as it were, and to some inmate of the tower, in

a voice not meant to be heard by those in the court) Mysie--

Mysie, woman! stir for dear life, and get the fire mended; take

the auld three-legged stool, or ony thing that's readiest that

will make a lowe. I doubt we are but puirly provided, no

expecting ye this some months, when doubtless ye was hae been

received conform till your rank, as gude right is; but natheless-

---"

"Natheless, Caleb," said the Master, "we must have our horses

put up, and ourselves too, the best way we can. I hope you are

not sorry to see me sooner than you expected?"

"Sorry, my lord! I am sure ye sall aye be my lord wi' honest

folk, as your noble ancestors hae been these three hundred years,

and never asked a Whig's leave. Sorry to see the Lord of

Ravenswood at ane o' his ain castles! (Then again apart to his

unseen associate behind the screen) Mysie, kill the brood-hen

without thinking twice on it; let them care that come ahint. No

to say it's our best dwelling," he added, turning to Bucklaw;

"but just a strength for the Lord of Ravenswood to flee until--

that is, no to FLEE, but to retreat until in troublous times,

like the present, when it was ill convenient for him to live

farther in the country in ony of his better and mair principal

manors; but, for its antiquity, maist folk think that the outside

of Wolf's Crag is worthy of a large perusal."

"And you are determined we shall have time to make it," said

Ravenswood, somewhat amused with the shifts the old man used to

detain them without doors until his confederate Mysie had made

her preparations within.

"Oh, never mind the outside of the house, my good friend," said

Bucklaw; "let's see the inside, and let our horses see the

stable, that's all."

"Oh yes, sir--ay, sir--unquestionably, sir--my lord and ony of

his honourable companions----"

"But our horses, my friend--our horses; they will be dead-

founded by standing here in the cold after riding hard, and mine

is too good to be spoiled; therefore, once more, our horses!"

exclaimed Bucklaw.

"True--ay--your horses--yes--I will call the grooms"; and

sturdily did Caleb roar till the old tower rang again: "John--

William--Saunders! The lads are gane out, or sleeping," he

observed, after pausing for an answer, which he knew that he had

no human chance of receiving. "A' gaes wrang when the Master's

out-bye; but I'll take care o' your cattle mysell."

"I think you had better," said Ravenswood, "otherwise I see

little chance of their being attended to at all."

"Whisht, my lord--whisht, for God's sake," said Caleb, in an

imploring tone, and apart to his master; "if ye dinna regard your

ain credit, think on mine; we'll hae hard eneugh wark to make a

decent night o't, wi' a' the lees I can tell."

"Well, well, never mind," said his master; "go to the stable.

There is hay and corn, I trust?"

"Ou ay, plenty of hay and corn"; this was uttered boldly and

aloud, and, in a lower tone, "there was some half fous o' aits,

and soem taits o' meadow-hay, left after the burial."

"Very well," said Ravenswood, taking the lamp from his

domestic's unwilling hand, "I will show the stranger upstairs

myself."

"I canna think o' that, my lord; if ye wad but have five

minutes, or ten minutes, or, at maist, a quarter of an hour's

patience, and look at the fine moonlight prospect of the Bass and

North Berwick Law till I sort the horses, I would marshal ye up,

as reason is ye suld be marshalled, your lordship and your

honourable visitor. And I hae lockit up the siller candlesticks,

and the lamp is not fit----"

"It will do very well in the mean time," said Ravenswood, "and

you will have no difficulty for want of light in the stable,

for, if I recollect, half the roof is off."

"Very true, my lord," replied the trusty adherent, and with

ready wit instantly added, "and the lazy sclater loons have never

come to put it on a' this while, your lordship."

"If I were disposed to jest at the calamities of my house," said

Ravenswood, as he led the way upstairs, "poor old Caleb would

furnish me with ample means. His passion consists in

representing things about our miserable menage, not as they are,

but as, in his opinion, they ought to be; and, to say the truth,

I have been often diverted with the poor wretch's expedients to

supply what he though was essetial for the credit of the family,

and his still more generous apologies for the want of those

articles for which his ingenuity could discover no substitute.

But though the tower is none of the largest, I shall have some

trouble without him to find the apartment in which there is a

fire."

As he spoke thus, he opened the door of the hall. "Here, at

least," he said, "there is neither hearth nor harbour."

It was indeed a scene of desolation. A large vaulted room, the

beams fo which, combined like those of Westminster Hall, were

rudely carved at the extremities, remained nearly in the

situation in which it had been left after the entertainment at at

Allan Lord Ravenswood's funeral. Overturned pitchers, and black-

jacks, and pewter stoups, and flagons still cumbered the large

oaken table; glasses, those more perishable implements of

conviviality, many of which had been voluntarily sacrificed by

the guests in their enthusiastic pledges to favourite toasts,

strewed the stone floor with their fragments. As for the

articles of plate, lent for the purpose by friends and kinsfolk,

those had been carefully withdrawn so soon as the ostentatious

display of festivity, equally unnecessary and strangely timed,

had been made and ended. Nothing, in short, remained that

indicated wealth; all the signs were those of recent

wastefulness and present desolation. The black cloth hangings,

which, on the late mournful occasion, replaced the tattered moth-

eaten tapestries, had been partly pulled down, and, dangling

from the wall in irregular festoons, disclosed the rough

stonework of the building, unsmoothed either by plaster or the

chisel. The seats thrown down, or left in disorder, intimated

the careless confusion which had concluded the mournful revel.

"This room," said Ravenswood, holding up the lamp--"this room,

Mr. Hayston, was riotous when it should have been sad; it is a

just retribution that it should now be sad when it ought to be

cheerful."

They left this disconsolate apartment, and went upstairs, where,

after opening one or two doors in vain, Ravenswood led the way

into a little matted ante-room, in which, to their great joy,

they found a tolerably good fire, which Mysie, by some such

expedient as Caleb had suggested, had suppied with a reasonable

quantity of fuel. Glad at the heart to see more of comfort than

the castle had yet seemed to offer, Bucklaw rubbed his hands

heartily over the fire, and now listened with more complacency to

the apologies which the Master of Ravenswood offered. "Comfort,"

he said, "I cannot provide for you, for I have it not for myself;

it is long since these walls have known it, if, indeed, they were

ever acquainted with it. Shelter and safety, I think, I can

promise you."

"Excellent matters, Master," replied Bucklaw, "and, with a

mouthful of food and wine, positively all I can require tonight."

"I fear," said the Master, "your supper will be a poor one; I

hear the matter in discussion betwixt Caleb and Mysie. Poor

Balderstone is something deaf, amongst his other

accomplishments, so that much of what he means should be spoken

aside is overheard by the whole audience, and especially by those

from whom he is most anxious to conceal his private manoeuvres.

Hark!"

They listened, and heard the old domestic's voice in

conversation with Mysie to the following effect:

"Just mak the best o't--make the besto't, woman; it's easy to

put a fair face on ony thing."

"But the auld brood-hen? She'll be as teugh as bow-strings and

bend-leather!"

"Say ye made a mistake--say ye made a mistake, Mysie," replied

the faithful seneschal, in a soothing and undertoned voice; "tak

it a' on yoursell; never let the credit o' the house suffer."

"But the brood-hen," remonstrated Mysie--"ou, she's sitting some

gate aneath the dais in the hall, and I am feared to gae in in

the dark for the dogle; and if I didna see the bogle, I could as

ill see the hen, for it's pit-mirk, and there's no another light

in the house, save that very blessed lamp whilk the Master has in

his ain hand. And if I had the hen, she's to pu', and to draw,

and to dress; how can I do that, and them sitting by the only

fire we have?"

"Weel, weel, Mysie," said the butler, "bide ye there a wee, and

I'll try to get the lamp wiled away frae them."

Accordingly, Caleb Balderstone entered the apartment, little

aware that so much of his by-play had been audible there. "Well,

Caleb, my old friend, is there any chance of supper?" said the

Master of Ravenswood.

"CHANCE of supper, your lordship?" said Caleb, with an

emphasis of strong scorn at the implied doubt. "How should there

be ony question of that, and us in your lordship's house?

Chance of supper, indeed! But ye'll no be for butcher-meat?

There's walth o' fat poultry, ready either for spit or brander.

The fat capon, Mysie!" he added, calling out as boldly as if such

a thing had been in existence.

"Quite unnecessary," said Bucklaw, who deemed himself bound in

courtesy to relieve some part of the anxious butler's

perplexity, "if you have anything cold, or a morsel of bread."

"The best of bannocks!" exclaimed Caleb, much relieve; "and, for

cauld meat, a' that we hae is cauld eneugh,--how-beit, maist of

the cauld meat and pastry was gien to the poor folk after the

ceremony of interment, as gude reason was; nevertheless----"

"Come, Caleb," said the Master of Ravenswood, "I must cut this

matter short. This is the young Laird of Bucklaw; he is under

hiding, and therefore, you know----"

"He'll be nae nicer than your lordship's honour, I'se warrant,"

answered Caleb, cheerfully, with a nod of intelligence; "I am

sorry that the gentleman is under distress, but I am blythe that

he canna say muckle agane our housekeeping, for I believe his ain

pinches may matach ours; no that we are pinched, thank God," he

added, retracting the admission which he had made in his first

burst of joy, "but nae doubt we are waur aff than we hae been, or

suld be. And for eating--what signifies telling a lee? there's

just the hinder end of the mutton-ham that has been but three

times on the table, and the nearer the bane the sweeter, as your

honours weel ken; and--there's the heel of the ewe-milk kebbuck,

wi' a bit of nice butter, and--and--that's a' that's to trust

to." And with great alacrity he produced his slender stock of

provisions, and placed them with much formality upon a small

round table betwixt the two gentlemen, who were not deterred

either by the homely quality or limited quantity of the repast

from doing it full justice. Caleb in the mean while waited on

them with grave officiousness, as if anxious to make up, by his

own respectful assiduity, for the want of all other attendance.

But, alas! how little on such occasions can form, however

anxiously and scrupulously observed, supply the lack of

substantial fare! Bucklaw, who had eagerly eaten a considerable

portion of the thrice-sacked mutton-ham, now began to demand ale.

"I wadna just presume to recommend our ale," said Caleb; "the

maut was ill made, and there was awfu' thunner last week; but

siccan water as the Tower well has ye'll seldome see,

Bucklaw, and that I'se engage for."

"But if your ale is bad, you can let us have some wine," said

Bucklaw, making a grimace at the mention of the pure element

which Caleb so earnestly recommended.

"Wine!" answered Caleb, undauntedly, "eneugh of wine! It was

but twa days syne--wae's me for the cause--there was as much

wine drunk in this house as would have floated a pinnace.

There never was lack of wine at Wolf's Crag."

"Do fetch us some then," said the master, "instead of talking

about it." And Caleb boldly departed.

Every expended butt in the old cellar did he set a-tilt, and

shake with the desperate expectation of collecting enough of the

grounds of claret to fill the large pewter measure which he

carred in his hand. Alas! each had been too devoutly drained;

and, with all the squeezing and manoeuvring which his craft as a

butler suggested, he could only collect about half a quart that

seemed presentable. Still, however, Caleb was too good a general

to renounce the field without a strategem to cover his retreat.

He undauntedly threw down an empty flagon, as if he had stumbled

at the entrance of the apartment, called upon Mysie to wipe up

the wine that had never been spilt, and placing the other vessel

on the table, hoped there was still enough left for their

honours. There was indeed; for even Bucklaw, a sworn friend to

the grape, found no encouragement to renew his first attack upon

the vintage of Wolf's Crag, but contented himself, however

reluctantly, with a draught of fair water. Arrangements were now

made for his repose; and as the secret chamber was assigned for

this purpose, it furnished Caleb with a first-rate and most

plausible apology for all deficiencies of furniture, bedding,

etc.

"For wha," said he, "would have thought of the secret chaumer

being needed? It has not been used since the time of the Gowrie

Conspiracy, and I durst never let a woman ken of the entrance to

it, or your honour will allow that it wad not hae been a secret

chaumer lang."

CHAPTER VIII.

The hearth in hall was black and dead,

No board was dight in bower within,

Nor merry bowl nor welcome bed;

"Here's sorry cheer," quoth the Heir of Linne.

Old Ballad

THE feelings of the prodigal Heir of Linne, as expressed in that

excellent old song, when, after dissipating his whole fortune, he

found himself the deserted inhabitant of "the lonely lodge,"

might perhaps have some resemblance to those of the Master of

Ravenswood in his deserted mansion of Wolf's Crag. The Master,

however, had this advantage over the spendthrift in the legend,

that, if he was in similar distress, he could not impute it to

his own imprudence. His misery had been bequeathed to him by his

father, and, joined to his high blood, and to a title which the

courteous might give or the churlish withhold at their pleasure,

it was the whole inheritance he had derived from his ancestry.

Perhaps this melancholy yet consolatory reflection crossed the

mind of the unfortunate young nobleman with a breathing of

comfort. Favourable to calm reflection, as well as to the

Muses, the morning, while it dispelled the shades of night, had a

composing and sedative effect upon the stormy passions by which

the Master of Ravenswood had been agitated on the preceding day.

He now felt himself able to analyse the different feelings by

which he was agitated, and much resolved to combat and to subdue

them. The morning, which had arisen calm and bright, gave a

pleasant effect even to the waste moorland view which was seen

from the castle on looking to the landward; and the glorious

ocean, crisped with a thousand rippling waves of silver,

extended on the other side, in awful yet complacent majesty, to

the verge of the horizon. With such scenes of calm sublimity the

human heart sympathises even in its most disturbed moods, and

deeds of honour and virtue are inspired by their majestic

influence.

To seek out Bucklaw in the retreat which he had afforded him,

was the first occupation of the Master, after he had

performed, with a scrutiny unusually severe, the important task

of self-examination. "How now, Bucklaw?" was his morning's

salutation--"how like you the couch in which the exiled Earl of

Angus once slept in security, when he was pursued by the full

energy of a king's resentment?"

"Umph!" returned the sleeper awakened; "I have little to

complain of where so great a man was quartered before me, only

the mattress was of the hardest, the vault somewhat damp, the

rats rather more mutinous than I would have expected from the

state of Caleb's larder; and if there had been shutters to that

grated window, or a curtain to the bed, I should think it, upon

the whole, an improvement in your accommodations."

"It is, to be sure, forlorn enough," said the Master, looking

around the small vault; "but if you will rise and leave it, Caleb

will endeavour to find you a better breakfast than your supper of

last night."

"Pray, let it be no better," said Bucklaw, getting up, and

endeavouring to dress himself as well as the obscurity of the

place would permit--"let it, I say, be no better, if you mean me

to preserve in my proposed reformation. The very recollection of

Caleb's beverage has done more to suppress my longing to open the

day with a morning draught than twenty sermons would have done.

And you, master, have you been able to give battle valiantly to

your bosom-snake? You see I am in the way of smothering my

vipers one by one."

"I have commenced the battle, at least, Bucklaw, adn I have had

a fair vision of an angel who descended to my assistance,"

replied the Master.

"Woe's me!" said his guest, "no vision can I expect, unless my

aunt, Lady Grinington, should betake herself to the tomb; and

then it would be the substance of her heritage rather than the

appearance of her phantom that I should consider as the support

of my good resolutions. But this same breakfast, Master--does

the deer that is to make the pasty run yet on foot, as the

ballad has it?"

"I will inquire into that matter," said his entertainer; and,

leaving the apartment, he went in search of Caleb, whom, after

some difficulty, he found in an obscure sort of dungeon, which

had been in former times the buttery of the castle. Here the old

man was employed busily in the doubtful task of

burnishing a pewter flagon until it should take the hue and

semblance of silver-plate. "I think it may do--I think it might

pass, if they winna bring it ower muckle in the light o' the

window!" were the ejaculations which he muttered from time to

time, as if to encourage himself in his undertaking, when he was

interrupted by the voice of his master.

"Take this," said the Master of Ravenswood, "and get what is

necessary for the family." And with these words he gave to the

old butler the purse which had on the preceding evening so

narrowly escaped the fangs of Craigengelt.

The old man shook his silvery and thin locks, and looked with an

expression of the most heartfelt anguish at his master as he

weighed in his hand the slender treasure, and said in a

sorrowful voice, "And is this a' that's left?"

"All that is left at present," said the Master, affecting more

cheerfulness than perhaps he really felt, "is just the green

purse and the wee pickle gowd, as the old song says; but we shall

do better one day, Caleb."

"Before that day domes," said Caleb, "I doubt there will be an

end of an auld sang, and an auld serving-man to boot. But it

disna become me to speak that gate to your honour, adn you

looking sae pale. Tak back the purse, and keep it to be making a

show before company; for if your honour would just take a

bidding, adn be whiles taking it out afore folk and putting it up

again, there's naebody would refuse us trust, for a' that's come

and gane yet."

"But, Caleb," said the Master, "I still intend to leave this

country very soon, and desire to do so with the reputation of an

honest man, leaving no debty behind me, at last of my own

contracting."

"And gude right ye suld gang away as a true man, and so ye

shall; for auld Caleb can tak the wyte of whatever is taen on for

the house, and then it will be a' just ae man's burden; and I

will live just as weel in the tolbooth as out of it, and the

credit of the family will be a' safe and sound."

The Master endeavoured, in vain, to make Caleb comprehend that

the butler's incurring the responsibility of debts in his own

person would rather add to than remove the objections which he

had to their being contracted. He spoke to a premier too busy

in devising ways and means to puzzle himself with refuting the

arguments offered against their justice or expediency.

"There's Eppie Sma'trash will trust us for ale," said Caleb to

himself--"she has lived a' her life under the family--and maybe

wi' a soup brandy; I canna say for wine--she is but a lone

woman, and gets her claret by a runlet at a time; but I'll work a

wee drap out o' her by fair means or foul. For doos, there's the

doocot; there will be poultry amang the tenants, though Luckie

Chirnside says she has paid the kain twice ower. We'll mak

shift, an it like your honour--we'll mak shift; keep your heart

abune, for the house sall haud its credit as lang as auld Caleb

is to the fore."

The entertainment which the old man's exertions of various kinds

enabled him to present to the young gentlemen for three or four

days was certainly of no splendid description, but it may

readily be believed it was set before no critical guests; and

even the distresses, excuses, evasions, and shifts of Caleb

afforded amusement to the young men, and added a sort fo interest

to the scrambling and irregular style of their table. They had

indeed occasion to seize on every circumstance that might serve

to diversify or enliven time, which otherwise passed away so

heavily.

Bucklaw, shut out from his usual field-sports and joyous

carouses by the necessity of remaining concealed within the walls

of the castle, became a joyless and uninteresting companion.

When the Master of Ravenswood would no longer fence or play at

shovel-board; when he himself had polished to the extremity the

coat of hsi palfrey with brush, curry comb, and hair-cloth; when

he had seen him eat his provender, and gently lie down in his

stall, he could hardly help envying the animal's apparent

acquiescence in a life so monotonous. "The stupid brute," he

said, "thinks neither of the race-ground or the hunting-field, or

his green paddock at Bucklaw, but enjoys himself as comfortably

when haltered to the rack in this ruinous vault, as if he had

been foaled in it; "and, I who have the freedom of a prisoner at

large, to range through the dungeons of this wretched old tower,

can hardly, betwixt whistling and sleeping, contrive to pass away

the hour till dinner-time."

And with this disconsolate reflection, he wended his way to the

bartizan or battlements of the tower, to watch what objects

might appear on the distant moor, or to pelt, with pebbles and

pieces of lime, the sea-mews and cormorants which established

themselves incautiously within the reach of an idle young man.

Ravenswood, with a mind incalculably deeper and more

powerful than that of his companion, had his own anxious subjects

of reflection, which wrought for him the same unhappiness that

sheer enui and want of occupation inflicted on his companion.

The first sight of Lucy Ashton had been less impressive than her

image proved to be upon reflection. As the depth and violence of

that revengeful passion by which he had been actuated in seeking

an interview with the father began to abate by degrees, he looked

back on his conduct towards the daughter as harsh and unworthy

towards a female of rank and beauty. Her looks of grateful

acknowledgment, her words of affectionate courtesy, had been

repelled with something which approached to disdain; and if the

Master of Ravenswood had sustained wrongs at the hand of Sir

William Ashton, his conscience told him they had been

unhandsomely resented towards his daughter. When his thoughts

took this turn of self-reproach, the recollection of Lucy

Ashton's beautiful features, rendered yet more interesting by the

circumstances in which their meeting had taken place, made an

impression upon his mind at once soothing and painful. The

sweetness of her voice, the delicacy of her expressions, the

vivid glow of her filial affection, embittered his regret at

having repulsed her gratitude with rudeness, while, at the same

time, they placed before his imagination a picture of the most

seducing sweetness.

Even young Ravenswood's strength of moral feeling and rectitude

of purpose at once increased the danger of cherishing these

recollections, and the propensity to entertain them. Firmly

resolved as he was to subdue, if possible, the

predominating vice in his character, he admitted with

willingness--nay, he summoned up in his imagination--the ideas by

which it could be most powerfully counteracted; and, while he did

so, a sense of his own harsh conduct towards the daughter of his

enemy naturally induced him, as if by way of recompense, to

invest her with more of grace and beauty than perhaps she could

actually claim.

Had any one at this period told the Master of Ravenswood that he

had so lately vowed vengeance against the whole lineage of him

whom he considered, not unjustly, as author of his

father's ruin and death, he might at first have repelled the

charge as a foul calumny; yet, upon serious self-examination, he

would have been compelled to admit that it had, at one period,

some foundation in truth, though, according to the present tone

of his sentiments, it was difficult to believe that this had

really been the case.

There already existed in his bosom two contradictory

passions--a desire to revenge the death of his father, strangely

qualified by admiration of his enemy's daughter. Against the

former feeling he had struggled, until it seemed to him upon the

wane; against the latter he used no means of resistance, for he

did not suspect its existence. That this was actually the case

was chiefly evinced by his resuming his resolution to leave

Scotland. Yet, though such was his purpose, he remained day

after day at Wolf's Crag, without taking measures for carrying it

into execution. It is true, that he had written to one or two

kinsmen who resided in a distant quarter of Scotland, and

particularly to the Marquis of A----, intimating his purpose; and

when pressed upon the subject by Bucklaw, he was wont to allege

the necessity of waiting for their reply, especially that of the

Marquis, before taking so decisive a measure.

The Marquis was rich and powerful; and although he was suspected

to entertain sentiments unfavourable to the government

established at the Revolution, he had nevertheless address enough

to head a party in the Scottish privy council, connected with the

High Church faction in England, and powerful enough to menace

those to whom the Lord Keeper adhered with a probable subversion

of their power. The consulting with a personage of such

importance was a plausible excise, which Ravenswood used to

Bucklaw, and probably to himself, for continuing his residence at

Wolf's Crag; and it was rendered yet more so by a general report

which began to be current of a probable change of ministers and

measures in the Scottish administration. The rumours, strongly

asserted by some, and as resolutely denied by others, as their

wishes or interest dictated, found their way even to the ruinous

Tower of Wolf's Crag, chiefly through the medium of Caleb, the

butler, who, among his other excellences, was an ardent

politician, and seldom made an excursion from the old fortress to

the neighbouring village of Wolf's Hope without bringing back

what tidings were current in the vicinity.

But if Bucklaw could not offer any satisfactory objections to

the delay of the Master in leaving Scotland, he did not the less

suffer with impatience the state of inaction to which it

confined him; and it was only the ascendency which his new

companion had acquired over him that induced him to submit to a

course of life so alien to his habits and inclinations.

"You were wont to be thought a stirring active young fellow,

Master," was his frequent remonstrance; "yet here you seem

determined to live on and on like a rat in a hole, with this

trifling difference, that the wiser vermin chooses a hermitage

where he can find food at least; but as for us, Caleb's excuses

become longer as his diet turns more spare, and I fear we shall

realise the stories they tell of the slother: we have almost eat

up the last green leaf on the plant, and have nothing left for it

but to drop from the tree and break our necks."

"Do not fear it," said Ravenswood; "there is a fate watches for

us, and we too have a stake in the revolution that is now

impending, and which already has alarmed many a bosom."

"What fate--what revolution?" inquired his compation. "We have

had one revolution too much already, I think."

Ravenswood interrupted him by putting into his hands a letter.

"Oh," answered Bucklaw, "my dream's out. I thought I heard

Caleb this morning pressing some unfortunate fellow to a drink of

cold water, and assuring him it was better for his stomach in

the morning than ale or brandy."

"It was my Lord of A----'s courier," said Ravenswood, "who was

doomed to experience his ostentatious hospitality, which I

believe ended in sour beer and herrings. Read, and you will see

the news he has brought us."

"I will as fast as I can," said Bucklaw; "but I am no great

clerk, nor does his lordship seem to be the first of scribes."

The reader will peruse in, a few seconds, by the aid our friend

Ballantyne's types, what took Bucklaw a good half hour in

perusal, though assisted by the Master of Ravenswood. The tenor

was as follows:

"RIGHT HONOURABLE OUR COUSIN:

"Our hearty commendations premised, these come to assure you of

the interest which we take in your welfare, and in your purpose

towards its augmentation. If we have been less active in

showing forth our effective good-will towards you than, as a

loving kinsman and blood-relative, we would willingly have

desired, we request that you will impute it to lack fo

opportunity to show our good-liking, not to any coldness of our

will. Touching your resolution to travel in foreign parts, as at

this time we hold the same little advisable, in respect that your

ill-willers may, according to the custom of such persons, impute

motives for your journey, whereof, although we know and believe

you to be as clear as ourselves, yet natheless their words may

find credence in places where the belief in them may much

prejudice you, and which we should see with more unwillingness

and displeasure than with means of remedy

"Having thus, as becometh our kindred, given you our poor mind

on the subject of your journeying forth of Scotland, we would

willingly add reasons of weight, which might materially

advantage you and your father's house, thereby to determine you

to abide at Wolf's Crag, until this harvest season shall be

passed over. But what sayeth the proverb, verbum sapienti--a

word is more to him that hath wisdom than a sermon to a fool.

And albeit we have written this poor scroll with our own hand,

and are well assured of the fidelity of our messenger, as him

that is many ways bounden to us, yet so it is, that sliddery ways

crave wary walking, and that we may not peril upon paper matters

which we would gladly impart to you by word of mouth. Wherefore,

it was our purpose to have prayed you heartily to come to this

our barren Highland country to kill a stag, and to treat of the

matters which we are now more painfully inditing to you anent.

But commodity does not serve at present for such our meeting,

which, therefore, shall be deferred until sic time as we may in

all mirth rehearse those things whereof we now keep silence.

Meantime, we pray you to think that we are, and will still be,

your good kinsman and well-wisher, waiting but for times of

whilk we do, as it were, entertain a twilight prospect, and

appear and hope to be also your effectual well-doer. And in

which hope we heartily write ourself,

"Right Honourable,

"Your loving cousin,

"A----.

"Given from our poor house of B----," etc.

Superscribed--"For the right honourable, and our honoured

kinsman, the Master of Ravenswood--These, with haste, haste, post

haste--ride and run until these be delivered."

"What think you of this epistle, Bucklaw?" said the Master, when

his companion had hammered out all the sense, and almost all the

words of which it consisted.

"Truly, that the Marquis's meaning is as great a riddle as his

manuscript. He is really in much need of Wit's Interpreter, or

the *Complete Letter-Writer*, and were I you, I would send him a

copy by the bearer. He writes you very kindly to remain wasting

your time and your money in this vile, stupid, oppressed country,

without so much as offering you the countenance and shelter of

his house. In my opinion, he has some scheme in view in which he

supposes you can be useful, and he wishes to keep you at hand, to

make use of you when it ripens, reserving the power of turning

you adrift, should his plot fail in the concoction."

"His plot! Then you suppose it is a treasonable business,"

answered Ravenswood.

"What else can it be?" replied Bucklaw; "the Marquis has been

long suspected to have an eye to Saint Germains."

"He should not engage me rashly in such an adventure," said

Ravenswood; "when I recollect the times of the first and second

Charles, and of the last James, truly I see little reason that,

as a man or a patriot, I should draw my sword for their

descendants."

"Humph!" replied Bucklaw; "so you have set yourself down to

mourn over the crop-eared dogs whom honest Claver'se treated as

they deserved?"

"They first gave the dogs an ill name, and then hanged them,"

replied Ravenswood. "I hope to see the day when justice shall be

open to Whig and Tory, and when these nicknames shall only be

used among coffee-house politicians, as 'slut' and 'jade' are

among apple-women, as cant terms of idle spite and rancour."

"That will nto be in our days, Master: the iron has entered too

deeply into our sides and our souls."

"It will be, however, one day," replied the Master; "men will

not always start at these nicknames as at a trumpet-sound. As

social life is better protected, its comforts will become too

dear to be hazarded without some better reasons than speculative

politics."

"It is fine talking," answered Bucklaw; "but my heart is with

the old song--

To see good corn upon the rigs,

And a gallow built to hang the Whigs,

And the right restored where the right should be.

Oh, that is the thing that would wanton me."

"You may sing as loudly as you will, cantabit vacuus----,"

answered the Master; "but I believe the Marquis is too wise, at

least too wary, to join you in such a burden. I suspect he

alludes to a revolution in the Scottish privy council, rather

than in the British kingdoms."

"Oh, confusion to your state tricks!" exclaimed Bucklaw--"your

cold calculating manoeuvres, which old gentlemen in wrought

nightcaps and furred gowns execute like so many games at chess,

and displace a treasurer or lord commissioner as they would take

a rook or a pawn. Tennis for my sport, and battle for my

earnest! And you, Master, so dep and considerate as you would

seem, you have that within you makes the blood boil faster than

suits your present hmour of moralising on political truths. You

are one of those wise men who see everything with great composure

till their blood is up, and then--woe to any one who should put

them in mind of their own prudential maxims!"

"Perhaps," said Ravenswood, "you read me more rightly than I can

myself. But to think justly will certainly go some length in

helping me to act so. But hark! I hear Caleb tolling the

dinner-bell."

"Which he always does with the more sonorous grace in proportion

to the meagreness of the cheer which he has provided," said

Bucklaw; "as if that infernal clang and jangle, which will one

day bring the belfry down the cliff, could convert a starved hen

into a fat capon, and a blade-bone of mutton into a haunch of

venison."

"I wish we may be so well off as your worst conjectures surmise,

Bucklaw, from the extreme solemnity and ceremony with which Caleb

seems to place on the table that solitary covered dish."

"Uncover, Caleb! uncover, for Heaven's sake!" said Bucklaw; "let

us have what you can give us without preface. Why, it stands

well enough, man," he continued, addressing impatiently the

ancient butler, who, without reply, kept shifting the dish,

until he had at length placed it with mathematical precision in

the very midst of the table.

"What have we got here, Caleb?" inquired the Master in his turn.

"Ahem! sir, ye suld have known before; but his honour the Laird

of Bucklaw is so impatient," answered Caleb, still holding the

dish with one hand and the cover with the other, with

evident reluctance to disclose the contents.

"But what is it, a God's name--not a pair of clean spurs, I

hope, in the Border fashion of old times?"

"Ahem! ahem!" reiterated Caleb, "your honour is pleased to be

facetious; natheless, I might presume to say it was a

convenient fashion, and used, as I have heard, in an honourable

and thriving family. But touching your present dinner, I judged

that this being St. Magdalen's [Margaret's] Eve, who was a worthy

queen of Scotland in her day, your honours might judge it

decorous, if not altogether to fast, yet only to sustain nature

with some slight refection, as ane saulted herring or the like."

And, uncovering the dish, he displayed four of the savoury fishes

which he mentioned, adding, in a subdued tone, "that they were no

just common herring neither, being every ane melters, and sauted

with uncommon care by the housekeeper (poor Mysie) for his

honour's especial use."

"Out upon all apologies!" said the Master, "let us eat the

herrings, since there is nothing better to be had; but I begin to

think with you, Bucklaw, that we are consuming the last green

leaf, and that, in spite of the Marquis's political machinations,

we must positively shift camp for want of forage, without waiting

the issue of them."

CHAPTER IX.

Ay, and when huntsmen wind the merry horn,

And from its covert starts the fearful prey,

Who, warm'd with youth's blood in his swelling veins,

Would, like a lifeless clod, outstretched lie,

Shut out from all the fair creation offers?

Ethwald, Act I. Scene 1.

LIGHT meals procure light slumbers; and therefore it is not

surprising that, considering the fare which Caleb's conscience,

or his necessity, assuming, as will sometimes happen, that

disguise, had assigned to the guests of Wolf's Crag, their

slumbers should have been short.

In the morning Bucklaw rushed into his host's apartment with a

loud halloo, which might have awaked the dead.

"Up! up! in the name of Heaven! The hunters are out, the only

piece of sport I have seen this month; and you lie here, Master,

on a bed that has little to recommend it, except that it may be

something softer than the stone floor of your ancestor's vault."

"I wish," said Ravenswood, raising his head peevishly, "you had

forborne so early a jest, Mr. Hayston; it is really no pleasure

to lose the very short repose which I had just begun to enjoy,

after a night spent in thoughts upon fortune far harder than my

couch, Bucklaw."

"Pschaw, pshaw!" replied his guest; "get up--get up; the hounds

are abroad. I have saddled the horses myself, for old Caleb was

calling for grooms and lackeys, and would never have proceeded

without two hours' apology for the absence of men that were a

hundred miles off. Get up, Master; I say the hounds are out--get

up, I say; the hunt is up." And off ran Bucklaw.

"And I say," said the Master, rising slowly, "that nothing can

concern me less. Whose hounds come so near to us?"

"The Honourable Lord Brittlebrains's," answered Caleb, who had

followed the impatient Laird of Bucklaw into his master's

bedroom, "and truly I ken nae title they have to be yowling and

howling within the freedoms and immunities of your lordship's

right of free forestry."

"Nor I, Caleb," replied Ravenswood, "excepting that they have

bought both the lands and the right of forestry, and may think

themselves entitled to exercise the rights they have paid their

money for."

"It may be sae, my lord," replied Caleb; "but it's no

gentleman's deed of them to come here and exercise such-like

right, and your lordship living at your ain castle of Wolf's

Crag. Lord Brittlebrains would weel to remember what his folk

have been."

"And what we now are," said the Master, with suppressed

bitterness of feeling. "But reach me my cloak, Caleb, and I will

indulge Bucklaw with a sight of this chase. It is selfish to

sacrifice my guest's pleasure to my own."

"Sacrifice!" echoed Caleb, in a tone which seemed to imply the

total absurdity of his master making the least concession in

deference to any one--"sacrifice, indeed!--but I crave your

honour's pardon, and whilk doublet is it your pleasure to wear?"

"Any one you will, Caleb; my wardrobe, I suppose, is not very

extensive."

"Not extensive!" echoed his assistant; "when there is the grey

and silver that your lordship bestowed on Hew Hildebrand, your

outrider; and the French velvet that went with my lord your

father--be gracious to him!--my lord your father's auld wardrobe

to the puir friends of the family; and the drap-de-Berry----"

"Which I gave to you, Caleb, and which, I suppose, is the only

dress we have any chance to come at, except that I wore

yesterday; pray, hand me that, and say no more about it."

"If your honour has a fancy," replied Caleb, "and doubtless it's

a sad-coloured suit, and you are in mourning; nevertheless, I

have never tried on the drap-de-Berry--ill wad it become me--

and your honour having no change of claiths at this present--and

it's weel brushed, and as there are leddies down yonder----"

"Ladies!" said Ravenswood; "and what ladies, pray?"

"What do I ken, your lordship? Looking down at them from the

Warden's Tower, I could but see them glent by wi' their bridles

ringing and their feathers fluttering, like the court of

Elfland."

"Well, well, Caleb," replied the Master, "help me on with my

cloak, and hand me my sword-belt. What clatter is that in the

courtyard?"

"Just Bucklaw bringing out the horses," said Caleb, after a

glance through the window, "as if there werena men eneugh in the

castle, or as if I couldna serve the turn of ony o' them that are

out o' the gate."

"Alas! Caleb, we should want little if your ability were equal

to your will," replied the Master.

"And I hope your lordship disna want that muckle," said Caleb;

"for , considering a' things, I trust we support the credit of

the family as weel as things will permit of,--only Bucklaw is aye

sae frank and sae forward. And there he has brought out your

lordship's palfrey, without the saddle being decored wi' the

broidered sumpter-cloth! and I could have brushed it in a

minute."

"It is all very well," said his master, escaping from him and

descending the narrow and steep winding staircase which led to

the courtyard.

"It MAY be a' very weel," said Caleb, somewhat peevishly; "but

if your lordship wad tarry a bit, I will tell you what will

NOT be very weel."

"And what is that?" said Ravenswood, impatiently, but stopping

at the same time.

"Why, just that ye suld speer ony gentleman hame to dinner; for

I canna mak anither fast on a feast day, as when I cam ower

Bucklaw wi' Queen Margaret; and, to speak truth, if your

lordship wad but please to cast yoursell in the way of dining wi'

Lord Bittlebrains, I'se warrand I wad cast about brawly for the

morn; or if, stead o' that, ye wad but dine wi' them at the

change-house, ye might mak your shift for the awing: ye might say

ye had forgot your purse, or that the carline awed ye rent, and

that ye wad allow it in the settlement."

"Or any other lie that cam uppermost, I suppose?" said his

master. "Good-bye, Caleb; I commend your care for the honour of

the family." And, throwing himself on his horse, he followed

Bucklaw, who, at the manifest risk of his neck, had begun to

gallop down the steep path which led from the Tower as soon as he

saw Ravenswood have his foot in the stirrup.

Caleb Balderstone looked anxiously after them, and shook his

thin grey locks: "And I trust they will come to no evil; but they

have reached the plain, and folk cannot say but that the horse

are hearty and in spirits."

Animated by the natural impetuosity and fire of his temper,

young Bucklaw rushed on with the careless speed of a whirlwind.

Ravenswood was scarce more moderate in his pace, for his was a

mind unwillingly roused from contemplative inactivity, but which,

when once put into motion, acquired a spirit of forcible and

violent progression. Neither was his eagerness proportioned in

all cases to the motive of impulse, but might be compared to the

sped of a stone, which rushes with like fury down the hill

whether it was first put in motion by the arm of a giant or the

hand of a boy. He felt, therefore, in no ordinary degree, the

headlong impulse of the chase, a pastime so natural to youth of

all ranks, that it seems rather to be an inherent passion in our

animal nature, which levels all differences of rank and

education, than an acquired habit of rapid exercise.

The repeated bursts of the French horn, which was then always

used for the encouragement and direction of the hounds; the deep,

though distant baying of the pack; the half-heard cries of the

huntsmen; the half-seen forms which were discovered, now

emerging from glens which crossed the moor, now sweeping over its

surface, now picking their way where it was impeded by morasses;

and, above all, the feeling of his own rapid motion, animated the

Master of Ravenswood, at last for the moment, above the

recollections of a more painful nature by which he was

surrounded. The first thing which recalled him to those

unpleasing circumstances was feeling that his horse,

notwithstanding all the advantages which he received from his

rider's knowledge of the country, was unable to keep up with the

chase. As he drew his bridle up with the bittle feeling that his

poverty excluded him from the favourite recreation of his

forefathers, and indeed their sole employmet when not engaged in

military pursuits, he was accosted by a well-mounted stranger,

who, unobserved, had kept near him during the earlier part of his

career.

"Your horse is blown," said the man, with a complaisance seldom

used in a hunting-field. "Might I crave your honour to make use

of mine?"

"Sir," said Ravenswood, more surprised than pleased at such a

proposal. "I really do not know how I have merited such a

favour at a stranger's hands."

"Never ask a question about it, Master," said Bucklaw, who, with

great unwillingness, had hitherto reined in his own gallant

steed, not to outride his host and entertainer. "Take the goods

the gods provide you, as the great John Dryden says; or stay--

here, my friend, lend me that horse; I see you have been puzzled

to rein him up this half-hour. I'll take the devil out of him

for you. Now, Master, do you ride mine, which will carry you

like an eagle."

And throwing the rein of his own horse to the Master of

Ravenswood, he sprung upon that which the stranger resigned to

him, and continued his career at full speed.

"Was ever so thoughtless a being!" said the Master; "and you, my

friend, how could you trust him with your horse?"

"The horse," said the man, "belongs to a person who will make

your honour, or any of your honourable friends, most welcome to

him, flesh and fell."

"And the owner's name is----?" asked Ravenswood.

"Your honour must excuse me, you will learn that from himself.

If you please to take your friend's horse, and leave me your

galloway, I will meet you after the fall of the stag, for I hear

they are blowing him at bay."

"I believe, my friend, it will be the best way to recover your

good horse for you," answered Ravenswood; and mounting the nag

of his friend Bucklaw, he made all the haste in his power to the

spot where the blast of the horn announced that the stag's

career was nearly terminated.

These jovial sounds were intermixed with the huntsmen's shouts

of "Hyke a Talbot! Hyke a Teviot! now, boys, now!" and similar

cheering halloos of the olden hunting-field, to which the

impatient yelling of the hounds, now close of the object of their

pursuit, gave a lively and unremitting chorus. The straggling

riders began now to rally towards the scene of action,

collecting from different points as to a common centre.

Bucklaw kept the start which he had gotten, and arrived first at

the spot, where the stag, incapable of sustaining a more

prolonged flight, had turned upon the hounds, and, in the

hunter's phrase, was at bay. With his stately head bent down,

his sides white with foam, his eyes strained betwixt rage and

terror, the hunted animal had now in his turn become an object of

intimidation to his pursuers. The hunters came up one by one,

and watched an opportunity to assail him with some advantage,

which, in such circumstances, can only be done with caution. The

dogs stood aloof and bayed loudly, intimating at once eagerness

and fear, and each of the sportsmen seemed to expect that his

comrade would take upon him the perilous task of assaulting and

disabling the animal. The ground, which was a hollow in the

common or moor, afforded little advantage for approaching the

stag unobserved; and general was the shout of triumph when

Bucklaw, with the dexterity proper to an accomplished cavalier of

the day, sprang from his horse, and dashing suddenly and swiftly

at the stag, brought him to the ground by a cut on the hind leg

with his short hunting-sword. The pack, rushing in upon their

disabled enemy, soon ended his painful struggles, and solemnised

his fall with their clamour; the hunters, with their horns and

voices, whooping and blowing a mort, or death-note, which

resounded far over the billows of the adjacent ocean.

The huntsman then withdrew the hounds from the throttled stag,

and on his knee presented his knife to a fair female form, on a

white palfrey, whose terror, or perhaps her compassion, had till

then kept her at some distance. She wore a black silk riding-

mask, which was then a common fashion, as well for

preserving the complexion from the sun and rain, as from an idea

of decorum, which did not permit a lady to appear barefaced while

engaged in a boisterous sport, and attended by a promiscuous

company. The richness of her dress, however, as well as the

mettle and form of her palfrey, together with the silvan

compliment paid to her by the huntsman, pointed her out to

Bucklaw as the principal person in the field. It was not without

a feeling of pity, approaching even to contempt, that this

enthusiastic hunter observed her refuse the huntsman's knife,

presented to her for the purpose of making the first incision in

the stag's breast, and thereby discovering the venison. He felt

more than half inclined to pay his compliments to her; but it had

been Bucklaw's misfortune, that his habits of life had not

rendered him familiarly acquainted with the higher and better

classes of female society, so that, with all his natural

audacity, he felt sheepish and bashful when it became necessary

to address a lady of distinction.

Taking unto himself heart of grace (to use his own phrase), he

did at length summon up resolution enough to give the fair

huntress good time of the day, and trust that her sport had

answered her expectation. Her answer was very courteously and

modestly expressed, and testified some gratitude to the gallant

cavalier, whose exploit had terminated the chase so adroitly,

when the hounds and huntsmen seemed somewhat at a stand.

"Uds daggers and scabbard, madam," said Bucklaw, whom this

observation brought at once upon his own ground, "there is no

difficulty or merit in that matter at all, so that a fellow is

not too much afraid of having a pair of antlers in his guts. I

have hunted at force five hundred times, madam; and I never yet

saw the stag at bay, by land or water, but I durst have gone

roundly in on him. It is all use and wont, madam; and I'll tell

you, madam, for all that, it must be done with good heed and

caution; and you will do well, madam, to have your hunting-sword

right sharp and double-edged, that you may strike either fore-

handed or back-handed, as you see reason, for a hurt with a

buck's horn is a perilous ad somewhat venomous matter."

"I am afraid, sir," said the young lady, and her smile was

scarce concealed by her vizard, "I shall have little use for such

careful preparation."

"But the gentleman says very right for all that, my lady," said

an old huntsman, who had listened to Bucklaw's harangue with no

small edification; "and I have heard my father say, who was a

forester at the Cabrach, that a wild boar's gaunch is more easily

healed than a hurt from the deer's horn, for so says the old

woodman's rhyme--

If thou be hurt with horn of hart, it brings thee to they bier;

But tusk of boar shall leeches heal, thereof have lesser fear."

"An I might advise," continued Bucklaw, who was now in his

element, and desirous of assuming the whole management, "as the

hounds are surbated and weary, the head of the stag should be

cabaged in order to reward them; and if I may presume to speak,

the huntsman, who is to break up the stag, ought to drink to your

good ladyship's health a good lusty bicker of ale, or a tass of

brandy; for if he breaks him up without drinking, the venison

will not keep well."

This very agreeable prescription received, as will be readily

believed, all acceptation from the huntsman, who, in requital,

offered to bucklaw the compliment of his knife, which the young

lady had declined.

This polite proffer was seconded by his mistress. "I believe,

sir," she said, withdrawing herself from the circle, "that my

father, for whose amusement Lord Bittlebrain's hounds have been

out to-day, will readily surrender all care of these matters to a

gentleman of your experience."

Then, bending gracefully from her horse, she wished him good

morning, and, attended by one or two domestics, who seemed

immediately attached to her service, retired from the scene of

action, to which Bucklaw, too much delighted with an opportunity

of displaying his woodcraft to care about man or woman either,

paid little attention; but was soon stript to his doublet, with

tucked-up sleeves, and naked arms up to the elbows in blood and

grease, slashing, cutting, hacking, and hewing, with the

precision of Sir Tristrem himself, and wrangling and disputing

with all around him concerning nombles, briskets, flankards, and

raven-bones, then usual terms of the art of hunting, or of

butchery, whichever the reader chooses to call it, which are now

probably antiquated.

When Ravenswood, who followed a short pace behind his friend,

saw that the stag had fallen, his temporary ardour for the chase

gave way to that feeling of reluctance which he endured at

encountering in his fallen fortunes the gaze whether of equals

or inferiors. He reined up his horse on the top of a gentle

eminence, from which he observed the busy and gay scene beneath

him, and heard the whoops of the huntsmen, gaily mingled with the

cry of the dogs, and the neighing and trampling of the horses.

But these jovial sounds fell sadly on the ear of the ruined

nobleman. The chase, with all its train of excitations, has ever

since feudal times been accounted the almost exclusive privilege

of the aristocracy, and was anciently their chief employment in

times of peace. The sense that he was excluded by his situation

from emjoying the silvan sport, which his rank assigned to him as

a special prerogative, and the feeling that new men were now

exercising it over the downs which had been jealously reserved by

his ancestors for their own amusement, while he, the heir of the

domain, was fain to hold himself at a distance from their party,

awakened reflections calculated to depress deeply a mind like

Ravenswood's, which was naturally contemplative and melancholy.

His pride, however, soon shook off this feeling of dejection, and

it gave way to impatience upon finding that his volatile friend

Bucklaw seemed in no hurry to return with his borrowed steed,

which Ravenswood, before leaving the field, wished to see

restored to the obliging owner. As he was about to move towards

the group of assembled huntsmen, he was joined by a horseman,

who, like himself, had kept aloof during the fall of the deer.

This personage seemed stricken in years. He wore a scarlet

cloak, buttoning high upon his face, and his hat was unlooped and

slouched, probably by way of defence against the weather. His

horse, a strong and steady palfrey, was calculated for a rider

who proposed to witness the sport of the day rather than to share

it. An attendant waited at some distance, and the whole

equipment was that of an elderly gentleman of rank and fashion.

He accosted Ravenswood very politely, but not without some

embarrassment.

"You seem a gallant young gentleman, sir," he said, "and yet

appear as indifferent to this brave sport as if you had my load

of years on your shoulders."

"I have followed the sport with more spirit on other occasions,"

replied the Master; "at present, late events in my family must be

my apology; and besides," he added, "I was but indifferently

mounted at the beginning of the sport."

"I think," said the stranger, "one of my attendants had the

sense to accommodate your friend with a horse."

"I was much indebted to his politeness and yours," replied

Ravenswood. "My friend is Mr. Hayston of Bucklaw, whom I dare

say you will be sure to find in the thick of the keeest

sportsmen. He will return your servant's horse, and take my pony

in exchange; and will add," he concluded, turning his horse's

head from the stranger, "his best acknowledgments to mine for the

accommodation."

The Master of Ravenswood, having thus expressed himself, began

to move homeward, with the manner of one who has taken leave of

his company. But the stranger was not so to be shaken off. He

turned his horse at the same time, and rode in the same

direction, so near to the Master that, without outriding him,

which the formal civility of the time, and the respect due to the

stranger's age and recent civility, would have rendered improper,

he could not easily escape from his company.

The stranger did not long remain silent. "This, then," he said,

"is the ancient Castle of Wolf's Crag, often mentioned in the

Scottish recods," looking to the old tower, then darkening under

the influence of a stormy cloud, that formed its

background; for at the distance of a short mile, the chase,

having been circuitous, had brought the hunters nearly back to

the point which they had attained when Ravenswood and Bucklaw had

set forward to join them.

Ravenswood answered this observation with a cold and distant

assent.

"It was, as I have heard," continued the stranger, unabashed by

his coldness, "one of the most early possessions of the

honourable family of Ravenswood."

"Their earliest possession," answered the Master, "and probably

their latest."

"I--I--I should hope not, sir," answered the stranger, clearing

his voice with more than one cough, and making an effort to

voercome a certain degree of hesitation; "Scotland knows what

she owes to this ancient family, and remembers their frequent and

honourable achievements. I have little doubt that, were it

properly represented to her Majesty that so ancient and noble a

family were subjected to dilapidation--I mean to decay--means

might be found, ad re-aedificandum antiquam domum----"

"I will save you the trouble, sir, of discussing this point

farther," interrupted the Master, haughtily. "I am the heir of

that unfortunate house--I am the Master of Ravenswood. And you,

sir, who seem to be a gentleman of fashion and education, must be

sensible that the next mortification after being unhappy is the

being loaded with undesired commiseration."

"I beg your pardon, sir," said the elder horseman; "I did not

know--I am sensible I ought not to have mentioned--nothing could

be farther from my thoughts than to suppose----"

"There are no apologies necessary, sir," answered

Ravenswood, "for here, I suppose, our roads separate, and I

assure you that we part in perfect equanimity on my side."

As speaking these words, he directed his horse's head towards a

narrow causeway, the ancient approach to Wolf's Crag, of which it

might be truly said, in the words of the Bard of Hope, that

Frequented by few was the grass-cover'd road,

Where the hunter of deer and the warrior trode,

To his hills that encircle the sea.

But, ere he could disengage himself from his companion, the young

lady we have already mentioned came up to join the stranger,

followed by her servants.

"Daughter," said the stranger to the unmasked damesl, "this is

the Master of Ravenswood."

It would have been natural that the gentleman should have

replied to this introduction; but there was something in the

graceful form and retiring modesty of the female to whom he was

thus presented, which not only pevented him from inquiring to

whom, and by whom, the annunciation had been made, but which even

for the time struck him absolutely mute. At this moment the

cloud which had long lowered above the height on which Wolf's

Crag is situated, and which now, as it advanced, spread itself in

darker and denser folds both over land and sea, hiding the

distant objects and obscuring those which were nearer, turning

the sea to a leaden complexion and the heath to a darker brown,

began now, by one or two distant peals, to announce the thunders

with which it was fraught; while two flashes of lightning,

following each other very closely, showed in the distance the

grey turrets of Wolf's Crag, and, more nearly, the rollowing

billows of the ocean, crested suddenly with red and dazzling

light.

The horse of the fair huntress showed symptoms of impatience and

restiveness, and it became impossible for Ravenswood, as a man or

a gentleman, to leave her abruptly to the case of an aged father

or her menial attendants. He was, or believed himself, obliged

in courtesy to take hold of her bridle, and assist her in

managing the unruly animal. While he was thus engaged, the old

gentleman observed that the storm seemed to increase; that they

were far from Lord Bittlebrains's, whose guests they were for the

present; and that he would be obliged to the Master of Ravenswood

to point him the way to the nearest place of refuge from the

storm. At the same time he cast a wistful and embarrassed look

towards the Tower of Wolf's Crag, which seemed to render it

almost impossible for the owner to avoid offering an old man and

a lady, in such an emergency, the temporary use of his house.

Indeed, the condition of the young huntress made this courtesy

indispensable; for, in the course of the services which he

rendered, he could not but perceive that she trembled much, and

was extremely agitated, from her apprehensions, doubtless, of the

coming storm.

I know not if the Master of Ravenswood shared her terrors, but

he was not entirely free from something like a similar disorder

of nerves, as he observed, "The Tower of Wolf's Crag has nothing

to offer beyond the shelter of its roof, but if that can be

acceptable at such a moment----" he paused, as if the rest of

the invitation stuck in his throat. But the old gentleman, his

self-constituted companion, did not allow him to recede from the

invitation, which he had rather suffered to be implied than

directly expressed.

"The storm," said the stranger, "must be an apology for waiving

ceremony; his daughter's health was weak, she had

suffered much from a recent alarm; he trusted their intrusion on

the Master of Ravenswood's hospitality would not be altogether

unpardonable in the circumstances of the case: his child's safety

must be dearer to him than ceremony."

There was no room to retreat. The Master of Ravenswood led the

way, continuing to keep hold of the lady's bridle to prevent her

horse from starting at some unexpected explosion of thunder. He

was not so bewildered in his own hurried reflections but that he

remarked, that the deadly paleness which had occupied her neck

and temples, and such of her features as the riding-mask left

exposed, gave place to a deep and rosy suffusion; and he felt

with embarrassment that a flush was by tacit sympathy excited in

his own cheeks. The stranger, with watchfulness which he

disguised under apprehensions of the safety of his daughter,

continued to observe the expression of the Master's countenance

as they ascended the hill to Wolf's Crag. When they stood in

front of that ancient fortress, Ravenswood's emotions were of a

very complicated description; and as he led the way into the rude

courtyard, and hallooed to Caleb to give attendance, there was a

tone of sternness, almost of fierceness, which seemed somewhat

alien from the courtesies of one who is receiving honoured

guests.

Caleb came; and not the paleness of the fair stranger at the

first approach of the thunder, nor the paleness of any other

person, in any other circumstances whatever, equalled that which

overcame the thin cheeks of the disconsolate seneschal when he

beheld this accession of guests to the castle, and reflected that

the dinner hour was fast approaching. "Is he daft?" he muttered

to himself;--"is he clean daft a'thegither, to bring lords and

leddies, and a host of folk behint them, and twal o'clock

chappit?" Then approaching the Master, he craved pardon for

having permitted the rest of his people to go out to see the

hunt, observing, that "They wad never think of his lordship

coming back till mirk night, and that he dreaded they might play

the truant."

"Silence, Balderstone!" said Ravenswood, sternly; "your folly is

unseasonable. Sir and madam," he said, turning to his guests,

"this old man, and a yet older and more imbecile female

domestic, form my whole retinue. Our means of refreshing you are

more scanty than even so miserable a retinue, and a dwelling so

dilapidated, might seem to promise you; but, such as they may

chance to be, you may command them."

The elder stranger, struck with the ruined and even savage

appearance of the Tower, rendered still more disconsolate by the

lowering and gloomy ksy, and perhaps not altogether unmoved by

the grave and determined voice in which their host addressed

them, looked round him anxiously, as if he half repented the

readiness with which he had accepted the offered hospitality.

But there was now no opportunity of receding from the situation

in which he had placed himself.

As for Caleb, he was so utterly stunned by his master's public

and unqualified acknowledgment of the nakedness of the land, that

for two minutes he could only mutter within his hebdomadal beard,

which had not felt the razor for six days, "He's daft--clean

daft--red wud, and awa' wit! But deil hae Caleb Balderstone,"

said he, collecting his powers of invention and resource, "if the

family shall lose credit, if he were as mad as the seven wise

masters!" He then boldly advanced, and in spite of his master's

frowns and impatience, gravely asked, "If he should not serve up

some slight refection for the young leddy, and a glass of tokay,

or old sack--or----"

"Truce to this ill-timed foolery," said the Master, sternly;

"put the horses into the stable, and interrupt us no more with

your absurdities."

"Your honour's pleasure is to be obeyed aboon a' things," said

Caleb; "nevertheless, as for the sack and tokay which it is not

your noble guests' pleasure to accept----"

But here the voice of Bucklaw, heard even above the

clattering of hoofs and braying of horns with which it mingled,

announced that he was scaling the pathway to the Tower at the

head of the greater part of the gallant hunting train.

"The deil be in me," said Caleb, taking heart in spite of this

new invasion of Philistines, "if they shall beat me yet! The

hellicat ne'er-do-weel! to bring such a crew here, that will

expect to find brandy as plenty as ditch-water, and he kenning

sae absolutely the case in whilk we stand for the present! But I

trow, could I get rid of thae gaping gowks of flunkies that hae

won into the courtyard at the back of their betters, as mony a

man gets preferment, I could make a' right yet."

The measures which he took to execute this dauntless

resolution, the reader shall learn in the next chapter.

CHAPTER X.

With throat unslaked, with black lips baked,

Agape they heard him call;

Gramercy they for joy did grin,

And all at once their breath drew in,

As they had been drinking all!

COLERIDGE'S Rime of the Ancient Mariner.

HAYSTON of Bucklaw was one of the thoughtless class who never

hesitate between their friend and their jest. When it was

announced that the principal persons of the chase had taken

their route towards Wolf's Crag, the huntsmen, as a point of

civility, offered to transfer the venison to that mansion; a

proffer which was readily accepted by Bucklaw, who thought much

of the astonishment which their arrival in full body would

occasion poor old Caleb Balderstone, and very little of the

dilemma to which he was about to expose his friend the Master, so

ill circumstanced to receive such a party. But in old Caleb he

had to do with a crafty and alert antagonist, prompt at

supplying, upon all emergencies, evasions and excuses suitable,

as he thought, to the dignity of the family.

"Praise be blest!" said Caleb to himself, "ae leaf of the muckle

gate has been swung to wi' yestreen's wind, and I think I can

manage to shut the ither."

But he was desirous, like a prudent governor, at the same time

to get rid, if possible, of the internal enemy, in which light he

considered almost every one who eat and drank, ere he took

measures to exclude those whom their jocund noise now pronounced

to be near at hand. He waited, therefore, with impatience until

his master had shown his two principal guests into the Tower, and

then commenced his operations.

"I think," he said to the stranger menials, "that, as they are

bringing the stag's head to the castle in all honour, we, who

are indwellers, should receive them at the gate."

The unwary grooms had no sooner hurried out, in compliance with

this insidous hint, than, one folding-door of the ancient gate

being already closed by the wind, as has been already intimated,

hoenst Caleb lost no time in shutting the other with a clang,

which resounded from donjon-vault to battlement. Having thus

secured the pass, he forthwith indulged the excluded

huntsmen in brief parley, from a small projecting window, or

shot-hole, through which, in former days, the warders were wont

to reconnoitre those who presented themselves before the gates.

He gave them to udnerstand, in a short and pity speech, that the

gate of the castle was never on any account opened during meal-

times; that his honour, the Master of Ravenswood, and some guests

of quality, had just sat down to dinner; that there was excellent

brandy at the hostler-wife's at Wolf's Hope down below; and he

held out some obscure hint that the reckoning would be

discharged by the Master; but this was uttered in a very dubious

and oracular strain, for, like Louis XIV., Caleb Balderstone

hesitated to carry finesse so far as direct falsehood, and was

content to deceive, if possible, without directly lying.

This annunciation was received with surprise by some, with

laughter by others, and with dismay by the expelled lackeys, who

endeavoured to demonstrate that their right of readmission, for

the purpose of waiting upon their master and mistress, was at

least indisputable. But Caleb was not in a humour to understand

or admit any distinctions. He stuck to his original proposition

with that dogged but convenient pertinacity which is armed

against all conviction, and deaf to all reasoning. Bucklaw now

came from the rear of the party, and demanded admittance in a

very angry tone. But the resolution of Caleb was immovable.

"If the king on the throne were at the gate," he declared, "his

ten fingers should never open it contrair to the established use

and wont of the family of Ravenswood, and his duty as their

head-servant."

Bucklaw was now extremely incensed, and with more oaths and

curses than we care to repeat, declared himself most unworthily

treated, and demanded peremptorily to speak with the Master of

Ravenswood himself.

But to this also Caleb turned a deaf ear. "He's as soon a-

bleeze as a tap of tow, the lad Bucklaw," he said; "but the deil

of ony master's face he shall see till he has sleepit and waken'd

on't. He'll ken himsell better the morn's morning. It sets the

like o' him, to be bringing a crew of drunken hunters here, when

he kens there is but little preparation to sloken his ain

drought." And he disappeared from the window, leaving them all

to digest their exclusion as they best might.

But another person, of whose presence Caleb, in the

animation of the debate, was not aware, had listened in silence

to its progress. This was the principal domestic of the

stranger--a man of trust and consequence--the same who, in the

hunting-field, had accommodated Bucklaw with the use of his

horse. He was in the stable when Caleb had contrived the

expulsion of his fellow-servants, and thus avoided sharing the

same fate, from which his personal importance would certainly not

have otherwise saved him.

This personage perceived the manoeuvre of Caleb, easily

appreciated the motive of his conduct, and knowing his master's

intentions towards the family of Ravenswood, had no difficulty as

to the line of conduct he ought to adopt. He took the place of

Caleb (unperceived by the latter) at the post of audience which

he had just left, and announced to the assembled domestics, "That

it was his master's pleasure that Lord Bittlebrain's retinue and

his own should go down to the adjacent change-house and call for

what refreshments they might have occasion for, and he should

take care to discharge the lawing."

The jolly troop of huntsmen retired from the inhospitable gate

of Wolf's Crag, execrating, as they descended the steep pathway,

the niggard and unworthy disposition of the proprietor, and

damning, with more than silvan license, both the castle and its

inhabitants. Bucklaw, with many qualities which would have made

him a man of worth and judgment in more favourable

circumstances, had been so utterly neglected in point of

education, that he was apt to think and feel according to the

ideas of the companions of his pleasures. The praises which had

recently been heaped upon himself he contrasted with the general

abuse now levelled against Ravenswood; he recalled to his mind

the dull and monotonous days he had spent in the Tower of Wolf's

Crag, compared with the joviality of his usual life; he felt with

great indignation his exclusion from the castle, which he

considered as a gross affront, and every mingled feeling led him

to break off the union which he had formed with the Master of

Ravenswood.

On arriving at the change-house of the village of Wolf's Hope,

he unexpectedly met with an acquaintance just alighting from his

horse. This was no other than the very respectable Captain

Craigengelt, who immediately came up to him, and, without

appearing to retain any recollection of the indifferent terms on

which they had parted, shook him by the hand in the warmest

manner possible. A warm grasp of the hand was what Bucklaw could

never help returning with cordiality, and no sooner had

Craigengelt felt the pressure of his fingers than he knew the

terms on which he stood with him.

"Long life to you, Bucklaw!" he exclaimed; "there's life for

honest folk in this bad world yet!"

The Jacobites at this period, with what propriety I know not,

used, it must be noticed, the term of HONEST MEN as peculiarly

descriptive of their own party.

"Ay, and for others besides, it seems," answered Bucklaw;

"otherways, how came you to venture hither, noble Captain?"

"Who--I? I am as free as the wind at Martinmas, that pays

neither land-rent nor annual; all is explained--all settled with

the honest old drivellers yonder of Auld Reekie. Pooh! pooh!

they dared not keep me a week of days in durance. A certain

person has better friends among them than you wot of, and can

serve a friend when it is least likely."

"Pshaw!" answered Hayston, who perfectly knew and thoroughly

despised the character of this man, "none of your cogging

gibberish; tell me truly, are you at liberty and in safety?"

"Free and safe as a Whig bailie on the causeway of his own

borough, or a canting Presbyterian minister in his own pulpit;

and I came to tell you that you need not remain in hiding any

longer."

"Then I suppose you call yourself my friend, Captain

Craigengelt?" said Bucklaw.

"Friend!" replied Craigengelt, "my cock of the pit! why, I am

thy very Achates, man, as I have heard scholars say--hand and

glove--bark and tree--thine to life and death!"

"I'll try that in a moment," answered Bucklaw. "Thou art never

without money, however thou comest by it. Lend me two pieces to

wash the dust out of these honest fellows' throats in the first

place, and then----"

"Two pieces! Twenty are at thy service, my lad, and twenty to

back them."

"Ay, say you so?" said Bucklaw, pausing, for his natural

penetration led him to susprect some extraordinary motive lay

couched under an excess of generosity. "Craigengelt, you are

either an honest fellow in right good earnest, and I scarce know

how to believe that; or you are cleverer than I took you for, and

I scarce know how to believe that either."

"L'un n'empeche pas l'autre," said Craigengelt. "Touch and

try; the gold is good as ever was weighed."

He put a quantity of gold pieces into Bucklaw's hand, which he

thrust into his pocket without either counting or looking at

them, only observing, "That he was so circumstanced that he must

enlist, though the devil offered the press-money"; and then

turning to the huntsmen, he called out, "Come along, my lads; all

is at my cost."

"Long life to Bucklaw!" shouted the men of the chase.

"And confusion to him that takes his share of the sport, and

leaves the hunters as dry as a drumhead," added another, by way

of corollary.

"The house of Ravenswood was ance a gude and an honourable house

in this land," said an old man; "but it's lost its credit this

day, and the Master has shown himself no better than a greedy

cullion."

And with this conclusion, which was unanimously agreed to by all

who heard it, they rushed tumultuously into the house of

entertainment, where they revelled till a late hour. The jovial

temper of Bucklaw seldom permitted him to be nice in the choice

of his associates; and on the present occasion, when his joyous

debauch received additional zest from the intervention of an

unusual space of sobriety, and almost abstinence, he was as happy

in leading the revels as if his comrades had been sons of

princes. Craigengelt had his own purposes in fooling him up to

the top of his bent; and having some low humour, much impudence,

and the power of singing a good song, understanding besides

thoroughly the disposition of his regained associate, he headily

succeeded in involving him bumper-deep in the festivity of the

meeting.

A very different scene was in the mean time passing in the Tower

of Wolf's Crag. When the Master of Ravenswood left the

courtyard, too much busied with his own perplexed reflections to

pay attention to the manoeuvre of Caleb, he ushered his guests

into the great hall of the castle.

The indefatigable Balderstone, who, from choice or habit, worked

on from morning to night, had by degrees cleared this desolate

apartment of the confused relics of the funeral banquet, and

restored it to some order. But not all his skill and labour, in

disposing to advantage the little furniture which remained,

could remove the dark and disconsolate appearance of those

ancient and disfurnished walls. The narrow windows, flanked by

deep indentures into the walls, seemed formed rather to exclude

than to admit the cheerful light; and the heavy and gloomy

appearance of the thunder-sky added still farther to the

obscurity.

As Ravenswood, with the grace of a gallant of that period, but

not without a certain stiffness and embarrassment of manner,

handed the young lady to the upper end of the apartment, her

father remained standing more near to the door, as if about to

disengage himself from his hat and cloak. At this moment the

clang of the portal was heard, a sound at which the stranger

started, stepped hastily to the window, and looked with an air of

alarm at Ravenswood, when he saw that the gate of the court was

shut, and his domestics excluded.

"You have nothing to fear, sir," said Ravenswood, gravely; "this

roof retains the means of giving protection, though not welcome.

Methinks," he added, "it is time that I should know who they are

that have thus highly honoured my ruined dwelling!"

The young lady remained silent and motionless, and the father,

to whom the question was more directly addressed, seemed in the

situation of a performer who has ventured to take upon himself a

part which he finds himself unable to present, and who comes to a

pause when it is most to be expected that he should speak. While

he endeavoured to cover his embarrassent with the exterior

ceremonials of a well-bred demeanour, it was obvious that, in

making his bow, one foot shuffled forward, as if to advance, the

other backward, as if with the purpose of escape; and as he undid

the cape of his coat, and raised his beaver from his face, his

fingers fumbled as if the one had been linked with rusted iron,

or the other had weighed equal with a stone of lead. The

darkness of the sky seemed to increase, as if to supply the want

of those mufflings which he laid aside with such evident

reluctance. The impatience of Ravenswood increased also in

proportion to the delay of the stranger, and he appeared to

struggle under

agitation, though probably from a very different cause. He

laboured to restrain his desire to speak, while the stranger, to

all appearance, was at a loss for words to express what he felt

necessary to say.

At length Ravenswood's impatience broke the bounds he had

imposed upon it. "I perceive," he said, "that Sir William Ashton

is unwilling to announced himself in the Castle of Wolf's Crag."

"I had hoped it was unnecessary," said the Lord Keeper, relieved

from his silence, as a spectre by the voice of the exorcist, "and

I am obliged to you, Master of Ravenswood, for breaking the ice

at once, where circumstances--unhappy

circumstances, let me call them--rendered self-introduction

peculiarly awkward."

"And I am not then," said the Master of Ravenswood, gravely, "to

consider the honour of this visit as purely accidental?"

"Let us distinguish a little," said the Keeper, assuming an

appearance of ease which perhaps his heart was a stranger to;

"this is an honour which I have eagerly desired for some time,

but which I might never have obtained, save for the accident of

the storm. My daughter and I are alike grateful for this

opportunity of thanking the brave man to whom she owes her life

and I mine."

The hatred which divided the great families in the feudal times

had lost little of its bitterness, though it no longer expressed

itself in deeds of open violence. Not the feelings which

Ravenswood had begun to entertain towards Lucy Ashton, not the

hospitality due to his guests, were able entirely to subdue,

though they warmly combated, the deep passions which arose within

him at beholding his father's foe standing in the hall of the

family of which he had in a great measure accelerated the ruin.

His looks glanced from the father to the daughter with an

irresolution of which Sir William Ashton did not think it proper

to await the conclusion. He had now disembarrassed himself of

his riding-dress, and walking up to his daughter, he undid the

fastening of her mask.

"Lucy, my love," he said, raising her and leading her towards

Ravenswood, "lay aside your mask, and let us express our

gratitude to the Master openly and barefaced."

"If he will condescend to accept it," was all that Lucy uttered;

but in a tone so sweetly modulated, and which seemed to imply at

once a feeling and a forgiving of the cold reception to which

they were exposed, that, coming from a creature so innocent

andso beautiful, her words cut Ravenswood to the very heart for

his harshness. He muttered something of surprise, something of

confusion, and, ending with a warm and eager expression of his

happiness at being able to afford her shelter under his roof, he

saluted her, as the ceremonial of the time enjoined upon such

occasions. Their cheeks had touched and were withdrawn from each

other; Ravenswood had not quitted the hand which he had taken in

kindly courtesy; a blush, which attached more consequence by far

than was usual to such ceremony, still mantled on Lucy Ashton's

beautiful cheek, when the apartment was suddenly illuminated by a

flash of lightning, which seemed absolutely to swallow the

darkness of the hall. Every object might have been for an

instant seen distinctly. The slight and half-sinking form of

Lucy Ashton; the well-proportioned and stately figure of

Ravenswood, his dark features, and the fiery yet irresolute

expression of his eyes; the old arms and scutcheons which hung on

the walls of the apartment, were for an instant distinctly

visible to the Keeper by a strong red brilliant glare of light.

Its disappearance was almost instantly followed by a burst of

thunder, for the storm-cloud was very near the castle; and the

peal was so sudden and dreadful, that the old tower rocked to its

foundation, and every inmate concluded it was falling upon them.

The soot, which had not been disturbed for centuries, showered

down the huge tunnelled chimneys; lime and dust flew in clouds

from the wall; and, whether the lightning had actually struck the

castle or whether through the violent concussion of the air,

several heavy stones were hurled from the mouldering battlements

into the roaring sea beneath. It might seem as if the ancient

founder of the castle were bestriding the thunderstorm, and

proclaiming his displeasure at the reconciliation of his

descendant with the enemy of his house.

The consternation was general, and it required the efforts of

both the Lord Keeper and Ravenswood to keep Lucy from

fainting. Thus was the Master a second time engaged in the most

delicate and dangerous of all tasks, that of affording support

and assistance to a beautiful and helpless being, who, as seen

before in a similar situation, had already become a favourite of

his imagination, both when awake and when slumbering. If the

genius of the house really condemned a union betwixt the Master

and his fair guest, the means by which he expressed his

sentiments were as unhappily chosen as if he had been a mere

mortal. The train of little attentions, absolutely necessary to

soothe the young lady's mind, and aid her in composing her

spirits, necessarily threw the Master of Ravenswood into such an

itnercourse with her father as was calculated, for the moment at

least, to break down the barrier of feudal enemity which divided

them. To express himself churlishly, or even coldly, towards

anold man whose daughter (and SUCH a daughter) lay before them,

overpowered with natural terror--and all this under his own roof,

the thing was impossible; and by the time that Lucy, extending a

hand to each, was able to thank them for their kindness, the

Master felt that his sentiments of hostility towards the Lord

Keeper were by no means those most predominant in his bosom.

The weather, her state of health, the absence of her

attendants, all prevented the possibility of Lucy Ashton renewing

her journey to Bittlebrains House, which was full five miles

distant; and the Master of Ravenswood could not but, in common

courtesy, offer the shelter of his roof for the rest of the day

and for the night. But a flush of less soft expression, a look

much more habitual to his features, resumed predominance when he

mentioned how meanly he was provided for the entertainment of his

guests.

"Do not mention deficiencies," said the Lord Keeper, eager to

interrupt him and prevent his resuming an alarming topic; "you

are preparing to set out for the Continent, and your house is

probably for the present unfurnished. All this we understand;

but if you mention inconvenience, you will oblige us to seek

accommodations in the hamlet."

As the Master of Ravenswood was about to reply, the door of the

hall opened, and Caleb Balderstone rushed in.

CHAPTER XI.

Let them have meat enough, woman--half a hen;

There be old rotten pilchards--put them off too;

'Tis but a little new anointing of them,

And a strong onion, that confounds the savour.

Love's Pilgrimage.

THE thunderbolt, which had stunned all who were within hearing

of it, had only served to awaken the bold and inventive genius of

the flower of majors-domo. Almost before the clatter had ceased,

and while there was yet scarce an assurance whether the castle

was standing or falling, Caleb exclaimed, "Heaven be praised!

this comes to hand like the boul of a pint-stoup." He then

barred the kitchen door in the face of the Lord Keeper's

servant, whom he perceived returning from the party at the gate,

and muttering, "How the deil cam he in?--but deil may care.

Mysie, what are ye sitting shaking and greeting in the chimney-

neuk for? Come here--or stay where ye are, and skirl as loud as

ye can; it's a' ye're gude for. I say, ye auld deevil, skirl--

skirl--louder--louder, woman; gar the gentles hear ye in the ha'.

I have heard ye as far off as the Bass for a less matter. And

stay--down wi' that crockery----"

And with a sweeping blow, he threw down from a shelf some

articles of pewter and earthenware. He exalted his voice amid

the clatter, shouting and roaring in a manner which changed

Mysie's hysterical terrors of the thunder into fears that her old

fellow-servant was gone distracted. "He has dung down a' the

bits o' pigs, too--the only thing we had left to haud a soup

milk--and he has spilt the hatted hit that was for the Master's

dinner. Mercy save us, the auld man's gaen clean and clear wud

wi' the thunner!"

"Haud your tongue, ye b----!" said Caleb, in the impetuous and

overbearing triumph of successful invention, "a's provided now--

dinner and a'thing; the thunner's done a' in a clap of a hand!"

"Puir man, he's muckle astray," said Mysie, looking at him with

a mixture of pity and alarm; "I wish he may ever come come hame

to himsell again."

"Here, ye auld doited deevil," said Caleb, still exulting in his

extrication from a dilemma which had seemed insurmountable;

"keep the strange man out of the kitchen; swear the thunner came

down the chimney and spoiled the best dinner ye ever dressed--

beef--bacon--kid--lark--leveret--wild-fowl--venison, and what

not. Lay it on thick, and never mind expenses. I'll awa' up to

the la'. Make a' the confusion ye can; but be sure ye keep out

the strange servant."

With these charges to his ally, Caleb posted up to the hall, but

stopping to reconnoitre through an aperture, which time, for the

convenience of many a domestic in succession, had made in the

door, and perceiving the situation of Miss Ashton, he had

prudence enough to make a pause, both to avoid adding to her

alarm and in order to secure attention to his account of the

disastrous effects of the thunder.

But when he perceived that the lady was recovered, and heard the

conversation turn upon the accommodation and refreshment which

the castle afforded, he thought it time to burst into the room in

the manner announced in the last chapter.

"Willawins!--willawins! Such a misfortune to befa' the house of

Ravenswood, and I to live to see it."

"What is the matter, Caleb?" said his master, somewhat alarmed

in his turn; "has any part of the castle fallen?"

"Castle fa'an! na, but the sute's fa'an, and the thunner's come

right down the kitchen-lum, and the things are a' lying here

awa', there awa', like the Laird o' Hotchpotch's lands; and wi'

brave guests of honour and quality to entertain (a low bow here

to Sir William Ashton and his daughter), and

naething left in the house fit to present for dinner, or for

supper either, for aught that I can see!"

"I very believe you, Caleb," said Ravenswood, drily.

Balderstone here turned to his master a half-upbraiding, half-

imploring countenance, and edged towards him as he repeated, "It

was nae great matter of preparation; but just something added to

your honour's ordinary course of fare--petty cover, as they say

at the Louvre--three courses and the fruit."

"Keep your intolerable nonsense to yourself, you old fool!" said

Ravenswood, mortified at his officiousness, yet not knowing how

to contradict him, without the risk of giving rise to scenes yet

more ridiculous.

Caleb saw his advantage, and resolved to improve it. But first,

observing that the Lord Keeper's servant entered the apartment

and spoke apart with his master, he took the same opportunity to

whisper a few words into Ravenswood's ear: "Haud your tongue,

for heaven's sake, sir; if it's my pleasure to hazard my soul in

telling lees for the honour of the family, it's nae business o'

yours; and if ye let me gang on quietly, I'se be moderate in my

banquet; but if ye contradict me, deil but I dress ye a dinner

fit for a duke!"

Ravenswood, in fact, thought it would be best to let his

officious butler run on, who proceeded to enumerate upon his

fingers--"No muckle provision--might hae served four persons of

honour,--first course, capons in white broth--roast kid--bacon

with reverence; second course, roasted leveret--butter crabs--a

veal florentine; third course, blackcock--it's black eneugh now

wi' the sute--plumdamas--a tart--a flam--and some nonsense sweet

things, adn comfits--and that's a'," he said, seeing the

impatience of his master--"that's just a' was o't--forbye the

apples and pears."

Miss Ashton had by degrees gathered her spirits, so far as to

pay some attention to what was going on; and observing the

restrained impatience of Ravenswood, contrasted with the

peculiar determination of manner with which Caleb detailed his

imaginary banquet, the whole struck her as so ridiculous that,

despite every effort to the contrary, she burst into a fit of

incontrollable laughter, in which she was joined by her father,

though with more moderation, and finally by the Master of

Ravenswood himself, though conscious that the jest was at his own

expense. Their mirth--for a scene which we read with little

emotion often appears extremely ludicrous to the spectators--made

the old vault ring again. They ceased--they renewed--they

ceased--they renewed again their shouts of laughter! Caleb, in

the mean time, stood his ground with a grave, angry, and scornful

dignity, which greatly enhanced the ridicule of the scene and

mirth of the spectators.

At length, when the voices, and nearly the strength, of the

laughers were exhausted, he exclaimed, with very little ceremony:

"The deil's in the gentles! they breakfast sae lordly, that the

loss of the best dinner ever cook pat fingers to makes them as

merry as if it were the best jeest in a' George Buchanan. If

there was as little in your honours' wames as there is in Caleb

Balderstone's, less caickling wad serve ye on sic a gravaminous

subject."

Caleb's blunt expression of resentment again awakened the mirth

of the company, which, by the way, he regarded not only as an

agression upon the dignity of the family, but a special contempt

of the eloquence with which he himself had summed up the extent

of their supposed losses. "A description of a dinner," as he

said afterwards to Mysie, "that wad hae made a fu' man

hungry, and them to sit there laughing at it!"

"But," said Miss Ashton, composing her countenance as well as

she could, "are all these delicacies so totally destroyed that

no scrap can be collected?"

"Collected, my leddy! what wad ye collect out of the sute and

the ass? Ye may gang down yoursell, and look into our kitchen--

the cookmaid in the trembling exies--the gude vivers lying a'

about--beef, capons, and white broth--florentine and flams--bacon

wi' reverence--and a' the sweet confections and whim-whams--ye'll

see them a', my leddy--that is," said he, correcting himself,

"ye'll no see ony of them now, for the cook has soopit them up,

as was weel her part; but ye'll see the white broth where it was

spilt. I pat my fingers in it, and it tastes as like sour milk

as ony thing else; if that isna the effect of thunner, I kenna

what is. This gentleman here couldna but hear the clash of our

haill dishes, china and silver thegither?"

The Lord Keeper's domestic, though a statesman's attendant, and

of course trained to command his countenance upon all

occasions, was somewhat discomposed by this appeal, to which he

only answered by a bow.

"I think, Mr. Butler," said the Lord Keeper, who began to be

afraid lest the prolongation of this scene should at length

displease Ravenswood--"I think that, were you to retire with my

servant Lockhard--he has travelled, and is quite accustomed to

accidents and contingencies of every kind, and I hope betwixt

you, you may find out some mode of supply at this emergency."

"His honour kens," said Caleb, who, however hopeless of himself

of accomplishing what was desirable, would, like the high-

spirited elephant, rather have died in the effort than brooked

the aid of a brother in commission--"his honour kens weel I need

nae counsellor, when the honour of the house is

concerned."

"I should be unjust if I denied it, Caleb," said his master;

"but your art lies chiefly in making apologies, upon which we can

no more dine than upon the bill of fare of our thunder-blasted

dinner. Now, possibly Mr. Lockhard's talent may consist in

finding some substitute for that which certainly is not, and has

in all probability never been."

"Your honour is pleased to be facetious," said Caleb, "but I am

sure that, for the warst, for a walk as far as Wolf's Hope, I

could dine forty men--no that the folk there deserve your

honour's custom. They hae been ill advised in the matter of the

duty eggs and butter, I winna deny that."

"Do go consult together," said the Master; "go down to the

village, and do the best you can. We must not let our guests

remain without refreshment, to save the honour of a ruined

family. And here, Caleb, take my purse; I believe that will

prove your best ally."

"Purse! purse, indeed!" quoth Caleb, indignantly flinging out of

the room; "what suld I do wi' your honour's purse, on your ain

grund? I trust we are no to pay for our ain?"

The servants left the hall; and the door was no sooner shut than

the Lord Keeper began to apologise for the rudeness of his

mirth; and Lucy to hope she had given no pain or offence to the

kind-hearted faithful old man.

"Caleb and I must both learn, madam, to undergo with good

humour, or at least with patience, the ridicule which everywhere

attaches itself to poverty."

"You do yourself injustice, Master of Ravenswood, on my word of

honour," answered his elder guest. "I believe I know more of

your affairs than you do yourself, and I hope to show you that I

am interested in them; and that--in short, that your prospects

are better than you apprehend. In the mean time, I can conceive

nothing so respectable as the spirit which rises above

misfortune, and prefers honourable privations to debt or

dependence."

Whether from fear of offending the delicacy or awakening the

pride of the Master, the Lord Keeper made these allusions with an

appearance of fearful and hesitating reserve, and seemed to be

afraid that he was intruding too far, in venturing to touch,

however lightly, upon such a topic, even when the Master had led

to it. In short, he appeared at once pushed on by his desire of

appearing friendly, and held back by the fear of intrusion. It

was no wonder that the Master of Ravenswood, little acquainted as

he then was with life, should have given this consummate

courtier credit for more sincerity than was probably to be found

in a score of his cast. He answered, however, with reserve, that

he was indebted to all who might think well of him; and,

apologising to his guests, he left the hall, in order to make

such arrangements for their entertainment as circumstances

admitted.

Upon consulting with old Mysie, the accommodations for the night

were easily completed, as indeed they admitted of little choice.

The Master surrendered his apartment for the use of Miss Ashton,

and Mysie, once a person of consequence, dressed in a black satin

gown which had belonged of yore to the Master's grandmother, and

had figured in the court-balls of Henrietta Maria, went to attend

her as lady's-maid. He next inquired after Bucklaw, and

understanding he was at the change-house with the huntsmen and

some companions, he desired Caleb to call there, and acquaint him

how he was circumstanced at Wolf's Crag; to intimate to him that

it would be most convenient if he could find a bed in the hamlet,

as the elder guest must

necessarily be quartered in the secret chamber, the only spare

bedroom which could be made fit to receive him. The Master saw

no hardship in passing the night by the hall fire, wrapt in his

campaign-cloak; and to Scottish domestics of the day, even of the

highest rank, nay, to young men of family or fashion, on any

pinch, clean straw, or a dry hayloft, was always held good night-

quarters.

For the rest, Lockhard had his master's orders to bring some

venison from the inn, and Caleb was to trust to his wits for the

honour of his family. The Master, indeed, a second time held

out his purse; but, as it was in sight of the strange servant,

the butler thought himself obliged to decline what his fingers

itched to clutch. "Couldna he hae slippit it gently into my

hand?" said Caleb; "but his honour will never learn how to bear

himsell in siccan cases."

Mysie, in the mean time, according to a uniform custom in remote

places in Scotland, offered the strangers the produce of her

little dairy, "while better meat was getting ready." And

according to another custom, not yet wholly in desuetude, as the

storm was now drifting off to leeward, the Master carried the

Keeper to the top of his highest tower to admire a wide and waste

extent of view, and to "weary for his dinner."

CHAPTER XII.

"Now dame," quoth he, "Je vous dis sans doute,

Had I nought of a capon but the liver,

And of your white bread nought but a shiver,

And after that a roasted pigge's head

(But I ne wold for me no beast were dead),

Then had I with you homely sufferaunce."

CHAUCER, Sumner's Tale.

IT was not without some secret misgivings that Caleb set out

upon his exploratory expedition. In fact, it was attended with a

treble difficulty. He dared not tell his mast the offence which

he had that morning given to Bucklaw, just for the honour of the

family; he dared not acknowledge he had been too hasty in

refusing the purse; and, thirdly, he was somewhat apprehensive of

unpleasant consequences upon his meeting Hayston under the

impression of an affront, and probably by this time under the

influence also of no small quantity of brandy.

Caleb, to do him justice, was as bold as any lion where the

honour of the family of Ravenswood was concerned; but his was

that considerate valour which does not delight in unnecessary

risks. This, however, was a secondary consideration; the main

point was to veil the indigence of the housekeeping at the

castle, and to make good his vaunt of the cheer which his

resources could procure, without Lockhard's assistance, and

without supplies from his master. This was as prime a point of

honour with him as with the generous elephant with whom we have

already compared him, who, being overtasked, broke his skull

through the desperate exertions which he made to discharge his

duty, when he perceived they were bringing up another to his

assistance.

The village which they now approached had frequently

afforded the distressed butler resources upon similar

emergencies; but his relations with it had been of late much

altered.

It was a little hamlet which straggled along the side of a creek

formed by the discharge of a small brook into the sea, and was

hidden from the castle, to which it had been in former times an

appendage, by the entervention of the shoulder of a hill forming

a projecting headland. It was called Wolf's Hope

(i.e. Wolf's Haven), and the few inhabitants gained a

precarious subsistence by manning two or three fishing-boats in

the herring season, and smuggling gin and brandy during the

winter months. They paid a kind of hereditary respect to the

Lords of Ravenswood; but, in the difficulties of the family, most

of the inhabitants of Wolf's Hope had contrived to get feu-rights

to their little possessions, their huts, kail-yards, and rights

of commonty, so that they were emancipated from the chains of

feudal dependence, and free from the various exactions with

which, under every possible pretext, or without any pretext at

all, the Scottish landlords of the period, themselves in great

poverty, were wont to harass their still poorer tenants at will.

They might be, on the whole, termed independent, a circumstance

peculiarly galling to Caleb, who had been wont to exercise over

them the same sweeping authority in levying contributions which

was exercised in former times in England, when "the royal

purveyors, sallying forth from under the Gothic portcullis to

purchase provisions with power and prerogative, instead of money,

brought home the plunder of an hundred markets, and all that

could be seized from a flying and hiding country, and deposited

their spoil in an hundred caverns."

Caleb loved the memory and resented the downfall of that

authority, which mimicked, on a petty scale, the grand

contributions exacted by the feudal sovereigns. And as he fondly

flattered himself that the awful rule and right supremacy, which

assigned to the Barons of Ravenswood the first and most effective

interest in all productions of nature within five miles of their

castle, only slumbered, and was not departed for ever, he used

every now and then to give the recollection of the inhabitants a

little jog by some petty exaction. These were at first submitted

to, with more or less readiness, by the inhabitants of the

hamlet; for they had been so long used to consider the wants of

the Baron and his family as having a title to be preferred to

their own, that their actual independence did not convey to them

an immediate sense of freedom. They resembled a man that has

been long fettered, who, even at liberty, feels in imagination

the grasp of the handcuffs still binding his wrists. But the

exercise of freedom is quickly followed with the natural

consciousness of its immunities, as the enlarged prisoner, by the

free use of his limbs, soon dispels the cramped feeling they had

acquired when bound.

The inhabitants of Wolf's Hope began to grumble, to resist, and

at length positively to refuse compliance with the exactions of

Caleb Balderstone. It was in vain he reminded them, that when

the eleventh Lord Ravenswood, called the Skipper, from his

delight in naval matters, had encouraged the trade of their port

by building the pier (a bulwark of stones rudely piled together),

which protected the fishing-boats from the weather, it had been

mattter of understanding that he was to have the first stone of

butter after the calving of every cow within the barony, and the

first egg, thence called the Monday's egg, laid by every hen on

every Monday in the year.

The feuars heard and scratched their heads, coughed,

sneezed, and being pressed for answer, rejoined with one voice,

"They could not say"--the universal refuge of a Scottish peasant

when pressed to admit a claim which his conscience owns, or

perhaps his feelings, and his interest inclines him to deny.

Caleb, however, furnished the notables of Wolf's Hope with a

note of the requisition of butter and eggs, which he claimed as

arrears of the aforesaid subsidy, or kindly aid, payable as

above mentioned; and having intimated that he would not be averse

to compound the same for goods or money, if it was inconvenient

to them to pay in kind, left them, as he hoped, to debate the

mode of assessing themselves for that purpose. On the contrary,

they met with a determined purpose of resisting the exaction, and

were only undecided as to the mode of grounding their

opposition, when the cooper, a very important person on a

fishing-station, and one of the conscript fathers of the village,

observed, "That their hens had caickled mony a day for the Lords

of Ravenswood, and it was time they suld caickle for those that

gave them roosts and barley." An unanimous grin intimated the

assent of the assembly. "And," continued the orator, "if it's

your wull, I'll just tak a step as far as Dunse for Davie

Dingwall, the writer, that's come frae the North to settle amang

us, and he'll pit this job to rights, I'se warrant him."

A day was accordingly fixed for holding a grand palaver at

Wolf's Hope on the subject of Caleb's requisitions, and he was

invited to attend at the hamlet for that purpose.

He went with open hands and empty stomach, trusting to fill the

one on his master's account and the other on his own score, at

the expense of the feuars of Wolf's Hope. But, death to his

hopes! as he entered the eastern end of the straggling village,

the awful form of Davie Dingwall, a sly, dry, hard-fisted, shrewd

country attorney, who had already acted against the family of

Ravenswood, and was a principal agent of Sir William Ashton,

trotted in at the western extremity, bestriding a leathern

portmanteau stuffed with the feu-charters of the hamlet, and

hoping he had not kept Mr. Balderstone waiting, "as he was

instructed and fully empowered to pay or receive, compound or

compensat, and, in fine, to age as accords respecting all mutual

and unsettled claims whatsoever, belonging or competent to the

Honourable Edgar Ravenswood, commonly called the Master of

Ravenswood----"

"The RIGHT Honourable Edgar LORD RAVENSWOOD," said Caleb,

with great emphasis; for, though conscious he had little chance

of advantage in the conflict to ensue, he was resolved not to

sacrifice one jot of honour.

"Lord Ravenswood, then," said the man of business--"we shall not

quarrel with you about titles of courtesy--commonly called Lord

Ravenswood, or Master of Ravenswood, heritable proprietor of the

lands and barony of Wolf's Crag, on othe ne part, and to John

Whitefish and others, feuars in the town of Wolf's Hope, within

the barony aforesaid, on the other part."

Caleb was conscious, from sad experience, that he would wage a

very different strife with this mercenary champion than with the

individual feuars themselves, upon whose old recollections,

predilections, and habits of thinking he might have wrought by an

hundred indirect arguments, to which their deputy-representative

was totally insensible. The issue of the debate proved the

reality of his apprehensions. It was in vain he strained his

eloquence and ingenuity, and collected into one mass all

arguments arising from antique custom and hereditary respect,

from the good deeds done by the Lords of Ravenswood to the

community of Wolf's Hope in former days, and from what might be

expected from them in future. The writer stuck to the

contents of his feu-charters; he could not see it: 'twas not in

the bond. And when Caleb, determined to try what a little spirit

would do, deprecated the consequences of Lord Ravenswood's

withdrawing his protection from the burgh, and even hinted in his

using active measures of resentment, the man of law sneered in

his face.

"His clients," he said, "had determined to do the best they

could for their own town, and he thought Lord Ravenwood, since he

was a lord, might have enough to do to look after his own

castle. As to any threats of stouthrief oppression, by rule of

thumb, or via facti, as the law termed it, he would have Mr.

Balderstone recollect, that new times were not as old times; that

they lived on the south of the Forth, and far from the Highlands;

that his clients thought they were able to protect themselves;

but should they find themselves mistaken, they would apply to the

government for the protection of a corporal and four red-coats,

who," said Mr. Dingwall, with a grin, "would be perfectly able to

secure them against Lord Ravenswood, and all that he or his

followers could do by the strong hand."

If Caleb could have concentrated all the lightnings of

aristocracy in his eye, to have struck dead this contemner of

allegiance and privilege, he would have launched them at his

head, without respect to the consequences. As it was, he was

compelled to turn his course backward to the castle; and there he

remained for full half a day invisible and inaccessible even to

Mysie, sequestered in his own peculiar dungeon, where he sat

burnishing a single pewter plate and whistling "Maggie Lauder"

six hours without intermission.

The issue of this unfortunate requisition had shut against Caleb

all resources which could be derived from Wolf's Hope and its

purlieus, the El Dorado, or Peru, from which, in all former

cases of exigence, he had been able to extract some assistance.

He had, indeed, in a manner vowed that the deil should have him,

if ever he put the print of his foot within its causeway again.

He had hitherto kept his word; and, strange to tell, this

secession had, as he intended, in some degree, the effect of a

punishment upon the refractory feuars. Mr. Balderstone had been

a person in their eyes connected with a superior order of beings,

whose presence used to grace their little festivities, whose

advice they found useful on many ocassions, and whose

communications gave a sort of credit to their village. The

place, they ackowledged, "didna look as it used to do, and

should do, since Mr. Caleb keepit the castle sae closely; but

doubtless, touching the eggs and butter, it was a most

unreasonable demand, as Mr. Dingwall had justly made manifest."

Thus stood matters betwixt the parties, when the old butler,

though it was gall and wormwood to him, found himself obliged

either to ackowledge before a strange man of quality, and, what

was much worse, before that stranger's servant, the total

inability of Wolf's Crag to produce a dinner, or he must trust to

the compassion of the feuars of Wofl's Hope. It was a dreadful

degradation; but necessity was equally imperious and lawless.

With these feelings he entered the street of the village.

Willing to shake himself from his companion as soon as possible,

he directed Mr. Lockhard to Luckie Sma-trash's change-house,

where a din, proceeding from the revels of Bucklaw, Craigengelt,

and their party, sounded half-way down the street, while the red

glare from the window overpowered the grey twilight which was now

settling down, and glimmered against a parcel of old tubs, kegs,

and barrels, piled up in the cooper's yard, on the other side of

the way.

"If you, Mr. Lockhard," said the old butler to his

companion, "will be pleased to step to the change-house where

that light comes from, and where, as I judge, they are now

singing 'Cauld Kail in Aberdeen,' ye may do your master's errand

about the venison, and I will do mine about Bucklaw's bed, as I

return frae getting the rest of the vivers. It's no that the

venison is actually needfu'," he added, detaining his colleague

by the button, "to make up the dinner; but as a compliment to the

hunters, ye ken; and, Mr. Lockhard, if they offer ye a drink o'

yill, or a cup o' wine, or a glass o' brandy, ye'll be a wise man

to take it, in case the thunner should hae soured ours at the

castle, whilk is ower muckle to be dreaded."

He then permitted Lockhard to depart; and with foot heavy as

lead, and yet far lighter than his heart, stepped on through the

unequal street of the straggling village, meditating on whom he

ought to make his first attack. It was necessary he should find

some one with whom old acknowledged greatness should weigh more

than recent independence, and to whom his application might

appear an act of high dignity, relenting at once and soothing.

But he could not recollect an inhabitant of a mind so

constructed. "Our kail is like to be cauld eneugh too," he

reflected, as the chorus of "Cauld Kail in Aberdeen" again

reached his ears. The minister--he had got his presentation from

the late lord, but they had quarrelled about teinds; the

brewster's wife--she had trusted long, and the bill was aye

scored up, and unless the dignity of the family should actually

require it, it would be a sin to distress a widow woman. None

was so able--but, on the other hand, none was likely to be less

willing--to stand his friend upon the present occasion, than

Gibbie Girder, the man of tubs and barrels already mentioned, who

had headed the insurrection in the matter of the egg and butter

subsidy. "But a' comes o' taking folk on the right side, I

trow," quoted Caleb to himself; "and I had ance the ill hap to

say he was but a Johnny New-come in our town, and the carle bore

the family an ill-will ever since. But he married a bonny young

quean, Jean Lightbody, auld Lightbody's daughter, him that was in

the steading of Loup-the-Dyke; and auld Lightbody was married

himsell to Marion, that was about my lady in the family forty

years syne. I hae had mony a day's daffing wi' Jean's mither,

and they say she bides on wi' them. The carle has Jacobuses and

Georgiuses baith, an ane could get at them; and sure I am, it's

doing him an honour him or his never deserved at our hand, the

ungracious sumph; and if he loses by us a'thegither, he is e'en

cheap o't: he can spare it brawly."

Shaking off irresolution, therefore, and turning at once upon

his heel, Caleb walked hastily back to the cooper's house,

lifted the latch withotu ceremony, and, in a moment, found

himself behind the "hallan," or partition, from which position he

could, himself unseen, reconnoitre the interior of the "but," or

kitchen apartment, of the mansion.

Reverse of the sad menage at the Castle of Wolf's Crag, a

bickering fire roared up the cooper's chimney. His wife, on the

one side, in her pearlings and pudding-sleeves, put the last

finishing touch to her holiday's apparel, while she contemplated

a very handsome and good-humoured face in a broken mirror, raised

upon the "bink" (the shelves on which the plates are disposed)

for her special accommodation. Her mother, old Luckie Loup-the-

Dyke, "a canty carline" as was within twenty miles of her,

according to the unanimous report of the "cummers," or gossips,

sat by the fire in the full glory of a grogram gown, lammer

beads, and a clean cockernony, whiffing a snug pipe of tobacco,

and superintending the affairs of the kitchen; for--sight more

interesting to the anxious heart and craving entrails of the

desponding seneschal than either buxom dame or canty cummer--

there bubbled on the aforesaid bickering fire a huge pot, or

rather cauldron, steaming with beef and brewis; while before it

revolved two spits, turned each by one of the cooper's

apprentices, seated in the opposite corners of the chimney, the

one loaded with a quarter of mutton, while the other was graced

with a fat goose and a brace of wild ducks. The sight and scent

of such a land of plenty almost wholly overcame the drooping

spirits of Caleb. He turned, for a moment's space to reconnoitre

the "ben," or parlour end of the house, and there saw a sight

scarce less affecting to his feelings--a large round table,

covered for ten or twelve persons, decored (according to his own

favourite terms) with napery as white as snow, grand flagons of

pewter, intermixed with one or two silver cups, containing, as

was probable,

something worthy the brilliancy of their outward appearance,

clean trenchers, cutty spoons, knives and forks, sharp,

burnished, and prompt for action, which lay all displayed as for

an especial festival.

"The devil's in the peddling tub-coopering carl!" muttered

Caleb, in all the envy of astonishment; "it's a shame to see the

like o' them gusting their gabs at sic a rate. But if some o'

that gude cheer does not find its way to Wolf's Crag this night,

my name is not Caleb Balderstone."

So resolving, he entered the apartment, and, in all

courteous greeting, saluted both the mother and the daughter.

Wolf's Crag was the court of the barony, Caleb prime minister at

Wolf's Crag; and it has ever been remarked that, though the

masculine subject who pays the taxes sometimes growls at the

courtiers by whom they are imposed, the said courtiers continue,

nevertheless, welcome to the fair sex, to whom they furnish the

newest small-talk and the earliest fashions. Both the dames

were, therefore, at once about old Caleb's neck, setting up their

throats together by way of welcome.

"Ay, sirs, Mr. Balderstone, and is this you? A sight of you is

gude for sair een. Sit down--sit down; the gudeman will be

blythe to see you--ye nar saw him sae cadgy in your life; but we

are to christen our bit wean the night, as ye will hae heard, and

doubtless ye will stay and see the ordinance. We hae killed a

wether, and ane o' our lads has been out wi' his gun at the moss;

ye used to like wild-fowl."

"Na, na, gudewife," said Caleb; "I just keekit in to wish ye

joy, and I wad be glad to hae spoken wi' the gudeman, but----"

moving, as if to go away.

"The ne'er a fit ye's gang," said the elder dame, laughing and

holding him fast, with a freedom which belonged to their old

acquaintance; "wha kens what ill it may bring to the bairn, if

ye owerlook it in that gate?"

"But I'm in a preceese hurry, gudewife," said the butler,

suffering himself to be dragged to a seat without much

resistance; "and as to eating," for he observed the mistress of

the dwelling bustling about to place a trencher for him-- "as for

eating--lack-a-day, we are just killed up yonder wi' eating frae

morning to night! It's shamefu' epicurism; but that's what we

hae gotten frae the English pock-puddings."

"Hout, never mind the English pock-puddings," said Luckie

Lightbody; "try our puddings, Mr. Balderstone; there is black

pudding and white-hass; try whilk ye like best."

"Baith gude--baith excellent--canna be better; but the very

smell is eneugh for me that hae dined sae lately (the faithful

wretch had fasted since daybreak). But I wadna affront your

housewifeskep, gudewife; and, with your permission, I'se e'en pit

them in my napkin, and eat them to my supper at e'en, for I am

wearied of Mysie's pastry and nonsense; ye ken landward dainties

aye pleased me best, Marion, and landward lasses too (looking at

the cooper's wife). Ne'er a bit but she looks far better than

when she married Gilbert, and then she was the bonniest lass in

our parochine and the neist till't. But gawsie cow, goodly

calf."

The women smiled at the compliment each to herself, and they

smiled again to each other as Caleb wrapt up the puddings in a

towel which he had brought with him, as a dragoon carries his

foraging bag to receive what my fall in his way.

"And what news at the castle?" quo' the gudewife.

"News! The bravest news ye ever heard--the Lord Keeper's up

yonder wi' his fair daughter, just ready to fling her at my

lord's head, if he winna tak her out o' his arms; and I'se

warrant he'll stitch our auld lands of Ravenswood to her

petticoat tail."

"Eh! sirs--ay!--and will hae her? and is she weel-favoured? and

what's the colour o' her hair? and does she wear a habit or a

railly?" were the questions which the females showered upon the

butler.

"Hout tout! it wad tak a man a day to answer a' your

questions, and I hae hardly a minute. Where's the gudeman?"

"Awa' to fetch the minister," said Mrs. Girder, "precious Mr.

Peter Bide-the-Bent, frae the Mosshead; the honest man has the

rheumatism wi' lying in the hills in the

persecution."

"Ay! Whig and a mountain-man, nae less!" said Caleb, with a

peevishness he could not suppress. "I hae seen the day, Luckie,

when worthy Mr. Cuffcushion and the service-book would hae served

your turn (to the elder dame), or ony honest woman in like

circumstances."

"And that's true too," said Mrs. Lightbody, "but what can a body

do? Jean maun baith sing her psalms and busk her cockernony the

gate the gudeman likes, and nae ither gate; for he's maister and

mair at hame, I can tell ye, Mr. Balderstone."

"Ay, ay, and does he guide the gear too?" said Caleb, to whose

projects masculine rule boded little good.

"Ilka penny on't; but he'll dress her as dink as a daisy, as ye

see; sae she has little reason to complain: where there's ane

better aff there's ten waur."

"Aweel, gudewife," said Caleb, crestfallen, but not beaten off,

"that wasna the way ye guided your gudeman; bt ilka land has its

ain lauch. I maun be ganging. I just wanted to round in the

gudeman's lug, that I heard them say up-bye yonder that Peter

Puncheon, that was cooper to the Queen's stores at the Timmer

Burse at Leith, is dead; sae I though that maybe a word frae my

lord to the Lord Keeper might hae served Gilbert; but since he's

frae hame----"

"O, but ye maun stay his hame-coming," said the dame. "I aye

telled the gudeman ye meant weel to him; but he taks the tout at

every bit lippening word."

"Aweel, I'll stay the last minute I can."

"And so," said the handsome young spouse of Mr. Girder, "ye

think this Miss Ashton is weel-favoured? Troth, and sae should

she, to set up for our young lord, with a face and a hand, and a

seat on his horse, that might become a king's son. D'ye ken that

he aye glowers up at my window, Mr. Balderstone, when he chaunces

to ride thro' the town? Sae I hae a right to ken what like he

is, as weel as ony body."

"I ken that brawly," said Caleb, "for I hae heard his lordship

say the cooper's wife had the blackest ee in the barony; and I

said, 'Weel may that be, my lord, for it was her mither's afore

her, as I ken to my cost.' Eh, Marion? Ha, ha, ha! Ah! these

were merry days!"

"Hout awa', auld carle," said the old dame, "to speak sic

daffing to young folk. But, Jean--fie, woman, dinna ye hear the

bairn greet? I'se warrant it's that dreary weid has come ower't

again."

Up got mother and grandmother, and scoured away, jostling each

other as they ran, into some remote corner of the tenement,

where the young hero of the evening was deposited. When Caleb

saw the coast fairly clear, he took an invigorating pinch of

snuff, to sharpen and confirm his resolution.

"Cauld be my cast," thought he, "if either Bide-the-Bent or

Girder taste that broach of wild-fowl this evening"; and then

addressing the eldest turnspit, a boy of about eleven years old,

and putting a penny into his hand, he said, "Here is twal

pennies, my man; carry that ower to Mrs. Sma'trash, and bid her

fill my mill wi' snishing, and I'll turn the broche for ye in the

mean time; and she will gie ye a ginge-bread snap for your

pains."

No sooner was the elder boy departed on this mission than Caleb,

looking the remaining turnspit gravely and steadily in the face,

removed from the fire the spit bearing the wild-fowl of which he

had undertaken the charge, clapped his hat on his head, and

fairly marched off with it. he stopped at the door of the

change-house only to say, in a few brief words, that Mr. Hayston

of Bucklaw was not to expect a bed that evening in the castle.

If this message was too briefly delivered by Caleb, it became

absolute rudeness when convenyed through the medium of a suburb

landlady; and Bucklaw was, as a more calm and temperate man might

have been, highly incensed. Captain Craigengelt proposed, with

the unanimous applause of all present, that they should course

the old fox (meaning Caleb) ere he got to cover, and toss him in

a blanket. But Lockhard intimated to his

master's servants and those of Lord Bittlebrains, in a tone of

authority, that the slightest impertinence to the Master of

Ravenswood's domestic would give Sir William Ashton the highest

offence. And having so said, in a manner sufficient to prevent

any aggression on their part, he left the public-house, taking

along with him two servants loaded with such provisions as he had

been able to procure, and overtook Caleb just when he had cleared

the village.

CHAPTER XIII.

Should I take aught of you? 'Tis true I begged now;

And what is worse than that, I stole a kindness;

And, what is worst of all, I lost my way in't.

Wit Without Money.

THE face of the little boy, sole witness of Caleb's

infringement upon the laws at once of property and hospitality,

would have made a good picture. He sat motionless, as if he had

witnessed some of the spectral appearances which he had heard

told of in a winter's evening; and as he forgot his own duty, and

allowed his spit to stand still, he added to the misfortunes of

the evening by suffering the mutton to burn as black as a coal.

He was first recalled from his trance of astonishment by a hearty

cuff administered by Dame Lightbody, who, in whatever other

respects she might conform to her name, was a woman strong of

person, and expert in the use of her hands, as some say her

deceased husband had known to his cost.

"What garr'd ye let the roast burn, ye ill-clerkit gude-for-

nought?"

"I dinna ken," said the boy.

"And where's that ill-deedy gett, Giles?"

"I dinna ken," blubbered the astonished declarant.

"And where's Mr. Balderstone?--and abune a', and in the name of

council and kirk-session, that I suld say sae, where's the

broche wi' the wild-fowl?"

As Mrs. Girder here entered, and joined her mother's

exclamations, screaming into one ear while the old lady deafened

the other, they succeeded in so utterly confounding the unhappy

urchin, that he could not for some time tell his story at all,

and it was only when the elder boy returned that the truth began

to dawn on their minds.

"Weel, sirs!" said Mrs. Lightbody, "wha wad hae thought o' Caleb

Balderstone playing an auld acquaintance sic a pliskie!"

"Oh, weary on him!" said the spouse of Mr. Girder; "and what am

I to say to the gudeman? He'll brain me, if there wasna anither

woman in a' Wolf''s Hope."

"Hout tout, silly quean," said the mother; "na, na, it's come to

muckle, but it's no come to that neither; for an he brain you he

maun brain me, and I have garr'd his betters stand back. Hands

aff is fair play; we maunna heed a bit flyting."

The tramp of horses now announced the arrival of the cooper,

with the minister. They had no sooner dismounted than they made

for the kitchen fire, for the evening was cool after the

thunderstorm, and the woods wet and dirty. The young gudewife,

strong in the charms of her Sunday gown and biggonets, threw

herself in the way of receiving the first attack, while her

mother, like the veteran division of the Roman legion, remained

in the rear, ready to support her in case of necessity. Both

hoped to protract the discovery of what had happened--the mother,

by interposing her bustling person betwixt Mr. Girder and the

fire, and the daughter, by the extreme cordiality with which she

received the minister and her husband, and the anxious fears

which she expressed lest they should have "gotten cauld."

"Cauld!" quoted the husband, surlily, for he was not of that

class of lords and amsters whose wives are viceroys over them,

"we'll be cauld eneugh, I think, if ye dinna let us in to the

fire."

And so saying, he burst his way through both lines of defence;

and, as he had a careful eye over his property of every kind, he

perceived at one glance the absence of the spit with its savoury

burden. "What the deil, woman----"

"Fie for shame!" exclaimed both the women; "and before Mr. Bide-

the-Bent!"

"I stand reproved," said the cooper; "but----"

"The taking in our mouths the name of the great enemy of our

souls," said Mr. Bide-the-Bent----

"I stand reproved," said the cooper.

"--Is an exposing ourselves to his temptations," continued the

reverend monitor, "and in inviting, or, in some sort, a

compelling, of him to lay aside his other trafficking with

unhappy persons, and wait upon those in whose speech his name is

frequent."

"Weel, weel, Mr. Bide-the-Bent, can a man do mair than stand

reproved?" said the cooper; "but jest let me ask the women what

for they hae dished the wild-fowl before we came."

"They arena dished, Gilbert," said his wife; "but--but an

accident----"

"What accident?" said Girder, with flashing eyes. "Nae ill come

ower them, I trust? Uh?"

His wife, who stood much in awe of him, durst not reply, but her

mother bustled up to her support, with arms disposed as if they

were about to be a-kimbo at the next reply.--"I gied them to an

acquaintance of mine, Gibbie Girder; and what about it now?"

Her excess of assurance struck Girder mute for an instant. "And

YE gied the wild-fowl, the best end of our christening dinner,

to a friend of yours, ye auld rudas! And what might HIS name

be, I pray ye?"

"Just worthy Mr. Caleb Balderstone--frae Wolf's Crag," answered

Marion, prompt and prepared for battle.

Girder's wrath foamed over all restraint. If there was a

circumstance which could have added to the resentment he felt, it

was that this extravagant donation had been made in favour of

our friend Caleb, towards whom, for reasons to which the reader

is no stranger, he nourished a decided resentment. He raised his

riding-wand against the elder matron, but she stood firm,

collected in herself, and undauntedly brandished the iron ladle

with which she had just been "flambing" (Anglice, basting) the

roast of mutton. Her weapon was certainly the better, and her

arm not the weakest of the two; so that Gilbert thought it safest

to turn short off upon his wife, who had by this time hatched a

sort of hysterical whine, which greatly moved the minister, who

was in fact as simple and kind-hearted a creature as ever

breathed. "And you, ye thowless jade, to sit still and see my

substance disponed upon to an idle, drunken, reprobate, worm-

eaten serving-man, just because he kittles the lugs o' a silly

auld wife wi' useless clavers, and every twa words a lee? I'll

gar you as gude----"

Here the minister interposed, both by voice and action, while

Dame Lightbody threw herself in front of her daughter, and

flourished her ladle.

"Am I no to chastise my ain wife?" exclaimed the cooper very

indignantly.

"Ye may chastise your ain wife if ye like," answered Dame

Lightbody; "but ye shall never lay finger on my daughter, and

that ye may found upon."

"For shame, Mr. Girder!" said the clergyman; "this is what I

little expected to have seen of you, that you suld give rein to

your sinful passions against your nearestt and your dearest, and

this night too, when ye are called to the most solemn duty of a

Christian parent; and a' for what? For a redundancy of creature-

comforts, as worthless as they are unneedful."

"Worthless!" exclaimed the cooper. "A better guse never walkit

on stubble; two finer, dentier wild ducks never wat a feather."

"Be it sae, neighbour," rejoined the minister; "but see what

superfluities are yet revolving before your fire. I have seen

the day when ten of the bannocks which stand upon that board

would have been an acceptable dainty to as many men, that were

starving on hills and bogs, and in caves of the earth, for the

Gospel's sake."

"And that's what vexes me maist of a'," said the cooper, anxious

to get some one to sympathise with his not altogether causeless

anger; "an the quean had gien it to ony suffering sant, or to ony

body ava but that reaving, lying, oppressing Tory villain, that

rade in the wicked troop of militia when it was commanded out

against the sants at Bothwell Brig by the auld tyrant Allan

Ravenswood, that is gane to his place, I wad the less hae minded

it. But to gie the principal parts o' the feast to the like o'

him----!"

"Aweel, Gilbert," said the minister, "and dinna ye see a high

judgment in this? The seed of the righteous are not seen

begging their bread: think of the son of a powerful oppressor

being brought to the pass of supporting his household from your

fulness."

"And, besides," said the wife, "it wasna for Lord Ravenswood

neither, an he wad hear but a body speak: it was to help to

entertain the Lord Keeper, as they ca' him, that's up yonder at

Wolf's Crag."

"Sir William Ashton at Wolf's Crag!" ejaculated the

astonished man of hoops and staves.

"And hand and glove wi' Lord Ravenswood," added Dame

Lightbody.

"Doited idiot! that auld, clavering sneckdrawer wad gar ye trow

the moon is made of green cheese. The Lord Keeper and

Ravenswood! they are cat and dog, hare and hound."

"I tell ye they are man and wife, and gree better than some

others that are sae," retorted the mother-in-law; "forbye, Peter

Puncheon, that's cooper the Queen's stores, is dead, and the

place is to fill, and----"

"Od guide us, wull ye haud your skirling tongues!" said Girder,--

for we are to remark, that this explanation was given like a

catch for two voices, the younger dame, much encouraged by the

turn of the debate, taking up and repeating in a higher tone the

words as fast as they were uttered by her mother.

"The gudewife says naething but what's true, maister," said

Girder's foreman, who had come in during the fray. "I saw the

Lord Keeper's servants drinking and driving ower at Luckie

Sma'trash's, ower-bye yonder."

"And is their maister up at Wolf's Crag?" said Girder.

"Ay, troth is he," replied his man of confidence.

"And friends wi' Ravenswood?"

"It's like sae," answered the foreman, "since he is putting up

wi' him."

"And Peter Puncheon's dead?"

"Ay, ay, Puncheon has leaked out at last, the auld carle," said

the foreman; "mony a dribble o' brandy has gaen through him in

his day. But as for the broche and the wild-fowl, the

saddle's no aff your mare yet, maister, and I could follow and

bring it back, for Mr. Balderstone's no far aff the town yet."

"Do sae, Will; and come here, I'll tell ye what to do when ye

owertake him."

He relieved the females of his presence, and gave Will his

private instructions.

"A bonny-like thing," said the mother-in-law, as the cooper re-

entered the apartment, "to send the innocent lad after an armed

man, when ye ken Mr. Balderstone aye wears a rapier, and whiles a

dirk into the bargain."

"I trust," said the minister, "ye have reflected weel on what ye

have done, lest you should minister cause of strife, of which it

is my duty to say, he who affordeth matter, albeit he himself

striketh not, is in no manner guiltless."

"Never fash your beard, Mr. Bide-the-Bent," replied Girder; "ane

canna get their breath out here between wives and ministers. I

ken best how to turn my ain cake. Jean, serve up the dinner,

and nae mair about it."

Nor did he again allude to the deficiency in the course of the

evening.

Meantime, the foreman, mounted on his master's steed, and

charged with his special orders, pricked swiftly forth in pursuit

of the marauder Caleb. That personage, it may be imagined, did

not linger by the way. He intermitted even his dearly-beloved

chatter, for the purpose of making more haste, only assuring Mr.

Lockhard that he had made the purveyor's wife give the wild-fowl

a few turns before the fire, in case that Mysie, who had been so

much alarmed by the thunder, should not have her kitchen-grate in

full splendour. Meanwhile, alleging the necessity of being at

Wolf's Crag as soon as possible, he pushed on so fast that his

companions could scarce keep up with him. He began already to

think he was safe from pursuit, having gained the summit of the

swelling eminence which divides Wolf's Crag from the village,

when he heard the distant tread of a horse, and a voice which

shouted at intervals, "Mr. Caleb--Mr. Balderstone--Mr. Caleb

Balderstone--hollo--bide a wee!"

Caleb, it may be well believed, was in no hurry to

acknowledge the summons. First, he would not heart it, and faced

his companions down, that it was the echo of the wind; then he

said it was not worth stopping for; and, at length, halting

reluctantly, as the figure of the horseman appeared through the

shades of the evening, he bent up his whole soul to the task of

defending his prey, threw himself into an attitude of dignity,

advanced the spit, which is his grasp might with its burden seem

both spear and shield, and firmly resolved to die rather than

surrender it.

What was his astonishment, when the cooper's foreman, riding up

and addressing him with respect, told him: "His master was very

sorry he was absent when he came to his dwelling, and grieved

that he could not tarry the christening dinner; and that he had

taen the freedom to send a sma' runlet of sack, and ane anker of

brandy, as he understood there were guests at the castle, and

that they were short of preparation."

I have heard somewhere a story of an elderly gentleman who was

pursued by a bear that had gotten loose from its muzzle, until

completely exhausted. In a fit of desperation, he faced round

upon Bruin and lifted his cane; at the sight of which the

instinct of discipline prevailed, and the animal, instead of

tearing him to pieces, rose up upon his hind-legs and instantly

began to shuffle a saraband. Not less than the joyful surprise

of the senior, who had supposed himself in the extremity of peril

from which he was thus unexpectedly relieved, was that of our

excellent friend Caleb, when he found the pursuer intended to add

to his prize, instead of bereaving him of it. He recovered his

latitude, however, instantly, so soon as the foreman, stooping

from his nag, where he sate perched betwixt the two barrels,

whispered in his ear: "If ony thing about Peter Puncheon's place

could be airted their way, John [Gibbie] Girder wad mak it better

to the Master of Ravenswood than a pair of new gloves; and that

he wad be blythe to speak wi' Maister Balderstone on that head,

and he wad find him as pliant as a hoop-willow in a' that he

could wish of him."

Caleb heard all this without rendering any answer, except that

of all great men from Louis XIV. downwards, namely, "We will see

about it"; and then added aloud, for the edification of Mr.

Lockhard: "Your master has acted with becoming civility and

attention in forwarding the liquors, and I will not fail to

represent it properly to my Lord Ravenswood. And, my lad," he

said, "you may ride on to the castle, and if none of the servants

are returned, whilk is to be dreaded, as they make day and night

of it when they are out of sight, ye may put them into the

porter's lodge, whilk is on the right hand of the great entry;

the porter has got leave to go to see his friends, sae ye will

met no ane to steer ye."

The foreman, having received his orders, rode on; and having

deposited the casks in the deserted and ruinous porter's lodge,

he returned unquestioned by any one. Having thus executed his

master's commission, and doffed his bonnet to Caleb and his

company as he repassed them in his way to the village, he

returned to have his share of the christening festivity.

CHAPTER XIV.

As, to the Autumn breeze's bugle sound,

Various and vague the dry leaves dance their round;

Or, from the garner-door, on ether borne,

The chaff flies devious from the winnow'd corn;

So vague, so devious, at the breath of heaven,

From their fix'd aim are mortal counsels driv'n.

Anonymous.

WE left Caleb Balderstone in the extremity of triumph at the

success of his various achievements for the honour of the house

of Ravenswood. When he had mustered and marshalled his dishes of

divers kinds, a more royal provision had not been seen in Wolf's

Crag since the funeral feast of its deceased lord. Great was the

glory of the serving-man, as he "decored" the old oaken table

with a clean cloth, and arranged upon it carbonaded venison and

roasted wild-fowl, with a glance, every now and then, as if to

upbraid the incredulity of his master and his guests; and with

many a story, more or less true, was Lockhard that evening

regaled concerning the ancient grandeur of Wolf's Crag, and the

sway of its barons over the country in their

neighbourhood.

"A vassal scarce held a calf or a lamb his ain, till he had

first asked if the Lord of Ravenswood was pleased to accept it;

and they were obliged to ask the lord's consent before they

married in these days, and mony a merry tale they tell about that

right as weel as others. And although," said Caleb, "these times

are not like the gude auld times, when authority had its right,

yet true it is, Mr. Lockhard, and you yoursell may partly have

remarked, that we of the house of Ravenswood do our endeavour in

keeping up, by all just and lawful exertion of our baronial

authority, that due and fitting connexion betwixt superior and

vassal, whilk is in some danger of falling into desuetude, owing

to the general license and misrule of these present unhappy

times."

"Umph!" said Mr. Lockhard; "and if I may inquire, Mr.

Balderstone, pray do you find your people at the village yonder

amenable? for I must needs say, that at Ravenswood Castle, now

pertaining to my master the Lord Keeper, ye have not left behind

ye the most compliant set of tenantry."

"Ah! but Mr. Lockhard," replied Caleb, "ye must consider there

has been a change of hands, and the auld lord might expect twa

turns frae them, when the new-comer canna get ane. A dour and

fractious set they were, thae tenants of Ravenswood, and ill to

live wi' when they dinna ken their master; and if your master

put them mad ance, the whole country will not put them down."

"Troth," said Mr. Lockhard, "an such be the case, I think the

wisest thing for us a ' wad be to hammer up a match between your

young lord and our winsome young leddy up-bye there; and Sir

William might just stitch your auld barony to her gown-sleeve,

and he wad sune cuitle another out o' somebody else, sic a lang

head as he has."

Caleb shook his head. "I wish," he said--"I wish that may

answer, Mr. Lockhard. There are auld prophecies about this house

I wad like ill to see fulfilled wi' my auld een, that has seen

evil eneugh already."

"Pshaw! never mind freits," said his brother butler; "if the

young folk liked ane anither, they wad make a winsome couple.

But, to say truth, there is a leddy sits in our hall-neuk, maun

have her hand in that as weel as in every other job. But there's

no harm in drinking to their healths, and I will fill Mrs. Mysie

a cup of Mr. Girder's canary."

While they thus enjoyed themselves in the kitchen, the company

in the hall were not less pleasantly engaged. So soon as

Ravenswood had determined upon giving the Lord Keeper such

hospitality as he had to offer, he deemed it incumbent on him to

assume the open and courteous brow of a well-pleased host. It

has been often remarked, that when a man commences by acting a

character, he frequently ends by adopting it in good earnest. In

the course of an hour or two, Ravenswood, to his own surprise,

found himself in the situation of one who frankly does his best

to entertain welcome and honoured guests. How much of this

change in his disposition was to be ascribed to the beauty and

simplicity of Miss Ashton, to the readiness with which she

accommodated herself to the inconveniences of her situation; how

much to the smooth and plausible conversation of the Lord Keeper,

remarkably gifted with those words which win the ear, must be

left to the reader's ingenuity to conjecture. But Ravenswood was

insensible to neither.

The Lord Keeper was a veteran statesman, well acquainted with

courts and cabinets, and intimate with all the various turns of

public affairs during the last eventful years of the 17th

century. He could talk, from his own knowledge, of men and

events, in a way which failed not to win attention, and had the

peculiar art, while he never said a word which committed himself,

at the same time to persuade the hearer that he was speaking

without the least shadow of scrupulous caution or reserve.

Ravenswood, in spite of his prejudices and real grounds of

resentment, felt himself at once amused and instructed in

listening to him, while the statesman, whose inward feelings had

at first so much impeded his efforts to make himself known, had

now regained all the ease and fluency of a silver-tongued lawyer

of the very highest order.

His daughter did not speak much, but she smiled; and what she

did say argued a submissive gentleness, and a desire to give

pleasure, which, to a proud man like Ravenswood, was more

fascinating than the most brilliant wit. Above all, he could not

be observe that, whether from gratitude or from some other

motive, he himself, in his deserted and unprovided hall, was as

much the object of respectful attention to his guests as he would

have been when surrounded by all the appliances and means of

hospitality proper to his high birth. All deficiencies passed

unobserved, or, if they did not escape notice, it was to praise

the substitutes which Caleb had contrived to supply the want of

the usual accommodations. Where a smile was unavoidable, it was

a very good-humoured one, and often coupled with some well-turned

compliment, to show how much the guests esteemed the merits of

their noble host, how little they thought of the inconveniences

with which they were surrounded. I am not sure whether the pride

of being found to outbalance, in virtue of his own personal

merit, all the disadvantages of fortune, did not make as

favourable an impression upon the haughty heart of the Master of

Ravenswood as the conversation of the father and the beauty of

Lucy Ashton.

The hour of repose arrived. The Keeper and his daughter retired

to their apartments, which were "decored" more properly than

could have been anticipated. In making the necessary

arrangements, Mysie had indeed enjoyed the assistance of a gossip

who had arrived from the village upon an exploratory expedition,

but had been arrested by Caleb, and impressed into the domestic

drudgery of the evening; so that, instead of returning home to

describe the dress and person of the grand young lady, she found

herself compelled to be active in the domestic economy of Wolf's

Crag.

According to the custom of the time, the Master of

Ravenswood attended the Lord Keeper to his apartment, followed by

Caleb, who placed on the table, with all the ceremonials due to

torches of wax, two rudely-framed tallow-candles, such as in

those days were only used by the peasantry, hooped in paltry

clasps of wire, which served for candlesticks. He then

disappeared, and presently entered with two earthen flagons (the

china, he said, had been little used since my lady's time), one

filled with canary wine, the other with brandy. The canary sack,

unheeding all probabilities of detection, he declared had been

twenty years in the cellars of Wolf's Crag, "though it was not

for him to speak before their honours; the brandy--it was weel-

kenn'd liquor, as mild as mead and as strong as Sampson; it had

been in the house ever since the memorable revel, in which auld

Micklestob had been slain at the head of the stair by Jamie of

Jenklebrae, on account of the honour of the worshipful Lady

Muirend, wha was in some sort an ally of the family; natheless---

"But to cut that matter short, Mr. Caleb," said the Keeper,

"perhaps you will favour me with a ewer of water."

"God forbid your lordship should drink water in this

family," replied Caleb, "to the disgrace of so honourable an

house!"

"Nevertheless, if his lordship have a fancy," said the Master,

smiling, "I think you might indulge him; for, if I mistake not,

there has been water drank here at no distant date, and with good

relish too."

"To be sure, if his lordship has a fancy," said Caleb; and re-

entering with a jug of pure element--"He will scarce find such

water onywhere as is drawn frae the well at Wolf's Crag;

nevertheless----"

"Nevertheless, we must leave the Lord Keeper to his repose in

this poor chamber of ours," said the Master of Ravenswood,

interrupting his talkative domestic, who immediately turning to

the doorway, with a profound reverence, prepared to usher his

master from the secret chamber.

But the Lord Keeper prevented his host's departure.--"I have but

one word to say to the Master of Ravenswood, Mr. Caleb, and I

fancy he will excuse your waiting."

With a second reverence, lower than the former, Caleb withdrew;

and his master stood motionless, expecting, with considerable

embarrassment, what was to close the events of a day fraught with

unexpected incidents.

"Master of Ravenswood," said Sir William Ashton, with some

embarrassment, "I hope you understand the Christian law too well

to suffer the sun to set upon your anger."

The Master blushed and replied, "He had no occasion that evening

to exercise the duty enjoined upon him by his Christian faith."

"I should have thought otherwise," said his guest,

"considering the various subjects of dispute and litigation which

have unhappily occurred more frequently than was desirable or

necessary betwixt the late honourable lord, your father, and

myself."

"I could wish, my lord," said Ravenswood, agitated by suppressed

emotion, "that reference to these circumstances should be made

anywhere rather than under my father's roof."

"I should have felt the delicacy of this appeal at another

time," said Sir William Ashton, "but now I must proceed with what

I mean to say. I have suffered too much in my own mind, from the

false delicacy which prevented my soliciting with earnestness,

what indeed I frequently requested, a personal communing with

your father: much distress of mind to him and to me might have

been prevented."

"It is true," said Ravenswood, after a moment's reflection, "I

have heard my father say your lordship had proposed a personal

interview."

"Proposed, my dear Master? I did indeed propose it; but I ought

to have begged, entreated, beseeched it. I ought to have torn

away the veil, which interested persons had stretched betwixt us,

and shown myself as I was, willing to sacrifice a considerable

part even of my legal rights, in order to conciliate feelings so

natural as his must be allowed to have been. Let me say for

myself, my young friend, for so I will call you, that had your

father and I spent the same time together which my good fortune

has allowed me to-day to pass in your company, it is possible the

land might yet have enjoyed one of the most

respectable of its ancient nobility, and I should have been

spared the pain of parting in enmity from a person whose general

character I so much admired and honoured."

He put his handkerchief to his eyes. Ravenswood also was moved,

but awaited in silence the progress of this extraordinary

communication.

"It is necessary," continued the Lord Keeper, "and proper that

you should understand, that there have been many points betwixt

us, in which, although I judged it proper that there should be an

exact ascertainment of my legal rights by the decree of a court

of justice, yet it was never my intention to press them beyond

the verge of equity."

"My lord," said the Master of Ravenswood, "it is unnecessary to

pursue this topic farther. What the law will give you, or has

given you, you enjoy--or you shall enjoy; neither my father nor

I myself would have received anything on the footing of favour."

"Favour! No, you misunderstand me," resumed the Keeper; "or

rather you are no lawyer. A right may be good in law, and

ascertained to be so, which yet a man of honour may not in every

case care to avail himself of."

"I am sorry for it, my lord," said the Master.

"Nay, nay," retorted his guest, "you speak like a young

counsellor; your spirit goes before your wit. There are many

things still open for decision betwixt us. Can you blame me, an

old man desirous of peace, and in the castle of a young nobleman

who has saved my daughter's life and my own, that I am desirous,

anxiously desirous, that these should be settled on the most

liberal principles?"

The old man kept fast hold of the Master's passive hand as he

spoke, and made it impossible for him, be his predetermination

what it would, to return any other than an acquiescent reply; and

wishing his guest good-night, he postponed farther conference

until the next morning.

Ravenswood hurried into the hall, where he was to spend the

night, and for a time traversed its pavement with a

disordered and rapid pace. His mortal foe was under his roof,

yet his sentiments towards him were neither those of a feudal

enemy nor of a true Christian. He felt as if he could neither

forgive him in the one character, nor follow forth his vengeance

in the other, but that he was making a base and dishonourable

composition betwixt his resentment against the father and his

affection for his daughter. He cursed himself, as he hurried to

and fro in the pale moonlight, and more ruddy gleams of the

expiring wood-fire. He threw open and shut the latticed windows

with violence, as if alike impatient of the admission and

exclusion of free air. At length, however, the torrent of

passion foamed off its madness, and he flung himself into the

chair which he proposed as his place of repose for the night.

"If, in reality," such were the calmer thoughts that

followed the first tempest of his pasion--"if, in reality, this

man desires no more than the law allows him--if he is willing to

adjust even his acknowledged rights upon an equitable footing,

what could be my father's cause of complaint?--what is mine?

Those from who we won our ancient possessions fell under the

sword of my ancestors, and left lands and livings to the

conquerors; we sink under the force of the law, now too powerful

for the Scottish cavalry. Let us parley with the victors of the

day, as if we had been besieged in our fortress, and without hope

of relief. This man may be other than I have thought him; and

his daughter--but I have resolved not to think of her."

He wrapt his cloak around him, fell asleep, and dreamed of Lucy

Ashton till daylight gleamed through the lattices.

CHAPTER XV.

We worldly men, when we see friends and kinsmen

Past hope sunk in their fortunes, lend no hand

To lift them up, but rather set our feet

Upon their heads to press them to the bottom,

As I must yield with you I practised it;

But now I see you in a way to rise,

I can and will assist you.

New Way to Pay Old Debts.

THE Lord Keeper carried with him, to a couch harder than he was

accustomed to stretch himself upon, the same ambitious thoughts

and political perplexities which drive sleep from the softest

down that ever spread a bed of state. He had sailed long enough

amid the contending tides and currents of the time to be

sensible of their peril, and of the necessity of trimming his

vessel to the prevailing wind, if he would have her escape

shipwreck in the storm. The nature of his talents, and the

timorousness of disposition connected with them, had made him

assume the pliability of the versatile old Earl of Northampton,

who explained the art by which he kept his ground during all the

changes of state, from the reign of Henry VIII. to that of

Elizabeth, by the frank avowal, that he was born of the willow,

not of the oak. It had accordingly been Sir William Ashton's

policy, on all occasions, to watch the changes in the political

horizon, and, ere yet the conflict was decided, to negotiate some

interest for himself with the party most likely to prove

victorious. His time-serving disposition was well-known, and

excited the contempt of the more daring leaders of both factions

in the state. But his talents were of a useful and practical

kind, and his legal knowledge held in high estimation; and they

so far counterbalanced other deficiencies that those in power

were glad to use and to reward, though without absolutely

trusting or greating respecting, him.

The Marquis of A---- had used his utmost influence to effect a

change in the Scottish cabinet, and his schemes had been of late

so well laid and so ably supported, that there appeared a very

great chance of his proving ultimately

successful. He did not, however, feel so strong or so confident

as to neglect any means of drawing recruits to his standard. The

acquisition of the Lord Keeper was deemed of some importance, and

a friend, perfectly acquainted with his circumstances and

character, became responsible for his political conversion.

When this gentleman arrived at Ravenswood Castle upon a visit,

the real purpose of which was disguised under general courtesy,

he found the prevailing fear which at present beset the Lord

Keeper was that of danger to his own person from the Master of

Ravenswood. The language which the blind sibyl, Old Alice, had

used; the sudden appearance of the Master, armed, and within his

precincts, immediately after he had been warned against danger

from him; the cold and haughty return received in exchange for

the acknowledgments with which he loaded him for his timely

protection, had all made a strong impression on his imagination.

So soon as the Marquis's political agent found how the wind

sate, he began to insinuate fears and doubts of another kind,

scarce less calculated to affect the Lord Keeper. He inquired

with seeming interest, whether the proceedings in Sir William's

complicated litigation with the Ravenswood family were out of

court, and settled without the possibility of appeal. The Lord

Keeper answered in the affirmative; but his interrogator was too

well informed to be imposed upon. He pointed out to him, by

unanswerable arguments, that some of the most important points

which had been decided in his favour against the house of

Ravenswood were liable, under the Treaty of Union, to be reviewed

by the British House of Peers, a court of equity of which the

Lord Keeper felt an instinctive dread. This course came instead

of an appeal to the old Scottish Parliament, or, as it was

technically termed, "a protestation for remeid in law."

The Lord Keeper, after he had for some time disputed the

legality of such a proceeding, was compelled, at length, to

comfort himself with the improbability of the young Master of

Ravenswood's finding friends in parliament capable of stirring

in so weighty an affair.

"Do not comfort yourself with that false hope," said his wily

friend; "it is possible that, in the next session of

Parliament, young Ravenswood may find more friends and favour

even than your lordship."

"That would be a sight worth seeing," said the Keeper,

scornfully.

"And yet," said his friend, "such things have been seen ere now,

and in our own time. There are many at the head of affairs even

now that a few years ago were under hiding for their lives; and

many a man now dines on plate of silver that was fain to eat his

crowdy without a bicker; and many a high head has been brought

full low among us in as short a space. Scott of Scotsarvet's

Staggering State of Scots Statesmen, of which curious memoir you

showed me a manuscript, has been outstaggered in our time."

The Lord Keeper answered with a deep sigh, "That these mutations

were no new sights in Scotland, and had been witnessed long

before the time of the satirical author he had quoted. It was

many a long year," he said, "since Fordun had quoted as an

ancient proverb, 'Neque dives, neque fortis, sed nec sapiens

Scotus, praedominante invidia, diu durabit in terra.'"

"And be assured, my esteemed friend," was the answer, "that even

your long services to the state, or deep legal knowledge, will

not save you, or render your estate stable, if the Marquis of A--

-- comes in with a party in the British Parliament. You know

that the deceased Lord Ravenswood was his near ally, his lady

being fifth in descent from the Knight of Tillibardine; and I am

well assured that he will take young Ravenswood by the hand, and

be his very good lord and kinsman. Why should he not? The

Master is an active and stirring young fellow, able to help

himself with tongue and hands; and it is such as he that finds

friends among their kindred, and not those unarmed and unable

Mephibosheths that are sure to be a burden to every one that

takes them up. And so, if these Ravenswood cases be called over

the coals in the House of Peers, you will find that the Marquis

will have a crow to pluck with you."

"That would be an evil requital," said the Lord Keeper, "for my

long services to the state, and the ancient respect in which I

have held his lordship's honourable family and person."

"Ay, but," rejoined the agent of the Marquis, "it is in vain to

look back on past service and auld respect, my lord; it will be

present service and immediate proofs of regard which, in these

sliddery times, will be expected by a man like the Marquis."

The Lord Keeper now saw the full drift of his friend's argument,

but he was too cautious to return any positive answer.

"He knew not," he said, "the service which the Lord Marquis

could expect from one of his limited abilities, that had not

always stood at his command, still saving and reserving his duty

to his king and country."

Having thus said nothing, while he seemed to say everything, for

the exception was calculated to cover whatever he might

afterwards think proper to bring under it, Sir William Ashton

changed the conversation, nor did he again permit the same topic

to be introduced. His guest departed, without having brought the

wily old statesman the length of committing himself, or of

pledging himself to any future line of conduct, but with the

certainty that he had alarmed his fears in a most sensible point,

and laid a foundation for future and farther treaty.

When he rendered an account of his negotiation to the Marquis,

they both agreed that the Keeper ought not to be

permitted to relapse into security, and that he should be plied

with new subjects of alarm, especially during the absence of his

lady. They were well aware that her proud, vindictive, and

predominating spirit would be likely to supply him with the

courage in which he was deficient; that she was immovably

attached to the party now in power, with whom she maintained a

close correspondence and alliance; and that she hated, without

fearing, the Ravenswood family (whose more ancient dignity threw

discredit on the newly acquired grandeur of her husband) to such

a degree that she would have perilled the interest of her own

house to have the prospect of altogether crushing that of her

enemy.

But Lady Ashton was now absent. The business which had long

detained her in Edinburgh had afterwards induced her to travel to

London, not without the hope that she might contribute her share

to disconcert the intrigues of the Marquis at court; for she

stood high in favour with the celebrated Sarah Duchesss of

Marlborough, to whom, in point of character, she bore

considerable resemblance. It was necessary to press her husband

hard before her return; and, as a preparatory step, the Marquis

wrote to the Master of Ravenswood the letter which we rehearsed

in a former chapter. It was cautiously worded, so as to leave it

in the power of the writer hereafter to take as deep or as slight

an interest in the fortunes of his kinsmen as the progress of his

own schemes might require. But however unwilling, as a

statesman, the Marquis might be to commit himself, or assume the

character of a patron, while he had nothing to give away, it must

be said to his honour that he felt a strong inclination

effectually to befriend the Master of Ravenswood, as well as to

use his name as a means of alarming the terrors of the Lord

Keeper.

As the messenger who carried this letter was to pass near the

house of the Lord Keeper, he had it in direction that, in the

village adjoining to the park-gate of the castle, his horse

should lose a shoe, and that, while it was replaced by the smith

of the place, he should express the utmost regret for the

necessary loss of time, and in the vehemence of his impatience

give it to be understood that he was bearing a message from the

Marquis of A---- to the Master of Ravenswood upon a matter of

life and death.

This news, with exaggerations, was speedily carried from various

quarters to the ears of the Lord Keeper, and each

reporter dwelt upon the extreme impatience of the courier, and

the surprising short time in which he had executed his journey.

The anxious statesman heard in silence; but in private Lockhard

received orders to watch the courier on his return, to waylay him

in the village, to ply him with liquor, if possible, and to use

all means, fair or foul, to learn the contents of the letter of

which he was the bearer. But as this plot had been foreseen, the

messenger returned by a different and distant road, and thus

escaped the snare that was laid for him.

After he had been in vain expected for some time, Mr. Dingwall

had orders to made especial inquiry among his clients of Wolf's

Hope, whether such a domestic belonging to the Marquis of A----

had actually arrived at the neighbouring castle. This was

easily ascertained; for Caleb had been in the village one morning

by five o'clock, to borrow "twa chappins of ale and a kipper" for

the messenger's refreshment, and the poor fellow had been ill for

twenty-four hours at Luckie Sma'trash's, in consequence of dining

upon "saut saumon and sour drink." So that the existence of a

correspondence betwixt the Marquis and his distressed kinsman,

which Sir William Ashton had sometimes treated as a bugbear, was

proved beyond the possibility of further doubt.

The alarm of the Lord Keeper became very serious; since the

Claim of Right, the power of appealing from the decisions of the

civil court to the Estates of Parliament, which had formerly

been held incompetent, had in many instances been claimed, and in

some allowed, and he had no small reason to apprehend the issue,

if the English House of Lords should be disposed to act upon an

appeal from the Master of Ravenswood "for remeid in law." It

would resolve into an equitable claim, and be decided, perhaps,

upon the broad principles of justice, which were not quite so

favourable to the Lord Keeper as those of strict law. Besides,

judging, though most inaccurately, from courts which he had

himself known in the unhappy times preceding the Scottish Union,

the Keeper might have too much right to think that, in the House

to which his lawsuits were to be transferred, the old maxim might

prevail which was too well recognised in Scotland in former

times: "Show me the man, and I'll show you the law." The high

and unbiassed character of English judicial proceedings was then

little known in Scotland, and the extension of them to that

country was one of the most valuable advantages which it gained

by the Union. But this was a blessing which the Lord Keeper, who

had lived under another system, could not have the means of

foreseeing. In the loss of his political

consequence, he anticipated the loss of his lawsuit. Meanwhile,

every report which reached him served to render the success of

the Marquis's intrigues the more probable, and the Lord Keeper

began to think it indispensable that he should look round for

some kind of protection against the coming storm. The timidity

of his temper induced him to adopt measures of compromise and

conciliation. The affair of the wild bull, properly managed,

might, he thought, be made to facilitate a personal communication

and reconciliation betwixt the Master and himself. He would then

learn, if possible, what his own ideas were of the extent of his

rights, and the means of enforcing them; and perhaps matters

might be brought to a compromise, where one party was wealthy and

the other so very poor. A reconciliation with Ravenswood was

likely to give him an opportunity to play his own game with the

Marquis of A----. "And besides," said he to himself, "it will be

an act of generosity to raise up the heir of this distressed

family; and if he is to be warmly and effectually befriended by

the new government, who knows but my virtue may prove its own

reward?"

Thus thought Sir William Ashton, covering with no unusual self-

delusion his interested views with a hue of virtue; and having

attained this point, his fancy strayed still farther. He began

to bethink himself, "That if Ravenswood was to have a

distinguished place of power and trust, and if such a union would

sopite the heavier part of his unadjusted claims, there might be

worse matches for his daughter Lucy: the Master might be reponed

against the attainder. Lord Ravenswood was an ancient title, and

the alliance would, in some measure, legitimate his own

possession of the greater part of the Master's spoils, and make

the surrender of the rest a subject of less bitter regret."

With these mingled and multifarious plans occupying his head,

the Lord Keeper availed himself of my Lord Bittlebrains's

repeated invitation to his residence, and thus came within a very

few miles of Wolf's Crag. Here he found the lord of the mansion

absent, but was couteously received by the lady, who expected her

husband's immediate return. She expressed her particular delight

at seeing Miss Ashton, and appointed the hounds to be taken out

for the Lord Keeper's special amusement. He readily entered into

the proposal, as giving him an

opportunity to reconnoitre Wolf's Crag, and perhaps to make some

acquaintance with the owner, if he should be tempted from his

desolate mansion by the chase. Lockhard had his orders to

endeavour on his part to make some acquaintance with the inmates

of the castle, and we have seen how he played his part.

The accidental storm did more to further the Lord Keeper's plan

of forming a personal acquaintance with young Ravenswood than his

most sanguine expectations could have anticipated. His fear of

the young nobleman's personal resentment had greatly decreased

since he considered him as formidable from his legal claims and

the means he might have of enforcing them. But although he

thought, not unreasonably, that only desperate circumstances

drove men on desperate measures, it was not without a secret

terror, which shook his heart within him, that he first felt

himself inclosed within the desolate Tower of Wolf's Crag; a

place so well fitted, from solitude and strength, to be a scene

of violence and vengeance. The stern reception at first given to

them by the Master of Ravenswood, and the difficulty he felt in

explaining to that injured nobleman what guests were under the

shelter of his roof, did not soothe these alarms; so that when

Sir William Ashton heard the door of the courtyard shut behind

him with violence, the words of Alice rung in his ears, "That he

had drawn on matters too hardly with so fierce a race as those of

Ravenswood, and that they would bide their time to be avenged."

The subsequent frankness of the Master's hospitality, as their

acquaintance increased, abated the apprehensions these

recollections were calculated to excite; and it did not escape

Sir William Ashton, that it was to Lucy's grace and beauty he

owed the change in their host's behavior.

All these thoughts thronged upon him when he took possession of

the secret chamber. The iron lamp, the unfurnished apartment,

more resembling a prison than a place of ordinary repose, the

hoarse and ceaseless sound of the waves rushing against the base

of the rock on which the castle was founded, saddened and

perplexed his mind. To his own successful

machinations, the ruin of the family had been in a great measure

owing, but his disposition was crafty, and not cruel; so that

actually to witness the desolation and distress he had himself

occasioned was as painful to him as it would be to the humane

mistress of a family to superintend in person the execution of

the lambs and poultry which are killed by her own directions. At

the same time, when he thought of the alternative of restoring to

Ravenswood a large proportion of his spoils, or of adopting, as

an ally and member of his own family, the heir of this

impoverished house, he felt as the spider may be supposed to do

when his whole web, the intricacies of whyich had been planned

with so much art, is destroyed by the chance sweep of a broom.

And then, if he should commit himself too far in this matter, it

gave rise to a perilous question, which many a good husband, when

under temptation to act as a free agent, has asked himself

without being able to return a satisfactory answer: "What will

my wife--what will Lady Ashton say?" On the whole, he came at

length to the resolution in which minds of a weaker cast so often

take refuge. He resolved to watch events, to take advantage of

circumstances as they occurred, and regulate his conduct

accordingly. In this spirit of temporising policy, he at length

composed his mind to rest.

CHAPTER XVI.

A slight note I have about me for you, for the delivery of which

you must excuse me. It is an offer that friendship calls upon me

to do, and no way offensive to you, since I desire nothing but

right upon both sides.

King and no King.

WHEN Ravenswood and his guest met in the morning, the gloom of

the Master's spirit had in part returned. He, also, had passed a

night rather of reflection that of slumber; and the feelings

which he could not but entertain towards Lucy Ashton had to

support a severe conflict against those which he had so long

nourished against her father. To clasp in friendship the hand of

the enemy of his house, to entertain him under his roof, to

exchange with him the courtesies and the kindness of domestic

familiarity, was a degradation which his proud spirit could not

be bent to without a struggle.

But the ice being once broken, the Lord Keeper was resolved it

should not have time against to freeze. It had been part of his

plan to stun and confuse Ravenswood's ideas, by a

complicated and technical statement of the matters which had been

in debate betwixt their families, justly thinking that it would

be difficult for a youth of his age to follow the expositions of

a practical lawyer, concerning actions of compt and reckoning,

and of multiplepoindings, and adjudications and wadsets, proper

and improper, and poindings of the ground, and declarations of

the expiry of the legal. "Thus," thought Sir William, "I shall

have all the grace of appearing perfectly communicative, while my

party will derive very little advantage from anything I may tell

him." He therefore took Ravenswood aside into the deep recess of

a window in the hall, and resuming the discourse of the proceding

evening, expressed a hope that his young friend would assume some

patience, in order to hear him enter in a minute and explanatory

detail of those unfortunate circumstances in which his late

honourable father had stood at variance with the Lord Keeper.

The Master of Ravenswood coloured highly, but was silent; and

the Lord Keeper, though not greatly approving the sudden

heightening of his auditor's complexion, commenced the history

of a bond for twenty thousand merks, advanced by his father to

the father of Allan Lord Ravenswood, and was proceeding to detail

the executorial proceedings by which this large sum had been

rendered a debitum fundi, when he was interrupted by the Master.

"It is not in this place," he said, "that I can hear Sir William

Ashton's explanation of the matters in question between us. It

is not here, where my father died of a broken heart, that I can

with decency or temper investigate the cause of his distress. I

might remember that I was a son, and forget the duties of a host.

A time, however, there must come, when these things shall be

discussed, in a place and in a presence where both of us will

have equal freedom to speak and to hear."

"Any time," the Lord Keeper said, "any place, was alike to those

who sought nothing but justice. Yet it would seem he was, in

fairness, entitled to some premonition respecting the grounds

upon which the Master proposed to impugn the whole train of legal

proceedings, which had been so well and ripely advised in the

only courts competent."

"Sir William Ashton," answered the Master, with warmth, "the

lands which you now occupy were granted to my remote ancestor for

services done with his sword against the English invaders. How

they have glided from us by a train of proceedings that seem to

be neither sale, nor mortgage, nor adjudication for debt, but a

nondescript and entangled mixture of all these rights; how annual

rent has been accumulated upon principal, and no nook or coign of

legal advantage left unoccupied, until our interest in our

hereditary property seems to have melted away like an icicle in

thaw--all this you understand better than I do. I am willing,

however, to suppose, from the frankness of your conduct towards

me, that I may in a great measure have mistaken your personal

character, and that things may have appeared right and fitting to

you, a skilful and practised lawyer, which to my ignorant

understanding seem very little short of injustice and gross

oppression."

"And you, my dear Master," answered Sir William--"you, permit me

to say, have been equally misrepresented to me. I was taught to

believe you a fierce, imperious, hot-headed youth, ready, at the

slightest provocation, to throw your sword into the scales of

justice, and to appeal to those rude and forcible measures from

which civil polity has long protected the people of Scotland.

Then, since we were mutually mistaken in each other, why should

not the young nobleman be willing to listen to the old lawyer,

while, at least, he explains the points of difference betwixt

them?"

"No, my lord," answered Ravenswood; "it is in the House of

British Peers, whose honour must be equal to their rank--it is in

the court of last resort that we must parley together. The

belted lords of Britain, her ancient peers, must decide, if it is

their will that a house, not the least noble of their members,

shall be stripped of their possessions, the reward of the

patriotism of generations, as the pawn of a wretched mechanic

becomes forfeit to the usurer the instant the hour of redemption

has passed away. If they yield to the grasping severity of the

creditor, and to the gnawing usury that eats into our lands as

moths into a raiment, it will be of more evil consequence to them

and their posterity than to Edgar Ravenswood. I shall still have

my sword and my cloak, and can follow the profession of arms

wherever a trumpet shall sound."

As he pronounced these words, in a firm yet melancholy tone, he

raised his eyes, and suddenly encountered those of Lucy Ashton,

who had stolen unawares on their interview, and observed her

looks fastened on them with an expression of enthusiastic

interest and admiration, which had wrapt her for the moment

beyond the fear of discovery. The noble form and fine features

of Ravenswood, fired with the pride of birth and sense of

internal dignity, the mellow and expressive tones of his voice,

the desolate state of his fortunes, and the indifference with

which he seemed to endure and to dare the worst that might

befall, rendered him a dangerous object of contemplation for a

maiden already too much disposed to dwell upon recollections

connected with him. When their eyes encountered each other, both

blushed deeply, conscious of some strong internal emotion, an

shunned again to meet each other's looks. Sir William Ashton

had, of course, closely watched the expression of their

countenances. "I need fear," said he internally, "neither

Parliament nor protestation; I have an effectual mode of

reconciling myself with this hot-tempered young fellow, in case

he shall become formidable. The present object is, at all

events, to avoid committing ourselves. The hook is fixed; we

will nto strain the line too soon: it is as well to reserve the

privilege of slipping it loose, if we do not find the fish worth

landing."

In this selfish and cruel calculation upon the supposed

attachment of Ravenswood to Lucy, he was so far from considering

the pain he might give to the former, by thus dallying with his

affections, that he even did not think upon the risk of involving

his own daughter in the perils of an unfortunate passion; as if

her predilection, which could not escape his attention, were like

the flame of a taper which might be lighted or extinguished at

pleasure. But Providence had prepared a dreadful requital for

this keen observer of human passions, who had spent his life in

securing advantages to himself by artfully working upon the

passions of others.

Caleb Balderstone now came to announce that breakfast was

prepared; for in those days of substantial feeding, the relics of

the supper simply furnished forth the morning meal. Neither did

he forget to present to the Lord Keeper, with great reverence, a

morning draught in a large pewter cup, garnished with leaves of

parsley and scurvy-grass. He craved pardon, of course, for

having omitted to serve it in the great silver standing cup as

behoved, being that it was at present in a silversmith's in

Edinburgh, for the purpose of being overlaid with gilt.

"In Edinburgh like enough," said Ravenswood; "but in what place,

or for what purpose, I am afraid neither you nor I know."

"Aweel!" said Caleb, peevishly, "there's a man standing at the

gate already this morning--that's ae thing that I ken. Does

your honour ken whether ye will speak wi' him or no?"

"Does he wish to speak with me, Caleb?"

"Less will no serve him," said Caleb; "but ye had best take a

visie of him through the wicket before opening the gate; it's no

every ane we suld let into this castle."

"What! do you suppose him to be a messenger come to arrest me

for debt?" said Ravenswood.

"A messenger arrest your honour for debt, and in your Castle of

Wolf's Crag! Your honour is jesting wi' auld Caleb this

morning." However, he whispered in his ear, as he followed him

out, "I would be loth to do ony decent man a

prejudice in your honour's gude opinion; but I would tak twa

looks o' that chield before I let him within these walls."

He was not an officer of the law, however; being no less a

person than Captain Craigengelt, with his nose as red as a

comfortable cup of brandy could make it, his laced cocked hat set

a little aside upon the top of his black riding periwig, a sword

by his side and pistols at his holsters, and his person arrayed

in a riding suit, laid over with tarnished lace--the very moral

of one who would say, "Stand to a true man."

When the Master had recognised him, he ordered the gates to be

opened. "I suppose," he said, "Captain Craigengelt, there are

no such weighty matters betwixt you and me, but may be discussed

in this place. I have company in the castle at present, and the

terms upon which we last parted must excuse my asking you to make

part of them."

Craigengelt, although possessing the very perfection of

impudence, was somewhat abashed by this unfavourable reception.

"He had no intention," he said, "to force himself upon the

Master of Ravenswood's hospitality; he was in the honourable

service of bearing a message to him from a friend, otherwise the

Master of Ravenswood should not have had reason to complain of

this intrusion."

"Let it be short, sir," said the Master, "for that will be the

best apology. Who is the gentleman who is so fortunate as to

have your services as a messenger?"

"My friend, Mr. Hayston of Bucklaw," answered Craigengelt, with

conscious importance, and that confidence which the

acknowledged courage of his principal inspired, "who conceives

himself to have been treated by you with something much short of

the respect which he had reason to demand, and, therefore is

resolved to exact satisfaction. I bring with me," said he,

taking a piece of paper out of his pocket, "the precise length of

his sword; and he requests you will meet him, accompanied by a

friend, and equally armed, at any place within a mile of the

castle, when I shall give attendance as umpire, or second, on his

behoof."

"Satisfaction! and equal arms!" repeated Ravenswood, who, the

reader will recollect, had no reason to suppose he had given the

slightest offence to his late intimate; "upon my word, Captain

Craigengelt, either you have invented the most improbable

falsehood that ever came into the mind of such a person, or your

morning draught has been somewhat of the strongest. What could

persuade Bucklaw to send me such a message?"

"For that, sir," replied Craigengelt, "I am desired to refer you

to what, in duty to my friend, I am to term your

inhospitality in excluding him from your house, without reasons

assigned."

"It is impossible," replied the Master; "he cannot be such a

fool as to interpret actual necessity as an insult. Nor do I

believe that, knowing my opinion of you, Captain, he would have

employed the services of so slight and inconsiderable a person as

yourself upon such an errand, as I certainly could expect no man

of honour to act with you in the office of umpire."

"I slight and inconsiderable?" said Craigengelt, raising his

voice, and laying his hand on his cutlass; "if it were not that

the quarrel of my friend craves the precedence, and is in

dependence before my own, I would give you to understand----"

"I can understand nothing upon your explanation, Captain

Craigengelt. Be satisfied of that, and oblige me with your

departure."

"D----n!" muttered the bully; "and is this the answer which I am

to carry back to an honourable message?"

"Tell the Laird of Bucklaw," answered Ravenswood, "if you are

really sent by him, that, when he sends me his cause of

grievance by a person fitting to carry such an errand betwixt him

and me, I will either explain it or maintain it."

"Then, Master, you will at least cause to be returned to

Hayston, by my hands, his property which is remaining in your

possession."

"Whatever property Bucklaw may have left behind him, sir,"

replied the Master, "shall be returned to him by my servant, as

you do not show me any credentials from him which entitle you to

receive it."

"Well, Master," said Captain Craigengelt, with malice which even

his fear of the consequences could not suppress, "you have this

morning done me an egregious wrong adn dishonour, but far more to

yourself. A castle indeed!" he continued, looking around him;

"why, this is worse than a coupe-gorge house, where they

receive travellers to plunder them of their property."

"You insolent rascal," said the Master, raising his cane, and

making a grasp at the Captain's bridle, "if you do not depart

without uttering another syllable, I will batoon you to death!"

At the motion of the Master towards him, the bully turned so

rapidly round, that with some difficulty he escaped throwing down

his horse, whose hoofs struck fire from the rocky pavement in

every direction. Recovering him, however, with the bridle, he

pushed for the gate, and rode sharply back again in the direction

of the village.

As Ravenswood turned round to leave the courtyard after this

dialogue, he found that the Lord Keeper had descended from the

hall, and witnessed, though at the distance prescribed by

politeness, his interview with Craigengelt.

"I have seen," said the Lord Keeper, "that gentleman's face, and

at no great distance of time; his name is Craig--Craig--

something, is it not?"

"Craigengelt is the fellow's name," said the Master, "at least

that by which he passes at present."

"Craig-in-guilt," said Caleb, punning upon the word "craig,"

which in Scotch signifies throat; "if he is Craig-in-guilt just

now, he is as likely to be Craig-in-peril as ony chield I ever

saw; the loon has woodie written on his very visnomy, and I wad

wager twa and a plack that hemp plaits his cravat yet."

"You understand physiognomy, good Mr. Caleb," said the Keeper,

smiling; "I assure you the gentleman has been near such a

consummation before now; for I most distinctly recollect that,

upon occasion of a journey which I made about a fortnight ago to

Edinburgh, I saw Mr. Craigengelt, or whatever is his name,

undergo a severe examination before the privy council."

"Upon what account?" said the Master of Ravenswood, with some

interest.

The question led immediately to a tale which the Lord Keeper had

been very anxious to introduce, when he could find a graceful

and fitting opportunity. He took hold of the Master's arm, and

led him back towards the hall. "The answer to your question," he

said, "though it is a ridiculous business, is only fit for your

own ear."

As they entered the hall, he again took the Master apart into

one of the recesses of the window, where it will be easily

believed that Miss Ashton did not venture again to intrude upon

their conference.

CHAPTER XVII.

Here is a father now,

Will truck his daughter for a foreign venture,

Make her the stop-gap to some canker'd feud,

Or fling her o'er, like Jonah, to the fishes,

To appease the sea at highest.

Anonymous.

THE Lord Keeper opened his discourse with an appearance of

unconcern, marking, however, very carefully, the effect of his

communication upon young Ravenswood.

"You are aware," he said, "my young friend, that suspicion is

the natural vice of our unsettled times, and exposes the best

and wisest of us to the imposition of artful rascals. If I had

been disposed to listen to such the other day, or even if I had

been the wily politicians which you have been taught to believe

me, you, Master of Ravenswood, instead of being at freedom, and

with fully liberty to solicit and act against me as you please,

in defence of what you suppose to be your rights, would have been

in the Castle of Edinburgh, or some other state prison; or, if

you had escaped that destiny, it must have been by flight to a

foreign country, and at the risk of a sentence of fugitation."

"My Lord Keeper," said the Master, "I think you would not jest

on such a subject; yet it seems impossible you can be in

earnest."

"Innocence," said the Lord Keeper, "is also confident, and

sometimes, though very excusably, presumptuously so."

"I do not understand," said Ravenswood, "how a consciouness of

innocence can be, in any case, accounted presumtuous."

"Imprudent, at least, it may be called," said Sir William

Ashton, "since it is apt to lead us into the mistake of

supposeing that sufficiently evident to others of which, in fact,

we are only conscious ourselves. I have known a rogue, for this

very reason, make a better defence than an innocent man could

have done in the same circumstances of suspicion. Having no

consciousness of innocence to support him, such a fellow applies

himself to all the advantages which the law will afford him, and

sometimes--if his counsel be men of talent--succeeds in

compelling his judges to receive him as innocent. I remember the

celebrated case of Sir Coolie Condiddle of Condiddle, who was

tried for theft under trust, of which all the world knew him

guilty, and yet was not only acquitted, but lived to sit in

judgment on honester folk."

"Allow me to beg you will return to the point," said the Master;

"you seemed to say that I had suffered under some

suspicion."

"Suspicion, Master! Ay, truly, and I can show you the proofs of

it; if I happen only to have them with me. Here, Lockhard." His

attendant came. "Fetch me the little private mail with the

padlocks, that I recommended to your particular charge, d'ye

hear?"

"Yes, my lord." Lockhard vanished; and the Keeper

continued, as if half speaking to himself.

"I think the papers are with me--I think so, for, as I was to be

in this country, it was natural for me to bring them with me. I

have them, however, at Ravenswood Castle, that I am sure; so

perhaps you might condescend----"

Here Lockhard entered, and put the leathern scrutoire, or mail-

box, into his hands. The Keeper produced one or two papers,

respecting the information laid before the privy council

concerning the riot, as it was termed, at the funeral of Allan

Lord Ravenswood, and the active share he had himself taken in

quashing the proceedings against the Master. These documents had

been selected with care, so as to irritate the natural curiosity

of Ravenswood upon such a subject, without gratifying it, yet to

show that Sir William Ashton had acted upon that trying occasion

the part of an advocate and peacemaker betwixt him and the

jealous authorities of the day. Having furnished his host with

such subjects for examination, the Lord Keeper went to the

breakfast-table, and entered into light conversation, addressed

partly to old Caleb, whose resentment against the usurper of the

Castle of Ravenswood began to be softened by his familiarity, and

partly to his daughter.

After perusing these papers, the Master of Ravenswood remained

for a minute or two with his hand pressed against his brow, in

deep and profound meditation. He then again ran his eye hastily

over the papers, as if desirous of discovering in them some deep

purpose, or some mark of fabrication, which had escaped him at

first perusal. Apparently the second reading confirmed the

opinion which had pressed upon him at the first, for he started

from the stone bench on which he was sitting, and, going to the

Lord Keeper, took his hand, and, strongly pressing it, asked his

pardon repeatedly for the injustice he had done him, when it

appeared he was experiencing, at his hands, the benefit of

protection to his person and vindication to his character.

The statesman received these acknowledgments at first with well-

feigned surprise, and then with an affectation of frank

cordiality. The tears began already to start from Lucy's blue

eyes at viewing this unexpected and moving scene. To see the

Master, late so haughty and reserved, and whom she had always

supposed the injured person, supplicating her father for

forgiveness, was a change at once surprising, flattering, and

affecting.

"Dry your eyes, Lucy," said her father; "why should you weep,

because your father, though a lawyer, is discovered to be a fair

and honourable man? What have you to thank me for, my dear

Master," he continued, addressing Ravenswood, "that you would not

have done in my case? 'Suum cuique tribuito,' was the Roman

justice, and I learned it when I studied Justinian. Besides,

have you not overpaid me a thousand times, in saving the life of

this dear child?"

"Yes," answered the Master, in all the remorse of self-

accusation; "but the little service _I_ did was an act of mere

brutal instinct; YOUR defence of my cause, when you knew how

ill I thought of you, and how much I was disposed to be your

enemy, was an act of generous, manly, and considerate wisdom."

"Pshaw!" said the Lord Keeper, "each of us acted in his own way;

you as a gallant soldier, I as an upright judge and privy-

councillor. We could not, perhaps, have changed parts; at least

I should have made a very sorry tauridor, and you, my good

Master, though your cause is so excellent, might have pleaded it

perhaps worse yourself than I who acted for you before the

council."

"My generous friend!" said Ravenswood; and with that brief word,

which the Keeper had often lavished upon him, but which he

himself now pronounced for the first time, he gave to his feudal

enemy the full confidence of an haughty but honourable heart.

The Master had been remarked among his contemporaries for sense

and acuteness, as well as for his reserved, pertinacious, and

irascible character. His prepossessions accordingly, however

obstinate, were of a nature to give way before love and

gratitude; and the real charms of the daughter, joined to the

supposed services of the father, cancelled in his memory the vows

of vengeance which he had taken so deeply on the eve of his

father's funeral. But they had been heard and registered in the

book of fate.

Caleb was present at this extraordinary scene, and he could

conceive no other reason for a proceeding so extraordinary than

an alliance betwixt the houses, and Ravenswood Castle assigned

for the young lady's dowry. As for Lucy, when Ravenswood uttered

the most passionate excuses for his ungrateful negligence, she

could but smile through her tears, and, as she abandoned her hand

to him, assure him, in broken accents, of the delight with which

she beheld the complete reconciliation between her father and her

deliverer. Even the statesman was moved and affected by the

fiery, unreserved, and generous self-abandonment with which the

Master of Ravenswood renounced his feudal enmity, and threw

himself without hesitation upon his forgiveness. His eyes

glistened as he looked upon a couple who were obviously becoming

attached, and who seemed made for each other. He thought how

high the proud and chivalrous character of Ravenswood might rise

under many circumstances in which HE found himself "overcrowed,"

to use a phrase of Spenser, and kept under, by his brief

pedigree, and timidity of disposition. Then his daughter--his

favorite child--his constant playmate--seemed formed to live

happy in a union with such a commanding spirit as Ravenswood; and

even the fine, delicate, fragile form of Lucy Ashton seemed to

require the support of the Master's muscular strength and

masculine character. And it was not merely during a few minutes

that Sir William Ashton looked upon their marriage as a probable

and even desirable event, for a full hour intervened ere his

imagination was crossed by recollection of the Master's poverty,

and the sure displeasure of Lady Ashton. It is certain, that

the very unusual flow of kindly feeling with which the Lord

Keeper had been thus surprised, was one of the circumstances

which gave much tacit encouragement to the attachment between the

Master and his daughter, and led both the lovers distinctly to

believe that it was a connexion which would be most agreeable to

him. He himself was supposed to have admitted this in effect,

when, long after the catastrophe of their love, he used to warn

his hearers against permitting their feelings to obtain an

ascendency over their judgment, and affirm, that the greatest

misfortunte of his life was owing to a very temporary

predominance of sensibility over self-interest. It must be

owned, if such was the case, he was long and severely punished

for an offence of very brief duration.

After some pause, the Lord Keeper resumed the conversation.--

"In your surprise at finding me an honester man than you

expected, you have lost your curiosity about this Craigengelt, my

good Master; and yet your name was brought in, in the course of

that matter too."

"The scoundrel!" said Ravenswood. "My connexion with him was of

the most temporary nature possible; and yet I was very foolish to

hold any communication with him at all. What did he say of me?"

"Enough," said the Keeper, "to excite the very loyal terrors of

some of our sages, who are for proceeding against men on the

mere grounds of suspicion or mercenary information. Some

nonsense about your proposing to enter into the service of

France, or of the Pretender, I don't recollect which, but which

the Marquis of A----, one of your best friends, and another

person, whom some call one of your worst and most interested

enemies, could not, somehow, be brought to listen to."

"I am obliged to my honourable friend; and yet," shaking the

Lord Keeper's hand--"and yet I am still more obliged to my

honourable enemy."

"Inimicus amicissimus," said the Lord Keeper, returning the

pressure; "but this gentleman--this Mr. Hayston of Bucklaw--I am

afraid the poor young man--I heard the fellow mention his name--

is under very bad guidance."

"He is old enough to govern himself," answered the Master.

"Old enough, perhaps, but scarce wise enough, if he has chosen

this fellow for his fidus Achates. Why, he lodged an

information against him--that is, such a consequence might have

ensued from his examination, had we not looked rather at the

character of the witness than the tenor of his evidence."

"Mr. Hayston of Bucklaw," said the master, "is, I believe, a

most honourable man, and capable of nothing that is mean or

disgraceful."

"Capable of much that is unreasonable, though; that you must

needs allow, master. Death will soon put him in possession of a

fair estate, if he hath it not already; old Lady Girnington--an

excellent person, excepting that her inveterate ill-nature

rendered her intolerable to the whole world--is probably dead by

this time. Six heirs portioners have successively died to make

her wealthy. I know the estates well; they march with my own--a

noble property."

"I am glad of it," said Ravenswood, "and should be more so, were

I confident that Bucklaw would change his company and habits

with his fortunes. This appearance of Craigengelt, acting in the

capacity of his friend, is a most vile augury for his future

respectability."

"He is a bird of evil omen, to be sure," said the Keeper, "and

croaks of jail and gallows-tree. But I see Mr. Caleb grows

impatient for our return to breakfast."

CHAPTER XVIII.

Sir, stay at home and take an old man's counsel;

Seek not to bask you by a stranger's hearth;

Our own blue smoke is warmer than their fire.

Domestic food is wholesome, though 'tis homely,

And foreign dainties poisonous, though tasteful.

The French Courtezan.

THE Master of Ravenswood took an opportunity to leave his guests

to prepare for their departure, while he himself made the brief

arrangements necessary previous to his absence from Wolf's Crag

for a day or two. It was necessary to communicate with Caleb on

this occasion, and he found that faithful servitor in his sooty

and ruinous den, greatly delighted with the departure of their

visitors, and computing how long, with good management, the

provisions which had been unexpended might furnish the Master's

table. "He's nae belly god, that's ae blessing; and Bucklaw's

gane, that could have eaten a horse behind the saddle. Cresses

or water-purpie, and a bit ait-cake, can serve the Master for

breakfast as weel as Caleb. Then for dinner--there's no muckle

left on the spule-bane; it will brander, though--it will brander

very weel."

His triumphant calculations were interrupted by the Master, who

communicated to him, not without some hesitation, his purpose to

ride with the Lord Keeper as far as Ravenswood Castle, and to

remain there for a day or two.

"The mercy of Heaven forbid!" said the old serving-man, turning

as pal as the table-cloth which he was folding up.

"And why, Caleb?" said his master--"why should the mercy of

Heaven forbid my returning the Lord Keeper's visit?"

"Oh, sir!" replied Caleb--"oh, Mr. Edgar! I am your

servant, and it ill becomes me to speak; but I am an auld

servant--have served baith your father and gudesire, and mind to

have seen Lord Randal, your great-grandfather, but that was when

I was a bairn."

"And what of all this, Balderstone?" said the Master; "what can

it possibly have to do with my paying some ordinary civility to a

neighbour."

"Oh, Mr. Edgar,--that is, my lord!" answered the butler, "your

ain conscience tells you it isna for your father's son to be

neighbouring wi' the like o' him; it isna for the credit of the

family. An he were ance come to terms, and to gie ye back your

ain, e'en though ye suld honour his house wi' your alliance, I

suldna say na; for the young leddy is a winsome sweet creature.

But keep your ain state wi' them--I ken the race o' them weel--

they will think the mair o' ye."

"Why, now, you go father than I do, Caleb," said the Master,

drowning a certain degree of consciousness in a forced laugh;

"you are for marrying me into a family that you will nto allow me

to visit, how this? and you look as pale as death besides."

"Oh, sir," repeated Caleb again, "you would but laugh if I tauld

it; but Thomas the Rhymer, whose tongue couldna be fause, spoke

the word of your house that will e'en prove ower true if you go

to Ravenswood this day. Oh, that it should e'er have been

fulfilled in my time!"

"And what is it, Caleb?" said Ravenswood, wishing to soothe the

fears of his old servant.

Caleb replied: "He had never repeated the lines to living

mortal; they were told to him by an auld priest that had been

confessor to Lord Allan's father when the family were Catholic.

But mony a time," he said, "I hae soughed thae dark words ower to

myself, and, well-a-day! little did I think of their coming round

this day."

"Truce with your nonsense, and let me hear the doggerel which

has put it into your head," said the Master, impatiently.

With a quivering voice, and a cheek pale with apprehension,

Caleb faltered out the following lines:

"When the last Laird of Ravenswood to Ravenswood shall ride,

And woo a dead maiden to be his bride,

He shall stable his steed in the Kelpie's flow,

And his name shall be lost for evermoe!"

"I know the Kelpie's flow well enough," said the Master; "I

suppose, at least, you mean the quicksand betwixt this tower and

Wolf's Hope; but why any man in his senses should stable a steed

there----"

"Oh, ever speer ony thing about that, sir--God forbid we should

ken what the prophecy means--but just bide you at hame, and let

the strangers ride to Ravenswood by themselves. We have done

eneugh for them; and to do mair would be mair against the credit

of the family than in its favour."

"Well, Caleb," said the Master, "I give you the best

possible credit for your good advice on this occasion; but as I

do not go to Ravenswood to seek a bride, dead or alive, I hope I

shall choose a better stable for my horse than the Kelpie's

quicksand, and especially as I have always had a particular dread

of it since the patrol of dragoons were lost there ten years

since. My father and I saw them from the tower struggling

against the advancing tide, and they were lost long before any

help could reach them."

"And they deserved it weel, the southern loons!" said Caleb;

"what had they ado capering on our sands, and hindering a wheen

honest folk frae bringing on shore a drap brandy? I hae seen

them that busy, that I wad hae fired the auld culverin or the

demi-saker that's on the south bartizan at them, only I was

feared they might burst in the ganging aff."

Caleb's brain was now fully engaged with abuse of the English

soldiery and excisemen, so that his master found no great

difficulty in escaping from him and rejoining his guests. All

was now ready for their departure; and one of the Lord Keeper's

grooms having saddled the Master's steed, they mounted in the

courtyard.

Caleb had, with much toil, opened the double doors of the

outward gate, and thereat stationed himself, endeavouring, by the

reverential, and at the same time consequential, air which he

assumed, to supply, by his own gaunt, wasted, and thin person,

the absence of a whole baronial establishment of porters,

warders, and liveried menials.

The Keeper returned his deep reverence with a cordial farewell,

stooping at the same time from his horse, and sliding into the

butler's hand the remuneration which in those days was always

given by a departing guest to the domestics of the family where

he had been entertained. Lucy smiled on the old man with her

usual sweetness, bade him adieu, and deposited her guerdon with a

grace of action and a gentleness of accent which could not have

failed to have won the faithful retainer's heart, but for Thomas

the Rhymer, and the successful lawsuit against his master. As it

was, he might have adopted the language of the Duke in As You

Like It:

Thou wouldst have better pleased me with this deed,

If thou hadst told me of another father.

Ravenswood was at the lady's bridle-rein, encouraging her

timidity, and guiding her horse carefully down the rocky path

which led to the moor, when one of the servants announed from the

rear that Caleb was calling loudly after them, desiring to speak

with his master. Ravenswood felt it would look singular to

neglect this summons, although inwardly cursing Caleb for his

impertinent officiousness; therefore he was compelled to

relinquish to Mr. Lockhard the aggreeable duty in which he was

engaged, and to ride back to the gate of the courtyard. Here he

was beginning, somewhat peevishly, to ask Caleb the cause of his

clamour, when the good old man exclaimed: "Whisht, sir!--whisht,

and let me speak just ae word that I couldna say afore folk;

there (putting into his lord's hand the money he had just

received)--there's three gowd pieces; and ye'll want siller up-

bye yonder. But stay, whisht, now!" for the Master was beginning

to exclaim against this transference, "never say a word, but just

see to get them changed in the first town ye ride through, for

they are bran new frae the mint, and ken-speckle a wee bit."

"You forget, Caleb," said his master, striving to force back the

money on his servant, and extricate the bridle from his hold--

"you forget that I have some gold pieces left of my own. Keep

these to yourself, my old friend; and, once more, good day to

you. I assure you, I have plenty. You know you have managed

that our living should cost us little or nothing."

"Aweel," said Caleb, "these will serve for you another time; but

see ye hae eneugh, for, doubtless, for the credit of the family,

there maun be some civility to the servants, and ye maun hae

something to mak a show with when they say, 'Master, will you

bet a broad piece?' Then ye maun tak out your purse, and say, 'I

carena if I do'; and tak care no to agree on the articles of the

wager, and just put up your purse again, and----"

"This is intolerable, Caleb; I really must be gone."

"And you will go, then?" said Caleb, loosening his hold upon the

Master's cloak, and changing his didactics into a pathetic and

mournful tone--"and you WILL go, for a' I have told you about

the prophecy, and the dead bride, and the Kelpie's

quicksand? Aweel! a wilful man maun hae his way: he that will to

Cupar maun to Cupar. But pity of your life, sir, if ye be

fowling or shooting in the Park, beware of drinking at the

Mermaiden's Well---- He's gane! he's down the path arrow-flight

after her! The head is as clean taen aff the Ravenswood family

this day as I wad chap the head aff a sybo!"

The old butler looked long after his master, often clearing away

the dew as it rose to his eyes, that he might, as long as

possible, distinguish his stately form from those of the other

horsemen. "Close to her bridle-rein--ay, close to her bridle-

rein! Wisely saith the holy man, 'By this also you may know that

woman hath dominion over all men'; and without this lass would

not our ruin have been a'thegither fulfilled."

With a heart fraught with such sad auguries did Caleb return to

his necessary duties at Wofl's Crag, as soon as he could no

longer distinguish the object of his anxiety among the group fo

riders, which diminished in the distance.

In the mean time the party pursued their route joyfully. Having

once taken his resolution, the Master of Ravenswood was not of a

character to hesitate or pause upon it. He abandoned himself to

the pleasure he felt in Miss Ashton's company, and displayed an

assiduous gallantry which approached as nearly to gaiety as the

temper of his mind and state of his family

permitted. The Lord Keeper was much struck with his depth of

observation, and the unusual improvement which he had derived

from his studies. Of these accomplishments Sir William Ashton's

profession and habits of society rendered him an excellent judge;

and he well knew how to appreciate a quality to which he himself

was a total stranger--the brief and decided dauntlessness of the

Master of Ravenswood's fear. In his heart the Lord Keeper

rejoiced at having conciliated an adversary so formidable, while,

with a mixture of pleasure and anxiety, he anticipated the great

things his young companion might achieve, were the breath of

court-favour to fill his sails.

"What could she desire," he thought, his mind always

conjuring up opporition in the person of Lady Ashton to his new

prevailing wish--"what could a woman desire in a match more than

the sopiting of a very dangerous claim, and the alliance of a

son-in-law, noble, brave, well-gifted, and highly connected; sure

to float whenever the tide sets his way; strong, exactly where we

are weak, in pedigree and in the temper of a swordsman? Sure, no

reasonable woman would hesitate. But alas----!" Here his

argument was stopped by the consciousness that Lady Ashton was

not always reasonable, in his sense of the word. "To prefer some

clownish Merse laird to the gallant young nobleman, and to the

secure possession of Ravenswood upon terms of easy compromise--it

would be the act of a madwoman!"

Thus pondered the veteran politician, until they reached

Bittlebrains House, where it had been previously settled they

were to dine and repose themselves, and prosecute their journey

in the afternoon.

They were received with an excess of hospitality; and the most

marked attention was offered to the Master of Ravenswood, in

particular, by their noble entertainers. The truth was, that

Lord Bittlebrains had obtained his peerage by a good deal of

plausibility, an art of building up a character for wisdom upon a

very trite style of commonplace eloquence, a steady observation

of the changes of the times, and the power of rendering certain

political services to those who could best reward them. His lady

and he, not feeling quite easy under their new honours, to which

use had not adapted their feelings, were very desirous to procure

the fraternal countenance of those who were born denizens of the

regions into which they had been exalted from a lower sphere.

The extreme attention which they paid to the Master of Ravenswood

had its usual effect in exalting his importance in the eyes of

the Lord Keeper, who, although he had a reasonable degree of

contempt for Lord Bittlebrains's general parts, entertained a

high opinion of the acuteness of his judgment in all matters of

self-interest.

"I wish Lady Ashton had seen this," was his internal

reflection; "no man knows so well as Bittlebrains on which side

his bread is buttered; and he fawns on the Master like a beggar's

messan on a cook. And my lady, too, bringing forward her beetle-

browed misses to skirl and play upon the virginals, as if she

said, 'Pick and choose.' They are no more comparable to Lucy

than an owl is to a cygnet, and so they may carry their black

brows to a farther market."

The entertainment being ended, our travellers, who had still to

measure the longest part of their journey, resumed their horses;

and after the Lord Keeper, the Master, and the domestics had

drunk doch-an-dorroch, or the stirrup-cup, in the liquors

adapted to their various ranks, the cavalcade resumed its

progress.

It was dark by the time they entered the avenue of

Ravenswood Castle, a long straight line leading directly to the

front of the house, flanked with huge elm-trees, which sighed to

the night-wind, as if they compassionated the heir of their

ancient proprietors, who now returned to their shades in the

society, and almost in the retinue, of their new master. Some

feelings of the same kind oppressed the mind of the Master

himself. He gradually became silent, adn dropped a little

behind the lady, at whose bridle-rein he had hitherto waited with

such devotion. He well recollected the period when, at the same

hour in the evening, he had accompanied his father, as that

nobleman left, never again to return to it, the mansion from

which he derived his name and title. The extensive front of the

old castle, on which he remembered having often looked back, was

then "as black as mourning weed." The same front now glanced

with many lights, some throwing far forward into the night a

fixed and stationary blaze, and others hurrying from one window

to another, intimating the bustle and busy preparation preceding

their arrival, which had been intimated by an avant-courier. The

contrast pressed so strongly upon the Master's heart as to

awaken some of the sterner feelings with which he had been

accustomed to regard the new lord of his paternal domain, and to

impress his countenance with an air of servere gravity, when,

alighted from his horse, he stood in the hall no longer his own,

surrounded by the numerous menials of its present owner.

The Lord Keeper, when about to welcome him with the

cordiality which their late intercourse seemed to render proper,

became aware of the change, refrained from his purpose, and only

intimated the ceremony of reception by a deep reverence to his

guest, seeming thus delicately to share the feelings which

predominated on his brow.

Two upper domestics, bearing each a huge pair of silver

candlesticks, now marshalled the company into a large saloon, or

withdrawing-room, where new alterations impressed upon

Ravenswood the superior wealth of the present inhabitants of the

castle. The mouldering tapestry, which, in his father's time,

had half covered the walls of this stately apartment, and half

streamed from them in tatters, had given place to a complete

finishing of wainscot, the cornice of which, as well as the

frames of the various compartments, were ornamented with festoons

of flowers and with birds, which, though carved in oak, seemed,

such was the art of the chisel, actually to swell their throats

and flutter their wings. Several old family portraits of armed

heroes of the house of Ravenswood, together with a suit or two of

old armour and some military weapons, had given place to those of

King William and Queen Mary, or Sir Thomas Hope and Lord Stair,

two distinguished Scottish lawyers. The pictures of the Lord

Keeper's father and mother were also to be seen; the latter,

sour, shrewish, and solemn, in her black hood and close pinners,

with a book of devotion in her hand; the former, exhibiting

beneath a black silk Geneva cowl, or skull-cap, which sate as

close to the head as if it had been shaven, a pinched, peevish,

Puritanical set of features, terminating in a hungry, reddish,

peaked beard, forming on the whole a countenance in the

expression of which the hypocrite seemed to contend with the

miser and the knave. "And it is to make room for such scarecrows

as these," thought Ravenswood, "that my ancestors have been torn

down from the walls which they erected!" he looked at them

again, and, as he looked, the recollection of Lucy Ashton, for

she had not entered the apartment with them, seemed less lively

in his imagination. There were also two or three Dutch

drolleries, as the pictures of Ostade and Teniers were then

termed, with one good painting of the Italian school. There was,

besides, a noble full-length of the Lord Keeper in his robes of

office, placed beside his lady in silk and ermine, a haughty

beauty, bearing in her looks all the pride of the house of

Douglas, from which she was descended. The painter,

notwithstanding his skill, overcome by the reality, or, perhaps,

from a suppressed sense of humour, had not been able to give the

husband on the canvas that air of awful rule and right supremacy

which indicates the full possession of domestic authority. It

was obvious at the first glance that, despite mace and gold

frogs, the Lord Keeper was somewhat henpecked. The floor of this

fine saloon was laid with rich carpets, huge fires blazed in the

double chimneys, and ten silver sconces, reflecting with their

bright plates the lights which they supported, made the whole

seem as brilliant as day.

"Would you choose any refreshment, Master?" said Sir William

Ashton, not unwilling to break the awkward silence.

He received no answer, the Master being so busily engaged in

marking the various changes which had taken place in the

apartment, that he hardly heard the Lord Keeper address him. A

repetition of the offer of refreshment, with the addition, that

the family meal would be presently ready, compelled his

attention, and reminded him that he acted a weak, perhaps even a

ridiculous, part in suffering himself to be overcome by the

circumstances in which he found himself. He compelled himself,

therefore, to enter into conversation with Sir William Ashton,

with as much appearance of indifference as he could well command.

"You will not be surprised, Sir William, that I am

interested in the changes you have made for the better in this

apartment. In my father's time, after our misfortunes compelled

him to live in retirement, it was little used, except by me as a

play-room, when the weather would not permit me to go abroad. In

that recess was my little workshop, where I treasured the few

carpenters' tools which old Caleb procured for me, and taught me

how to use; there, in yonder corner, under that handsome silver

sconce, I kept my fishing-rods and hunting poles, bows and

arrows."

"I have a young birkie," said the Lord Keeper, willing to change

the tone of the conversation, "of much the same turn. He is

never happy save when he is in the field. I wonder he is not

here. Here, Lockhard; send William Shaw for Mr. Henry. I

suppose he is, as usual, tied to Lucy's apron-string; that

foolish girl, Master, draws the whole family after her at her

pleasure."

Even this allusion to his daughter, though artfully thrown out,

did not recall Ravenswood from his own topic.

"We were obliged to leave," he said, "some armour and portraits

in this apartment; may I ask where they have been removed to?"

"Why," answered the Keeper, with some hesitation, "the room was

fitted up in our absence, and cedant arma togae is the maxim of

lawyers, you know: I am afraid it has been here somewhat too

literally complied with. I hope--I believe they are safe,

I am sure I gave orders; may I hope that when they are recovered,

and put in proper order, you will do me the honour to accept them

at my hand, as an atonement for their accidental derangement?"

The Master of Ravenswood bowed stiffly, and, with folded arms,

again resumed his survey of the room.

Henry, a spoilt boy of fifteen, burst into the room, and ran up

to his father. "Think of Lucy, papa; she has come home so cross

and so fractious, that she will not go down to the stable to see

my new pony, that Bob Wilson brought from the Mull of Galloway."

"I think you were very unreasonable to ask her," said the

Keeper.

"Then you are as cross as she is," answered the boy; "but when

mamma comes home, she'll claw up both your mittens."

"Hush your impertinence, you little forward imp!" said his

father; "where is your tutor?"

"Gone to a wedding at Dunbar; I hope he'll get a haggis to his

dinner"; and he began to sing the old Scottish song:

"There was a haggis in Dunbar,

Fal de ral, etc.

Mony better and few waur,

Fal de ral," etc.

"I am much obliged to Mr. Cordery for his attentions," said the

Lord Keeper; "and pray who has had the charge of you while I was

away, Mr. Henry?"

"Norman and Bob Wilson, forbye my own self."

"A groom and a gamekeeper, and your own silly self--proper

guardians for a young advocate! Why, you will never know any

statutes but those against shooting red-deer, killing salmon,

and----"

"And speaking of red-game," said the young scapegrace,

interrupting his father without scruple or hesitation, "Norman

has shot a buck, and I showed the branches to Lucy, and she says

they have but eight tynes; and she says that you killed a deer

with Lord Bittlebrains's hounds, when you were west away, and, do

you know, she says it had ten tynes; is it true?"

"It may have had twenty, Henry, for what I know; but if you go

to that gentleman, he can tell you all about it. Go speak to

him, Henry; it is the Master of Ravenswood."

While they conversed thus, the father and son were standing by

the fire; and the Master, having walked towards the upper end of

the apartment, stood with his back towards them, apparently

engaged in examining one of the paintings. The boy ran up to

him, and pulled him by the skirt of the coat with the freedom of

a spoilt child, saying, "I say, sir, if you please to tell me----

" but when the Master turned round, and Henry saw his face, he

became suddenly and totally disconcerted; walked two or three

steps backward, and still gazed on Ravenswood with an air of

fear and wonder, which had totally banished from his features

their usual expression of pert vivacity.

"Come to me, young gentleman," said the Master, "and I will tell

you all I know about the hunt."

"Go to the gentleman, Henry," said his father; "you are not used

to be so shy."

But neither invitation nor exhortation had any effect on the

boy. On the contrary, he turned round as soon as he had

completed his survey of the Master, and walking as cautiously as

if he had been treading upon eggs, he glided back to his father,

and pressed as close to him as possible. Ravenswood, to avoid

hearing the dispute betwixt the father and the overindulged boy,

thought it most polite to turn his face once more towards the

pictures, and pay no attention to what they said.

"Why do you not speak to the Master, you little fool?" said the

Lord Keeper.

"I am afraid," said Henry, in a very low tone of voice.

"Afraid, you goose!" said his father, giving him a slight shake

by the collar. "What makes you afraid?"

"What makes him to like the picture of Sir Malise Ravenswood

then?" said the boy, whispering.

"What picture, you natural?" said his father. "I used to think

you only a scapegrace, but I believe you will turn out a born

idiot."

"I tell you, it is the picture of old Malise of Ravenswood, and

he is as like it as if he had loupen out of the canvas; and it is

up in the old baron's hall that the maids launder the clothes in;

and it has armour, and not a coat like the gentleman; and he has

not a beard and whiskers like the picture; and it has another

kind of thing about the throat, and no band-strings as he has;

and----"

"And why should not the gentleman be like his ancestor, you

silly boy?" said the Lord Keeper.

"Ay; but if he is come to chase us all out of the castle," said

the boy, "and has twenty men at his back in disguise; and is

come to say, with a hollow voice, 'I bide my time'; and is to

kill you on the hearth as Malise did the other man, and whose

blood is still to be seen!"

"Hush! nonsense!" said the Lord Keeper, not himself much pleased

to hear these disagreeable coicidences forced on his notice.

"Master, here comes Lockhard to say supper is served."

And, at the same instant, Lucy entered at another door, having

changed her dress since her return. The exquisite

feminine beauty of her countenance, now shaded only by a

profusion of sunny tresses; the sylph-like form, disencumbered of

her heavy riding-skirt and mantled in azure silk; the grace of

her manner and of her smile, cleared, with a celerity which

surprised the Master himself, all the gloomy and unfavourable

thoughts which had for some time overclouded his fancy. In those

features, so simply sweet, he could trace no alliance with the

pinched visage of the peak-bearded, black-capped Puritan, or his

starched, withered spouse, with the craft expressed in the Lord

Keeper's countenance, or the haughtiness which predominated in

that of his lady; and, while he gazed on Lucy Ashton, she seemed

to be an angel descended on earth, unallied to the coarses

mortals among whom she deigned to dwell for a season. Such is

the power of beauty over a youthful and enthusiastic fancy.

CHAPTER XIX.

I do too ill in this,

And must not think but that a parent's plaint

Will move the heavens to pour forth misery

Upon the head of disobediency.

Yet reason tells us, parents are o'erseen,

When with too strict a rein they do hold in

Their child's affection, and control that love,

Which the high powers divine inspire them with.

The Hog hath lost his Pearl.

THE feast of Ravenswood Castle was as remarkable for its

profusion as that of Wolf's Crag had been for its ill-veiled

penury. The Lord Keeper might feel internal pride at the

contrast, but he had too much tact to suffer it to appear. On

the contrary, he seemed to remember with pleasure what he called

Mr. Balderstone's bachelor's meal, and to be rather disgusted

than pleaseed with the display upon his own groaning board.

"We do these things," he said, "because others do them; but I

was bred a plain man at my father's frugal table, and I should

like well would my wife and family permit me to return to my

sowens and my poor-man-of-mutton."

This was a little overstretched. The Master only answered,

"That different ranks--I mean," said he, correcting himself,

"different degrees of wealth require a different style of

housekeeping."

This dry remark put a stop to further conversation on the

subject, nor is it necessary to record that which was substituted

in its place. The evening was spent with freedom, and even

cordiality; and Henry had so far overcome his first

apprehensions, that he had settled a party for coursing a stag

with the representative and living resemblance of grim Sir Malise

of Ravenswood, called the Revenger. The next morning was the

appointed time. It rose upon active sportsmen and successful

sport. The banquet came in course; and a pressing invitation to

tarry yet another day was given and accepted. This Ravenswood

had resolved should be the last of his stay; but he recollected

he had not yet visited the ancient and devoted servant of his

house, Old Alice, and it was but kind to dedicate one morning to

the gratification of so ancient an adherent.

To visit Alice, therefore, a day was devoted, and Lucy was the

Master's guide upon the way. Henry, it is true, accompanied

them, and took from their walk the air of a tete-a-tete,

while, in reality, it was little else, considering the variety of

circumstances which occurred to prevent the boy from giving the

least attention to what passed between his companions. Now a

rook settled on a branch within shot; anon a hare crossed their

path, and Henry and his greyhound went astray in pursuit of it;

then he had to hold a long conversation with the forester, which

detained him a while behind his companions; and again he went to

examine the earth of a badger, which carriued him on a good way

before them.

The conversation betwixt the Master and his sister,

meanwhile, took an interesting, and almost a confidential, turn.

She could not help mentioning her sense of the pain he must feel

in visiting scenes so well known to him, bearing now an aspect so

different; and so gently was her sympathy expressed, that

Ravenswood felt it for a moment as a full requital of all his

misfortunes. Some such sentiment escaped him, which Lucy heard

with more of confusion than displeasure; and she may be forgiven

the imprudence of listening to such langauge, considering that

the situation in which she was placed by her father seemed to

authorise Ravenswood to use it. Yet she made an effort to turn

the conversation, and she succeeded; for the Master also had

advanced farther than he intended, and his conscience had

instantly checked him when he found himself on the verge of

speaking of love to the daughter of Sir William Ashton.

They now approached the hut of Old Alice, which had of late been

rendered more comfortable, and presented an appearance less

picturesque, perhaps, but far neater than before. The old woman

was on her accustomed seat beneath the weeping birch, basking,

with the listless enjoyment of age and infirmity, in the beams of

the autumn sun. At the arrival of her visitors she turned her

head towards them. "I hear your step, Miss Ashton," she said,

"but the gentleman who attends you is not my lord, your father."

"And why should you think so, Alice?" said Lucy; "or how is it

possible for you to judge so accurately by the sound of a step,

on this firm earth, and in the open air?"

"My hearing, my child, has been sharpened by my blindness, and I

can now draw conclusions from the slightest sounds, which

formerly reached my ears as unheeded as they niw approach yours.

Necessity is a stern but an excellent schoolmistress, and she

that has lost her sight must collect her information from other

sources."

"Well, you hear a man's step, I grant it," said Lucy; "but why,

Alice, may it not be my father's?"

"The pace of age, my love, is timid and cautious: the foot takes

leave of the earth slowly, and is planted down upon it with

hesitation; it is the hasty and determined step of youth that I

now hear, and --could I give credit to so strange a thought--I

should say is was the step of a Ravenswood."

"This is indeed," said Ravenswood, "an acuteness of organ which

I could not have credited had I not witnessed it. I am indeed

the Master of Ravenswood, Alice,--the son of your old master."

"You!" said the old woman, with almost a scream of surprise--

"you the Master of Ravenswood--here--in this place, and thus

accompanied! I cannot believe it. let me pass my old hand over

your face, that my touch may bear witness to my ears."

The Master sate down beside her on the earthen bank, and

permitted her to touch his features with her trembling hand.

"It is indeed!" she said--"it is the features as well as the

voice of Ravenswood--the high lines of pride, as well as the bold

and haughty tone. But what do you here, Master of Ravenwsood?--

what do you in your enemy's domain, and in company with his

child?"

As Old Alice spoke, her face kindled, as probably that of an

ancient feudal vassal might have done in whose presence his

youthful liege-lord had showed some symptom of degenerating from

the spirit of his ancestors.

"The Master of Ravenswood," said Lucy, who liked not the tone of

this expostulation, and was desirous to abridge it, "is upon a

visit to my father."

"Indeed!" said the old blind woman, in an accent of

surprise.

"I knew," continued Lucy, "I should do him a pleasure by

conducting him to your cottage."

"Where, to say the truth, Alice," said Ravenswood, "I expected a

more cordial reception."

"It is most wonderful!" said the old woman, muttering to

herself; "but the ways of Heaven are not like our ways, and its

judgments are brought about by means far beyond our fathoming.

Hearken, young man," she said; "your fathers were implacable, but

they were honourable, foes; they sought not to ruin their enemies

under the mast of hospitality. "What have you to do with Lucy

Ashton? why should your steps move in the same footpath with

hers? why should your voice sound in the same chord and time with

those of Sir William Ashton's daughter? Young man, he who aims

at revenge by dishonourable means----"

"Be silent, woman!" said Ravenswood, sternly; "it is the devil

that prompts your voice? Know that this young lady has not on

earth a friend who would venture farther to save her from injury

or from insult."

"And is it even so?" said the old woman, in an altered but

melancholy tone, "then God help you both!"

"Amen! Alice," said Lucy, who had not comprehended the import

of what the blind woman had hinted, "and send you your senses,

Alice, and your good humour. If you hold this mysterious

language, instead of welcoming your friends, they will think of

you as other people do."

"And how do other people think?" said Ravenswood, for he also

began to believe the old woman spoke with incoherence.

"They think," said Henry Ashton, who came up at that moment, and

whispered into Ravenswood's ear, "that she is a witch, that

should have been burned with them that suffered at Haddington."

"What is it you say?" said Alice, turning towards the boy, her

sightless visage inflamed with passion; "that I am a witch, and

ought to have suffered with the helpless old wretches who were

murdered at Haddington?"

"Hear to that now," again whispered Henry, "and me

whispering lower than a wren cheeps!"

"If the usurer, and the oppressor, and the grinder of the poor

man's face, and the remover of ancient landmarks, and the

subverter of ancient houses, were at the same stake with me, I

could say, 'Light the fire, in God's name!'"

"This is dreadful," said Lucy; "I have never seen the poor

deserted woman in this state of mind; but age and poverty can ill

bear reproach. Come, Henry, we will leave her for the present;

she wishes to speak with the Master alone. We will walk

homeward, and rest us," she added, looking at Ravenswood, "by the

Mermaiden's Well."

"And Alice," said the boy, "if you know of any hare that comes

through among the deer, and makes them drop their calves out of

season, you may tell her, with my compliments to command, that if

Norman has not got a silver bullet ready for her, I'll lend him

one of my doublet-buttons on purpose."

Alice made no answer till she was aware that the sister and

brother were out of hearing. She then said to Ravenswood: "And

you, too, are angry with me for my love? It is just that

strangers should be offended, but you, too, are angry!"

"I am not angry, Alice," said the Master, "only surprised that

you, whose good sense I have ehard so often praised, should give

way to offensive and unfounded suspicions."

"Offensive!" said Alice. "Ay, trust is ever offensive; but,

surely, not unfounded."

"I tell you, dame, most groundless," replied Ravenswood.

"Then the world has changed its wont, and the Ravenswoods their

hereditary temper, and the eyes of Old Alice's

understanding are yet more blind than those of her countenance.

When did a Ravenswood seek the house of his enemy but with the

purpose of revenge? and hither are you come, Edgar Ravenswood,

either in fatal anger or in still more fatal love."

"In neither," said Ravenswood, "I give you mine honour--I mean,

I assure you."

Alice could not see his blushing cheek, but she noticed his

hestitation, and that he retracted the pledge which he seemed at

first disposed to attach to his denial.

"It is so, then," she said, "and therefore she is to tarry by

the Mermaiden's Well! Often has it been called a place fatal to

the race of Ravenswood--often has it proved so; but never was it

likely to verify old sayings as much as on this day."

"You drive me to madness, Alice," said Ravenswood; "you are more

silly and more superstitious than old Balderstone. Are you such

a wretched Christian as to suppose I would in the present day

levy war against the Ashton family, as was the sanguinary custom

in elder times? or do you suppose me so foolish, that I cannot

walk by a young lady's side without plunging headlong in love

with her?"

"My thoughts," replied Alice, "are my own; and if my mortal

sight is closed to objects present with me, it may be I can look

with more steadiness into future events. Are you prepared to

sit lowest at the board which was once your father's own,

unwillingly, as a connexion and ally of his proud successor? Are

you ready to live on his bounty; to follow him in the bye-paths

of intrigue and chicane, which none can better point out to you;

to gnaw the bones of his prey when he has devoured the substance?

Can you say as Sir William Ashton says, think as he thinks, vote

as he votes, and call your father's murderer your worshipful

father-in-law and revered patron? Master of Ravenswood, I am

the eldest servant of your house, and I would rather see you

shrouded and coffined!"

The tumult in Ravenswood's mind was uncommonly great; she struck

upon and awakened a chord which he had for some time

successfully silenced. He strode backwards and forwards through

the little garden with a hasty pace; and at length checking

himself, and stopping right opposite to Alice, he exclaimed:

"Woman! on the verge of the grave, dare you urge the son of your

master to blood and to revenge?"

"God forbid!" said Alice, solemnly; "and therefore I would have

you depart these fatal bounds, where your love, as well as your

hatred, threatens sure mischief, or at least disgrace, both to

yourself and others. I would shield, were it in the power of

this withered hand, the Ashtons from you, and you from them, and

both from their own passions. You can have nothing--ought to

have nothing, in common with them. Begone from among them; and

if God has destined vengeance on the oppressor's house, do not

you be the instrument."

"I will think on what you have said, Alice," said

Ravenswood, more composedly. "I believe you mean truly and

faithfully by me, but you urge the freedom of an ancient domestic

somewhat too far. But farewell; and if Heaven afford me better

means, I will not fail to contribute to your comfort."

He attempted to put a piece of gold into her hand, which she

refused to receive; and, in the slight struggle attending his

wish to force it upon her, it dropped to the earth.

"Let it remain an instant on the ground," said Alice, as the

Master stooped to raise it; "and believe me, that piece of gold

is an emblem of her whom you love; she is as precious, I grant,

but you must stoop even to abasement before you can win her. For

me, I have as little to do with gold as with earthly passions;

and the best news that the world has in store for me is, that

Edgar Ravenswood is an hundred miles distant from the seat of his

ancestors, with the determination never again to behold it."

"Alice," said the Master, who began to think this

earnestness had some more secret cause than arose from anything

that the blind woman could have gathered from this casual visit,

"I have heard you praised by my mother for your sense, acuteness,

and fidelity; you are no fool to start at shadows, or to dread

old superstitious saws, like Caleb Balderstone; tell me

distinctly where my danger lies, if you are aware of any which is

tending towards me. If I know myself, I am free from all such

views respecting Miss Ashton as you impute to me. I have

necessary business to settle with Sir William; that arranged, I

shall depart, and with as little wish, as you may easily believe,

to return to a place full of melancholy subjects of reflection,

as you have to see me here."

Alice bent her sightless eyes on the ground, and was for some

time plunged in deep meditation. "I will speak the truth," she

said at length, raising up her head--"I will tell you the source

of my apprehensions, whether my candour be for good or for evil.

Lucy Ashton loves you, Lord of Ravenswood!"

"It is impossible," said the Master.

"A thousand circumstances have proved it to me," replied the

blind woman. "Her thoughts have turned on no one else since you

saved her from death, and that my experienced judgment has won

from her own conversation. Having told you this--if you are

indeed a gentleman and your father's son--you will make it a

movtive for flying from her presence. Her passion will die like

a lamp for want of that the flame should feed upon; but, if you

remain here, her destruction, or yours, or that of both, will be

the inevitable consequence of her misplaced attachment. I tell

you this secret unwillingly, but it could not have been hid long

from your own observation, and it is better you learn it from

mine. Depart, Master of Ravenswood; you have my secret. If you

remain an hour under Sir William Ashton's roof without the

resolution to marry his daughter, you are a villain; if with the

purpose of allying yourself with kin, you are an infatuated and

predestined fool."

So saying, the old blind woman arose, asumed her staff, and,

tottering to her hut, entered it and closed the door, leaving

Ravenswood to his own reflections.

CHAPTER XX.

Lovelier in her own retired abode

....than Naiad by the side

Of Grecian brook--or Lady of the Mere

Lone sitting by the shores of old romance.

WORDSWORTH.

THE meditations of Ravenswood were of a very mixed

complexion. He saw himself at once in the very dilemma which he

had for some time felt apprehensive he might be placed in. The

pleasure he felt in Lucy's company had indeed approached to

fascination, yet it had never altogether surmounted his internal

reluctance to wed with the daughter of his father's foe; and even

in forgiving Sir William Ashton the injuries which his family had

received, and giving him credit for the kind intentions he

professed to entertain, he could not bring himself to contemplate

as possible an alliance betwixt their houses. Still, he felt

that Alice poke truth, and that his honour now required he should

take an instant leave of Ravenswood Castle, or become a suitor of

Lucy Ashton. The possibility of being rejected, too, should he

make advances to her wealthy and powerful father--to sue for the

hand of an Ashton and be refused--this were a consummation too

disgraceful. "I wish her well," he said to himself, "and for her

sake I forgive the injuries her father has done to my house; but

I will never--no, never see her more!"

With one bitter pang he adopted this resolution, just as he came

to where two paths parted: the one to the Mermaiden's Fountain,

where he knew Lucy waited him, the other leading to the castle by

another and more circuitous road. He paused an instant when

about to take the latter path, thinking what apology he should

make for conduct which must needs seem extraordinary, and had

just muttered to himself, "Sudden news from Edinburgh--any

pretext will serve; only let me dally no longer here," when

young Henry came flying up to him, half out of breath: "Master,

Master you must give Lucy your arm back to the castle, for I

cannot give her mine; for Norman is waiting for me, and I am to

go with him to make his ring-walk, and I would not stay away for

a gold Jacobus; and Lucy is afraid to walk home alone, though all

the wild nowt have been shot, and so you must come away

directly."

Betwixt two scales equally loaded, a feather's weight will turn

the scale. "It is impossible for me to leave the young lady in

the wood alone," said Ravenswood; "to see her once more can be

of little consequence, after the frequent meetings we have had.

I ought, too, in courtesy, to apprise her of my intention to quit

the castle."

And having thus satisfied himself that he was taking not only a

wise, but an absolutely necessary, step, he took the path to the

fatal fountain. Henry no sooner saw him on the way to join his

sister than he was off like lightning in another

direction, to enjoy the society of the forester in their

congenial pursuits. Ravenswood, not allowing himself to give a

second thought to the propriety of his own conduct, walked with a

quick step towards the stream, where he found Lucy seated alone

by the ruin.

She sate upon one of the disjointed stones of the ancient

fountain, and seemed to watch the progress of its current, as it

bubbled forth to daylight, in gay and sparkling profusion, from

under the shadow of the ribbed and darksome vault, with which

veneration, or perhaps remorse, had canopied its source. To a

superstitious eye, Lucy Ashton, folded in her plaided mantle,

with her long hair, escaping partly from the snood and falling

upon her silver neck, might have suggested the idea of the

murdered Nymph of the fountain. But Ravenswood only saw a female

exquisitely beautiful, and rendered yet more so in his eyes--how

could it be otherwise?--by the consciousness that she had placed

her affections on him. As he gazed on her, he felt his fixed

resolution melting like wax in the sun, and hastened, therefore,

from his concealment in the neighbouring thicket. She saluted

him, but did not arise from the stone on which she was seated.

"My madcap brother," she said, "has left me, but I expect him

back in a few minutes; for, fortunately, as anything pleases him

for a minute, nothing has charms for him much longer."

Ravenswood did not feel the power of informing Lucy that her

brother meditated a distant excursion, and would not return in

haste. He sate himself down on the grass, at some little

distance from Miss Ashton, and both were silent for a short

space.

"I like this spot," said Lucy at length, as if she found the

silence embarrassing; "the bubbling murmur of the clear fountain,

the waving of the trees, the profusion of grass and wild-

flowers that rise among the ruins, make it like a scene in

romance. I think, too, I have heard it is a spot connected with

the legendary lore which I love so well."

"It has been thought," answered Ravenswood, "a fatal spot to my

family; and I have some reason to term it so, for it was here I

first saw Miss Ashton; and it is here I must take my leave of

her for ever."

The blood, which the first part of this speech called into

Lucy's cheeks, was speedily expelled by its conclusion.

"To take leave of us, Master!" she exclaimed; "what can have

happened to hurry you away? I know Alice hates--I mean dislikes

my father; and I hardly understood her humour to-day, it was so

mysterious. But I am certain my father is sincerely grateful for

the high service you rendered us. Lt me hope that, having won

your friendship hardly, we shall not lose it lightly."

"Lose it, Miss Ashton!" said the Master of Ravenswood. "No;

wherever my fortune calls me--whatever she inflicts upon me--it

is your friend--your sincere friend, who acts or suffers. But

there is a fate on me, and I must go, or I shall add the ruin of

others to my own."

"Yet do not go from us, Master," said Lucy; and she laid her

hand, in all simplicity and kindness, upon the skirt of his

cloak, as if to detain him. "You shall not part from us. My

father is powerful, he has friends taht are more so than himself;

do not go till you see what his gratitude will do for you.

Believe me, he is already labouring in your behalf with the

council."

"It may be so," said the Master, proudly; "yet it is not to your

father, Miss Ashton, but to my own exertions, that I ought to owe

success in the career on which I am about to enter. My

preparations are already made--a sword and a cloak, and a bold

heart and a determined hand."

Lucy covered her face her hands, and the tears, in spite of her,

forced their way between her fingers.

"Forgive me," said Ravenswood, taking her right hand, which,

after slight resistance, she yielded to him, still continuing to

shade her face with the left--"I am too rude--too rough--too

intractable to deal with any being so soft and gentle as you are.

Forget that so stern a vision has crossed your path of life; and

let me pursue mine, sure that I can meet with no worse misfortune

after the moment it divides me from your side."

Lucy wept on, but her tears were less bitter. Each attempt

which the Master made to explain his purpose of departure only

proved a new evidence of his desire to stay; until, at length,

instead of bidding her farewell, he gave his faith to her for

ever, and received her troth in return. The whole passed so

suddenly, and arose so much out of the immediate impulse of the

moment, that ere the Master of Ravenswood could reflect upon the

consequences of the step which he had taken, their lips, as well

as their hands, had pledged the sincerity of their affection.

"And now," he said, after a moment's consideration, "it is fit I

should speak to Sir William Ashton; he must know of our

engagement. Ravenswood must not seem to dwell under his roof to

solicit clandestinely the affections of his daughter."

"You would not speak to my father on the subject?" said Lucy,

doubtingly; and then added more warmly: "Oh do not--do not! Let

your lot in life be determined--your station and purpose

ascertained, before you address my father. I am sure he loves

you--I think he will consent; but then my mother----!"

She paused, ashamed to express the doubt she felt how far her

father dared to form any positive resolution on this most

important subject without the consent of his lady.

"Your mother, my Lucy!" replied Ravenswood. "She is of the

house of Douglas, a house that has intermarried with mine even

when its glory and power were at the highest; what could your

mother object to my alliance?"

"I did not say object," said Lucy; "but she is jealous of her

rights, and may claim a mother's title to be consulted in the

first instance."

"Be it so," replied Ravenswood. "London is distant, but a

letter will reach it and receive an answer within a fortnight; I

will not press on the Lord Keeper for an instant reply to my

proposal."

"But," hesitated Lucy, "were it not better to wait--to wait a

few weeks? Were my mother to see you--to know you, I am sure

she would approve; but you are unacquainted personally, and the

ancient feud between the families----"

Ravenswood fixed upon her his keen dark eyes, as if he was

desirous of penetrating into her very soul.

"Lucy," he said, "I have sacrificed to you projects of vengeance

long nursed, and sworn to with ceremonies little better than

heathen--I sacrificed them to your image, ere I knew the worth

which it represented. In the evening which succeeded my poor

father's funeral, I cut a lock from my hair, and, as it consumed

in the fire, I swore that my rage and revenge should pursue his

enemies, until they shrivelled before me like that scorched-up

symbol of annihilation."

"It was a deadly sin," said Lucy, turning pale, "to make a vow

so fatal."

"I acknowledge it," said Ravenswood, "and it had been a worse

crime to keep it. It was for your sake that I abjured these

purposes of vengeance, though I scarce knew that such was the

argument by which I was conquered, until I saw you once more,

and became ocnscious of the influence you possessed over me."

"And why do you now," said Lucy, "recall sentiments so terrible--

sentiments so inconsistent with those you profess for me--with

those your importunity has prevailed on me to acknowledge?"

"Because," said her lover, "I would impress on you the price at

which I have bought your love--the right I have to expect your

constancy. I say not that I have bartered for it the honour of

my house, its last remaining possession; but though I say it not,

and think it not, I cannot conceal from myself that the world may

do both."

"If such are your sentiments," said Lucy, "you have played a

cruel game with me. But it is not too late to give it over: take

back the faith and troth which you could not plight to me without

suffering abatement of honour--let what is passed be as if it had

not been--forget me; I will endeavour to forget myself."

"You do me injustice," said the Master of Ravenswood--"by all I

hold true and honourable, you do me the extremity of injustice;

if I mentioned the price at which I have bought your love, it is

only to show how much I prize it, to bind our

engagement by a still firmer tie, and to show, by what I have

done to attain this atation in your regard, how much I must

suffer should you ever break your faith."

"And why, Ravenswood," answered Lucy, "should you think that

possible? Why should you urge me with even the mention of

infidelity? Is it because I ask you to delay applying to my

father for a little space of time? Bind me by what vows you

please; if vows are unnecessary to secure constancy, they may yet

prevent suspicion."

Ravenswood pleaded, apologised, and even kneeled, to appease her

displeasure; and lucy, as placable as she was single-hearted,

readily forgave the offence which his doubts had implied. The

dispute thus agitated, however, ended by the lovers going through

an emblematic ceremony of their troth-plight, of which the vulgar

still preserve some traces. They broke betwixt them the thin

broad-piece of gold which Alice had refused to receive from

Ravenswood.

"And never shall this leave my bosom," said Lucy, as she hung

the piece of gold round her neck, and concealed it with her

handkerchief, "until you, Edgar Ravenswood, ask me to resign it

to you; and, while I wear it, never shall that heart acknowledge

another love than yours."

With like protestations, Ravenswood placed his portion of the

coin opposite to his heart. And now, at length, it struck them

that time had hurried fast on during this interview, and their

absence at the castle would be subject of remark, if not of

alarm. As they arose to leave the fountain which had been

witness of their mutual engagement, an arrow whistled through the

air, and struck a raven perched on the sere branch of an old oak,

near to where they had been seated. The bird fluttered a few

yards and dropped at the feet of Lucy, whose dress was stained

with some spots of its blood.

Miss Ashton was much alarmed, and Ravenswood, surprised and

angry, looked everywhere for the marksman, who had given them a

proof of his skill as little expected as desired. He was not

long of discovering himself, being no other than Henry Ashton,

who came running up with a crossbow in his hand.

"I knew I should startle you," he said; "and do you know, you

looked so busy that I hoped it would have fallen souse on your

heads before you were aware of it. What was the Master saying to

you, Lucy?"

"I was telling your sister what an idle lad you were, keeping us

waiting here for you so long," said Ravenswood, to save Lucy's

confusion.

"Waiting for me! Why, I told you to see Lucy home, and that I

was to go to make the ring-walk with old Norman in the Hayberry

thicket, and you may be sure that would take a good hour, and we

have all the deer's marks and furnishes got, while you were

sitting here with Lucy, like a lazy loon."

"Well, well, Mr. Henry," said Ravenswood; "but let us see how

you will answer to me for killing the raven. Do you know, the

ravens are all under the protection of the Lords of

Ravenswood, and to kill one in their presence is such bad luck

that it deserves the stab?"

"And that's what Norman said," replied the boy; "he came as far

with me as within a flight-shot of you, and he said he never saw

a raven sit still so near living folk, and he wished it might be

for good luck, for the raven is one of the wildest birds that

flies, unless it be a tame one; and so I crept on and on, till I

was within threescore yards of him, and then whiz went the bolt,

and there he lies, faith! Was it not well shot? and, I dare say,

I have not shot in a crossbow!--not ten times, maybe."

"Admirably shot, indeed," said Ravenswood; "and you will be a

fine marksman if you practise hard."

"And that's what Norman says," answered the boy; "but I am sure

it is not my fault if I do not practise enough; for, of free

will, I would do little else, only my father and tutor are angry

sometimes, and only Miss Lucy there gives herself airs about my

being busy, for all she can sit idle by a wellside the whole day,

when she has a handsome young gentleman to prate with. I have

known her do so twenty times, if you will believe me."

The boy looked at his sister as he spoke, and, in the midst of

his mischievous chatter, had the sense to see that he was really

inflicting pain upon her, though without being able to

comprehend the cause or the amount.

"Come now, Lucy," he said, "don't greet; and if I have said

anything beside the mark, I'll deny it again; and what does the

Master of Ravenswood care if you had a hundred sweethearts? so

ne'er put finger in your eye about it."

The Master of Ravenswood was, for the moment, scarce

satisfied with what he heard; yet his good sense naturally

regarded it as the chatter of a spoilt boy, who strove to mortify

his sister in the point which seemed most accessible for the

time. But, although of a temper equally slow in receiving

impressions and obstinate in retaining them, the prattle of Henry

served to nourish in his mind some vague suspicion that his

present engagement might only end in his being exposed, like a

conquered enemy in a Roman triumph, a captive attendant on the

car of a victor who meditated only the satiating his pride at the

expense of the vanquished. There was, we repeat it, no real

ground whatever for such an apprehension, nor could he be said

seriously to entertain such for a moment. Indeed, it was

impossible to look at the clear blue eye of Lucy Ashton, and

entertain the slightest permanent doubt concerning the sincerity

of her disposition. Still, however, conscious pride and

conscious poverty combined to render a mind suspecious which in

more fortunate circumstances would have been a stranger to that

as well as to every other meanness.

They reached the castle, where Sir William Ashton, who had been

alarmed by the length of their stay, met them in the hall.

"Had Lucy," he said, "been in any other company than that of one

who had shown he had so complete power of protecting her, he

confessed he should have been very uneasy, and would have

despatched persons in quest of them. But, in the company of the

Master of Ravenswood, he knew his daughter had nothing to dread."

Lucy commenced some apology for their long delay, but,

conscience-struck, becames confused as she proceeded; and when

Ravenswood, coming to her assistance, endeavoured to render the

explanation complete and satisfactory, he only involved himself

in the same disorder, like one who, endeavouring to extricate his

companion from a slough, entangles himself in the same tenacious

swamp. It cannot be supposed that the confusion of the two

youthful lovers escaped the observation of the sublte lawyer,

accustomed, by habit and profession, to trace human nature

through all her windings. But it was not his present policy to

take any notice of what he observed. He desired to hold the

Master of Ravenswood bound, but wished that he himself should

remain free; and it did not occur to him that his plan might be

defeated by Lucy's returning the passion which he hoped she might

inspire. If she should adopt some romantic feelings towards

Ravenswood, in which circumstances, or the positive and absolute

opposition of Lady Ashton, might render it unadvisable to indulge

her, the Lord Keeper conceived they might be easily superseded

and annulled by a journey to Edinburgh, or even to London, a new

set of Brussels lace, and the soft whispers of half a dozen

lovers, anxious to replace him whom it was convenient she should

renounce. This was his provision for the worst view of the case.

But, according to its more probable issue, any passing favours

she might entertain for the Master of Ravenswood might require

encouragement rather than repression.

This seemed the more likely, as he had that very morning, since

their departure from the castle, received a letter, the contents

of which he hastened to communicate to Ravenswood. A foot-post

had arrived with a packet to the Lord Keeper from that friend

whom we have already mentioned, who was labouring hard underhand

to consolidate a band of patriots, at the head of whom stood Sir

William's greatest terror, the active and ambitious Marquis of A-

---. The success of this convenient friend had been such, that

he had obtained from Sir William, not indeed a

directly favourable answer, but certainly a most patient hearing.

This he had reported to his principal, who had replied by the

ancient French adage, "Chateau qui parle, et femme qui ecoute,

l'un et l'autre va se rendre." A statesman who hears you

propose a change of measures without reply was, according to the

Marquis's opinion, in the situation of the fortress which parleys

and the lady who listens, and he resolved to press the siege of

the Lord Keeper.

The packet, therefore, contained a letter from his friend and

ally, and another from himself, to the Lord Keeper, frankly

offering an unceremonious visit. They were crossing the country

to go to the southward; the roads were indifferent; the

accommodation of the inns as execrable as possible; the Lord

Keeper had been long acquainted intimately with one of his

correspondents, and, though more slightly known to the Marquis,

had yet enough of his lordship's acquaintance to render the visit

sufficiently natural, and to shut the mouths of those who might

be disposed to impute it to a political intrigue. He instantly

accepted the offered visit, determined, however, that he would

not pledge himself an inch farther for the furtherance of their

views than REASON (by which he meant his own self-interest)

should plainly point out to him as proper.

Two circumstances particularly delighted him--the presence of

Ravenswood, and the absence of his own lady. By having the

former under his roof, he conceived he might be able to quash all

such hazardous and hostile proceedings as he might otherwise have

been engaged in, under the patronage of the Marquis; and Lucy, he

foresaw, would make, for his immediate purpose of delay and

procrastination, a much better mistress of his family than her

mother, who would, he was sure, in some shape or other, contrive

to disconcert his political schemes by her proud and implacable

temper.

His anxious solicitations that the Master would stay to

receive his kinsman, were, of course, readily complied with,

since the eclaircissement which had taken place at the

Mermaiden's Fountain had removed all wish for sudden departure.

Lucy and Lockhard, had, therefore, orders to provide all things

necessary in their different departments, for receiving the

expected guests with a pomp and display of luxury very uncommon

in Scotland at that remote period.

CHAPTER XXI.

Marall: Sir, the man of honour's come,

Newly alighted----

Overreach: In without reply,

And do as I command....

Is the loud music I gave order for

Ready to receive him?

New Way to pay Old Debts.

SIR WILLIAM ASHTON, although a man of sense, legal

information, and great practical knowledge of the world, had yet

some points of character which corresponded better with the

timidity of his disposition and the supple arts by which he had

risen in the world, than to the degree of eminence which he had

attained; as they tended to show an original mediocrity of

understanding, however highly it had been cultivated, and a

native meanness of disposition, however carefully veiled. He

loved the ostentatious display of his wealth, less as a man to

whom habit has made it necessary, than as one to whom it is still

delightful from its novelty. The most trivial details did not

escape him; and Lucy soon learned to watch the flush of scorn

which crossed Ravenswood's cheek, when he heard her father

gravely arguing with Lockhard, nay, even with the old

housekeeper, upon circumstances which, in families of rank, are

left uncared for, because it is supposed impossible they can be

neglected.

"I could pardon Sir William," said Ravenswood, one evening after

he had left the room, "some general anxiety upon this occasion,

for the Marquis's visit is an honour, and should be received as

such; but I am worn out by these miserable minutiae of the

buttery, and the larder, and the very hencoop--they drive me

beyond my patience; I would rather endure the poverty of Wolf's

Crag than be pestered with the wealth of Ravenswood Castle."

"And yet," said Lucy, "it was by attention to these minutiae

that my father acquired the property----"

"Which my ancestors sold for lack of it," replied

Ravenswood. "Be it so; a porter still bears but a burden, though

the burden be of gold."

Lucy sighed; she perceived too plainly that her lover held in

scorn the manners and habits of a father to whom she had long

looked up as her best and most partial friend, whose fondness

had often consoled her for her mother's contemptuous harshness.

The lovers soon discovered that they differed upon other and no

less important topics. Religion, the mother of peace, was, in

those days of discord, so much misconstrued and mistaken, that

her rules and forms were the subject of the most opposite

opinions and the most hotsile animosities. The Lord Keeper,

being a Whig, was, of course, a Presbyterian, and had found it

convenient, at different periods, to express greater zeal for the

kirk than perhaps he really felt. His family, equally of course,

were trained under the same institution. Ravenswood, as we know,

was a High Churchman, or Episcopalian, and frequently objected to

Lucy the fanaticism of some of her own communion, while she

intimated, rather than expressed , horror at the latitudinarian

principles which she had been taught to think connected with the

prelatical form of church government.

Thus, although their mutual affection seemed to increase rather

than to be diminished as their characters opened more fully on

each other, the feelings of each were mingled with some less

agreeable ingredients. Lucy felt a secret awe, amid all her

affection for Ravenswood. His soul was of an higher, prouder

character than those with thom she had hitherto mixed in

intercourse; his ideas were more fierce and free; and he

contemned many of the opinions which had been inculcated upon her

as chiefly demanding her veneration. On the other hand,

Ravenswood saw in Lucy a soft and flexible character, which, in

his eyes at least, seemed too susceptible of being moulded to any

form by those with whom she lived. He felt that his own temper

required a partner of a more independent spirit, who could set

sail with him on his course of life, resolved as himself to dare

indifferently the storm and the favouring breeze. But Lucy was

so beautiful, so devoutly attached to him, of a temper so

exquisitely soft and kind, that, while he could have wished it

were possible to inspire her with a greater degree of firmness

and resolution, and while he sometimes became impatient of the

extreme fear which she expressed of their attachment being

prematurely discovered, he felt that the softness of a mind,

amounting almost to feebleness, rendered her even dearer to him,

as a being who had voluntarily clung to him for protection, and

made him the arbiter of her fate for weal or woe. His feelings

towards her at such moments were those which have been since so

beautifully expressed by our immortal Joanna Baillie:

Thou sweetest thing,

That e'er did fix its lightly-fibred sprays

To the rude rock, ah! wouldst thou cling to me?

Rough and storm-worn I am; yet love me as

Thou truly dost, I will love thee again

With true and honest heart, though all unmeet

To be the mate of such sweet gentleness.

Thus the very points in which they differed seemed, in some

measure, to ensure the continuance of their mutual affection.

If, indeed, they had so fully appreciated each other's character

before the burst of passion in which they hastily pledged their

faith to each other, Lucy might have feared Ravenswood too much

ever to have loved him, and he might have construed her softness

and docile temper as imbecility, rendering her unworthy of his

regard. But they stood pledged to each other; and Lucy only

feared that her lover's pride might one day teach him to regret

his attachment; Ravenswood, that a mind so ductile as Lucy's

might, in absence or difficulties, be induced, by the entreaties

or influence of those around her, to renounce the engagement she

had formed.

"Do not fear it," said Lucy, when upon one occasion a hint of

such suspicion escaped her lover; "the mirrors which receive the

reflection of all successive objects are framed of hard

materials like glass or steel; the softer substances, when they

receive an impression, retain it undefaced."

"This is poetry, Lucy," said Ravenswood; "and in poetry there is

always fallacy, and sometimes fiction."

"Believe me, then, once more, in honest prose," said Lucy,

"that, though I will never wed man without the consent of my

parents, yet neither force nor persuasion shall dispose of my

hand till you renounce the right I have given you to it."

The lovers had ample time for such explanations. Henry was now

more seldom their companion, being either a most unwilling

attendant upon the lessons of his tutor, or a forward volunteer

under the instructions of the foresters or grooms. As for the

Keeper, his mornings were spent in his study, maintaining

correspondences of all kinds, and balancing in his anxious mind

the various intelligence which he collected from every quarter

concerning the expected change of Scottish politics, and the

probable strength of the parties who were about to struggle for

power. At other times he busied himself about arranging, and

coutermanding, and then again arranging, the preparations which

he judged necessary for the reception of the Marquis of A----,

whose arrival had been twice delayed by some necessary cause of

detention.

In the midst of all these various avocations, political and

domestic, he seemed not to observe how much his daughter and his

guest were thrown into each other's society, and was censured by

many of his neighbours, according to the fashion of neighbours in

all countries, for suffering such an intimate connexion to take

place betwixt two young persons. The only natural explanation

was, that he designed them for each other; while, in truth, his

only motive was to temporise and procrastinate until he should

discover the real extent of the interest which the Marquis took

in Ravenswood's affairs, and the power which he was likely to

possess of advancing them. Until these points should be made

both clear and manifest, the Lord Keeper resolved that he would

do nothing to commit himself, either in one shape or other; and,

like many cunning persons, he overreached himself deplorably.

Amongst those who had been disposed to censure, with the

greatest severity, the conduct of Sir William Ashton, in

permitting the prolonged residence of Ravenswood under his roof,

and his constant attendance on Miss Ashton, was the new Laird of

Girnington, and his faithful squire and bottleholder, personages

formerly well known to us by the names of Hayston and Bucklaw,

and his companion Captain Craigengelt. The former had at length

succeeded to the extensive property of his long-lived grand-aunt,

and to considerable wealth besides, which he had employed in

redeeming his paternal acres (by the title appertaining to which

he still chose to be designated), notwithstanding Captain

Craigengelt had proposed to him a most advantageous mode of

vesting the money in Law's scheme, which was just then broached,

and offered his services to travel express to Paris for the

purpose. But Bucklaw had so far derived wisdom from adversity,

that he would listen to no proposal which Craigengelt could

invent, which had the slightest tendency to risk his newly-

acquired independence. He that had once eat pease-bannocks,

drank sour wine, and slept in the secret chamber at Wolf's Crag,

would, he said, prize good cheer and a soft bed as long as he

lived, and take special care never to need such hospitality

again.

Craigengelt, therefore, found himself disappointed in the first

hopes he had entertained of making a good hand of the Laird of

Bucklaw. Still, however, he reaped many advantages from his

friend's good fortune. Bucklaw, who had never been at all

scrupulous in choosing his companions, was accustomed to, and

entertained by, a fellow whom he could either laugh with or

laugh at as he had a mind, who would take, according to Scottish

phrase, "the bit and the buffet," understood all sports, whether

within or without doors, and, when the laird had a mind for a

bottle of wine (no infrequent circumstance), was always ready to

save him from the scandal of getting drunk by himself. Upon

these terms, Craigengelt was the frequent, almost the constant,

inmate of the house of Girnington.

In no time, and under no possibility of circumstances, could

good have been derived from such an intimacy, however its bad

consequences might be qualified by the thorough knowledge which

Bucklaw possessed of his dependant's character, and the high

contempt in which he held it. But, as circumstances stood, this

evil communication was particularly liable to corrupt what good

principles nature had implanted in the patron.

Craigengelt had never forgiven the scorn with which

Ravenswood had torn the mask of courage and honesty from his

countenance; and to exasperate Bucklaw's resentment against him

was the safest mode of revenge which occurred to his cowardly,

yet cunning and malignant, disposition.

He brought up on all occasions the story of the challenge which

Ravenswood had declined to accept, and endeavoured, by every

possible insinuation, to make his patron believe that his honour

was concerned in bringing that matter to an issue by a present

discussion with Ravenswood. But respecting this subject Bucklaw

imposed on him, at length, a peremptory command of silence.

"I think," he said, "the Master has treated me unlike a

gentleman, and I see no right he had to send me back a cavalier

answer when I demanded the satisfaction of one. But he gave me

my life once; and, in looking the matter over at present, I put

myself but on equal terms with him. Should he cross me again, I

shall consider the old accompt as balanced, and his Mastership

will do well to look to himself."

"That he should," re-echoed Craigengelt; "for when you are in

practice, Bucklaw, I would bet a magnum you are through him

before the third pass."

"Then you know nothing of the matter," said Bucklaw, "and you

never saw him fence."

"And I know nothing of the matter?" said the dependant--"a good

jest, I promise you! And though I never saw Ravenswood fence,

have I not been at Monsieur Sagoon's school, who was the first

maitre d'armes at Paris; and have I not been at Signor Poco's

at Florence, and Meinheer Durchstossen's at Vienna, and have I

not seen all their play?"

"I don't know whether you have or not," said Bucklaw; "but what

about it, though you had?"

"Only that I will be d--d if ever I saw French, Italian, or

High-Dutchman ever make foot, hand, and eye keep time half so

well as you, Bucklaw."

"I believe you lie, Craigie," said Bucklaw; "however, I can hold

my own, both with single rapier, backsword, sword and dagger,

broadsword, or case of falchions--and that's as much as any

gentleman need know of the matter."

"And the doublt of what ninety-nine out of a hundred know," said

Craigengelt; "they learn to chanage a few thrusts with the small

sword, and then, forsooth, they understand the noble art of

defence! Now, when I was at Rouen in the year 1695, there was a

Chevalier de Chapon and I went to the opera, where we found three

bits of English birkies----"

"Is it a long story you are going to tell?" said Bucklaw,

interrupting him without ceremony.

"Just as you like," answered the parasite, "for we made short

work of it."

"Then I like it short," said Bucklaw. "Is it serious or merry?"

"Devilish serious, I assure you, and so they found it; for the

Chevalier and I----"

"Then I don't like it at all," said Bucklaw; "so fill a brimmer

of my auld auntie's claret, rest her heart! And, as the

Hielandman says, Skioch doch na skiall."

"That was what tough old Sir Even Dhu used to say to me when I

was out with the metall'd lads in 1689. 'Craigengelt,' he used

to say, 'you are as pretty a fellow as ever held steel in his

grip, but you have one fault.'"

"If he had known you as long as I have don," said Bucklaw, "he

would have found out some twenty more; but hand long stories,

give us your toast, man."

Craigengelt rose, went a -tiptoe to the door, peeped out, shut

it carefully, came back again, clapped his tarnished gold-laced

hat on one side of his head, took his glass in one hand, and

touching the hilt of his hanger with the other, named, "The King

over the water."

"I tell you what it is, Captain Craigengelt," said Bucklaw; "I

shall keep my mind to myself on thse subjects, having too much

respect for the memory of my venerable Aunt Girnington to put

her lands and tenements in the way of committing treason against

established authority. Bring me King James to Edinburgh,

Captain, with thirty thousand men at his back, and I'll tell you

what I think about his title; but as for running my neck into a

noose, and my good broad lands into the statutory penalties, 'in

that case made and provided,' rely upon it, you will find me no

such fool. So, when you mean to vapour with your hanger and your

dram-cup in support of treasonable toasts, you must find your

liquor and company elsewhere."

"Well, then," said Craigengelt, "name the toast yourself, and be

it what it like, I'll pledge you, were it a mile to the bottom."

"And I'll give you a toast that deserves it, my boy," said

Bucklaw; "what say you to Miss Lucy Ashton?"

"Up with it," said the Captain, as he tossed off his

brimmer, "the bonniest lass in Lothian! What a pity the old

sneckdrawing Whigamore, her father, is about to throw her away

upon that rag of pride and beggary, the Master of Ravenswood!"

"That's not quite so clear," said Bucklaw, in a tone which,

though it seemed indifferent, excited his companion's eager

curiosity; and not that only, but also his hope of working

himself into soem sort of confidence, which might make him

necessary to his patron, being by no means satisfied to rest on

mere sufferance, if he could form by art or industry a more

permanent title to his favour.

"I thought," said he, after a moment's pause, "that was a

settled matter; they are continually together, and nothing else

is spoken of betwixt Lammer Law and Traprain."

"They may say what they please," replied his patron, "but I know

better; and I'll give you Miss Lucy Ashton's health again, my

boy."

"And I woul drink it on my knee," said Craigengelt, "if I

thought the girl had the spirit to jilt that d--d son of a

Spaniard."

"I am to request you will not use the word 'jilt' and Miss

Ashton's name together," said Bucklaw, gravely.

"Jilt, did I say? Discard, my lad of acres--by Jove, I meant to

discard," replied Craigengelt; "and I hope she'll discard him

like a small card at piquet, and take in the king of hearts, my

boy! But yet----"

"But what?" said his patron.

"But yet I know for certain they are hours together alone, and

in the woods and the fields."

"That's her foolish father's dotage; that will be soon put out

of the lass's head, if it ever gets into it," answered Bucklaw.

"And now fill your glass again, Captain; I am going to make you

happy; I am going to let you into a secret--a plot--a noosing

plot--only the noose is but typical."

"A marrying matter?" said Craigengelt, and his jaw fell as he

asked the question, for he suspected that matrimony would render

his situation at Girnington much more precarious than during the

jolly days of his patron's bachelorhood.

"Ay, a marriage, man," said Bucklaw; "but wherefore droops they

might spirit, and why grow the rubies on they cheek so pale?

The board will have a corner, and the corner will have a

trencher, and the trencher will have a glass beside it; and the

board-end shall be filled, and the trencher and the glass shall

be replenished for thee, if all the petticoats in Lothian had

sworn the contrary. What, man! I am not the boy to put myself

into leading-strings."

"So says many an honest fellow," said Craigengelt, "and some of

my special friends; but, curse me if I know the reason, the

women could never bear me, and always contrived to trundle me out

of favour before the honeymoon was over."

"If you could have kept your ground till that was over, you

might have made a good year's pension," said Bucklaw.

"But I never could," answered the dejected parasite. "There was

my Lord Castle-Cuddy--we were hand and glove: I rode his horses,

borrowed money both for him and from him, trained his hawks, and

taught him how to lay his bets; and when he took a fancy of

marrying, I married him to Katie Glegg, whom I thought myself as

sure of as man could be of woman. Egad, she had me out of the

house, as if I had run on wheels, within the first

fortnight!"

"Well!" replied Bucklaw, "I think I have nothing of Castle-

Cuddy about me, or Lucy of Katie Glegg. But you see the thing

will go on whether you like it or no; the only question is, will

you be useful?"

"Useful!" exclaimed the Captain, "and to thee, my lad of lands,

my darling boy, whom I would tramp barefooted through the world

for! Name time, place, mode, and circumstances, and see if I

will not be useful in all uses that can be devised."

"Why, then, you must ride two hundred miles for me," said the

patron.

"A thousand, and call them a flea's leap," answered the

dependant; "I'll cause saddle my horse directly."

"Better stay till you know where you are to go, and what you are

to do," quoth Bucklaw. "You know I have a kinswoman in

Northumberland, Lady Blenkensop by name, whose old acquaintance I

had the misfortune to lose in the period of my poverty, but the

light of whose countenance shone forth upon me when the sun of my

prosperity began to arise."

"D--n all such double-faced jades!" exclaimed Craigengelt,

heroically; "this I will say for John Craigengelt, that he is his

friend's friend through good report and bad report, poverty and

riches; and you know something of that yourself, Bucklaw."

"I have not forgot your merits," said his patron; "I do remember

that, in my extremities, you had a mind to CRIMP me for the

service of the French king, or of the Pretender; and, moreover,

that you afterwards lent me a score of pieces, when, as I firmly

believe, you had heard the news that old Lady Girnington had a

touch of the dead palsy. But don't be downcast, John; I

believe, after all, you like me very well in your way, and it is

my misfortune to have no better counsellor at present. To return

to this Lady Blenkensop, you must know, she is a close

confederate of Duchess Sarah."

"What! of Sall Jennings?" exclaimed Craigengelt; "then she must

be a good one."

"Hold your tongue, and keep your Tory rants to yourself, if it

be possible," said Bucklaw. "I tell you, that through the

Duchess of Marlborough has this Northumbrian cousin of mine

become a crony of Lady Ashton, the Keeper's wife, or, I may say,

the Lord Keeper's Lady Keeper, and she has favoured Lady

Blenkensop with a visit on her return from London, and is just

now at her old mansion-house on the banks fo the Wansbeck. Now,

sir, as it has been the use and wont of these ladies to consider

their husbands as of no importance in the management of their own

families, it has been their present pleasure, without consulting

Sir William Ashton, to put on the tapis a matrimonial alliance,

to be concluded between Lucy Ashton and my own right honourable

self, Lady Ashton acting as self-constituted plenipotentiary on

the part of her daughter and husband, and Mother Blenkensop,

equally unaccredited, doing me the honour to be my

representative. You may suppose I was a little astonished when I

found that a treaty, in which I was so considerably interested,

had advanced a good way before I was even consulted."

"Capot me! if I think that was according to the rules of the

game," said his confidant; "and pray, what answer did you

return?"

"Why, my first thought was to send the treaty to the devil, and

the negotiators along with it, for a couple of meddling old

women; my next was to laugh very hearily; and my third and last

was a settled opinion that the thing was reasonable, and would

suit me well enough."

"Why, I thought you had never seen the wench but once, and then

she had her riding-mask on; I am sure you told me so."

"Ay, but I liked her very well then. And Ravenswood's dirty

usage of me--shutting me out of doors to dine with the lackeys,

because he had the Lord Keeper, forsooth, and his daughter, to

be guests in his beggarly castle of starvation,--d--n me,

Craigengelt, if I ever forgive him till I play him as good a

trick!"

"No more you should, if you are a lad of mettle," said

Craigengelt, the matter now taking a turn in which he could

sympathise; "and if you carry this wench from him, it will break

his heart."

"That it will not," said Bucklaw; "his heart is all steeled over

with reason and philosophy, things that you, Craigie, know

nothing about more than myself, God help me. But it will break

his pride, though, and that's what I'm driving at."

"Distance me!" said Craigengelt, "but I know the reason now of

his unmannerly behaviour at his old tumble-down tower yonder.

Ashamed of your company?--no, no! Gad, he was afraid you would

cut in and carry off the girl."

"Eh! Craigengelt?" said Bucklaw, "do you really think so? but

no, no! he is a devilish deal prettier man than I am."

"Who--he?" exclaimed the parasite. "He's as black as the crook;

and for his size--he's a tall fellow, to be sure, but give me a

light, stout, middle-sized----"

"Plague on thee!" said Bucklaw, interrupting him, "and on me for

listening to you! You would say as much if I were hunch-

backed. But as to Ravenswood--he has kept no terms with me,

I'll keep none with him; if I CAN win this girl from him,

I WILL win her."

"Win her! 'sblood, you SHALL win her, point, quint,

and quatorze, my king of trumps; you shall pique, repique, and

capot him."

"Prithee, stop thy gambling cant for one instant," said Bucklaw.

"Things have come thus far, that I have entertained the proposal

of my kinswoman, agreed to the terms of jointure, amount of

fortune, and so forth, and that the affair is to go forward when

Lady Ashton comes down, for she takes her daughter and her son in

her own hand. Now they want me to send up a confidential person

with some writings."

"By this good win, I'll ride to the end of the world--the very

gates of Jericho, and the judgment-seat of Prester John, for

thee!" ejaculated the Captain.

"Why, I believe you would do something for me, and a great deal

for yourself. Now, any one could carry the writings; but you

will have a little more to do. You must contrive to drop out

before my Lady Ashton, just as if it were a matter of little

consequence, the residence of Ravenswood at her husband's house,

and his close intercourse with Miss Ashton; and you may tell her

that all the country talks of a visit from the Marquis of A----,

as it is supposed, to make up the match betwixt Ravenswood and

her daughter. I should like to hear what she says to all this;

for, rat me! if I have any idea of starting for the plate at all

if Ravenswood is to win the race, and he has odds against me

already."

"Never a bit; the wench has too much sense, and in that belief I

drink her health a third time; and, were time and place fitting,

I would drink it on bended knees, and he that would not pledge

me, I would make his guts garter his stockings."

"Hark ye, Craigengelt; as you are going into the society of

women of rank," said Bucklaw, "I'll thank you to forget your

strange blackguard oaths and 'damme's.' I'll write to them,

though, that you are a blunt, untaught fellow."

"Ay, ay," replied Craigengelt--"a plain, blunt, honest,

downright soldier."

"Not too honest, not too much of the soldier neither; but such

as thou art, it is my luck to need thee, for I must have spurs

put to Lady Ashton's motions."

"I'll dash them up to the rowel-heads," said Craigengelt; "she

shall come here at the gallop, like a cow chased by a whole nest

of hornets, and her tail over her rump like a corkscrew."

"And hear ye, Craigie," said Bucklaw; "your boots and doublet

are good enough to drink in, as the man says in the play, but

they are somewhat too greasy for tea-table service; prithee, get

thyself a little better rigged out, and here is to pay all

charges."

"Nay, Bucklaw; on my soul, man, you use me ill. However," added

Craigengelt, pocketing the money, "if you will have me so far

indebted to you, I must be conforming."

"Well, horse and away!" said the patron, "so soon as you have

got your riding livery in trim. You may ride the black crop-ear;

and, hark ye, I'll make you a present of him to boot."

"I drink to the good luck of my mission," answered the

ambassador, "in a half-pint bumper."

"I thank ye, Craigie, and pledge you; I see nothing against it

but the father or the girl taking a tantrum, and I am told the

mother can wind them both round her little finger. Take care

not to affront her with any of your Jacobite jargon."

"Oh, ay, true--she is a Whig, and a friend of old Sall of

Marlborough; thank my stars, I can hoist any colours at a pinch!

I have fought as hard under John Churchill as ever I did under

Dundee or the Duke of Berwick."

"I verily believe you, Craigie," said the lord of the mansion;

"but, Craigie, do you, pray, step down to the cellar, and fetch

us up a bottle of the Burgundy, 1678; it is in the fourth bin

from the right-hand turn. And I say, Craigie, you may fetch up

half a dozen whilst you are about it. Egad, we'll make a night

on't!"

CHAPTER XXII.

And soon they spied the merry-men green,

And eke the coach and four.

Duke upon Duke.

CRAIGENGELT set forth on his mission so soon as his equipage was

complete, prosecuted his journey with all diligence, and

accomplished his commission with all the dexterity for which

bucklaw had given him credit. As he arrived with credentials

from Mr. Hayston of Bucklaw, he was extremely welcome to both

ladies; and those who are prejudiced in favour of a new

acquaintance can, for a time at least, discover

excellencies in his very faults and perfections in his

deficiencies. Although both ladies were accustomed to good

society, yet, being pre-determined to find out an agreeable and

well-behaved gentleman in Mr. Hayston's friend, they succeeded

wonderfully in imposing on themselves. It is true that

Craigengelt was now handsomely dressed, and that was a point of

no small consequence. But, independent of outward show, his

blackguard impudence of address was construed into honourable

bluntness. becoming his supposed military profession; his

hectoring passed for courage, and his sauciness for wit. Lest,

however, any one should think this a violation of probability, we

must add, in fairness to the two ladies, that their discernment

was greatly blinded, and their favour propitiated, by the

opportune arrival of Captain Craigengelt in the moment when they

were longing for a third hand to make a party at tredrille, in

which, as in all games, whether of chance or skill, that worthy

person was a great proficient.

When he found himself established in favour, his next point was

how best to use it for the furtherance of his patron's views.

He found Lady Ashton prepossessed strongly in favour of the

motion which Lady Blenkensop, partly from regard to her

kinswoman, partly from the spirit of match-making, had not

hesitated to propose to her; so that his task was an easy one.

Bucklaw, reformed from his prodigality, was just the sort of

husband which she desired to have for her Shepherdess of

Lammermoor; and while the marriage gave her an easy fortune, and

a respectable country gentleman for her husband, Lady Ashton was

of opinion that her destinies would be fully and most favourably

accomplished. It so chanced, also, that Bucklaw, among his new

acquisitions, had gained the management of a little political

interest in a neighbouring county where the Douglas family

originally held large possessions. It was one of the bosom-hopes

of Lady Ashton that her eldest son, Sholto, should represent this

county in the British Parliament, and she saw this alliance with

Bucklaw as a circumstance which might be highly favourable to

her wishes.

Craigengelt, who, in his way, by no means wanted sagacity, no

sooner discovered in what quarter the wind of Lady Ashton's

wishes sate, than he trimmed his course accordinly. "There was

little to prevent Bucklaw himself from sitting for the county; he

must carry the heat--must walk the course. Two cousins-german,

six more distant kinsmen, his factor and his chamberlain, were

all hollow votes; and the Girnington interest had always carried,

betwixt love and fear, about as many more. But Bucklaw cared no

more about riding the first horse, and that sort of thing, than

he, Craigengelt, did about a game at birkie: it was a pity his

interest was not in good guidance."

All this Lady Ashton drank in with willing and attentive ears,

resolving internally to be herself the person who should take the

management of the political influence of her destined son-in-law,

for the benefit of her eldest-born, Sholto, and all other parties

concerned.

When he found her ladyship thus favourably disposed, the Captain

proceeded, to use his employer's phrase, to set spurs to her

resolution, by hinting at the situation of matters at

Ravenswood Castle, the long residence which the heir of that

family had made with the Lord Keeper, and the reports which--

though he would be d--d ere he gave credit to any of them--had

been idly circulated in the neighbourhood. It was not the

Captain's cue to appear himself to be uneasy on the subject of

these rumours; but he easily saw from Lady Ashton's flushed

cheek, hesitating voice, and flashing eye, that she had caught

the alarm which he intended to communicate. She had not heard

from her husband so often or so regularly as she though him

bound in duty to have written, and of this very interesting

intelligence concerning his visit to the Tower of Wolf's Crag,

and the guest whom, with such cordiality, he had received at

Ravenswsood Castle, he had suffered his lady to remain altogether

ignorant, until she now learned it by the chance information of a

stranger. Such concealment approached, in her apprehension, to a

misprision, at last, of treason, if not to actual rebellion

against her matrimonial authority; and in her inward sould she

did vow to take vengeance on the Lord Keeper, as on a subject

detected in meditating revolt. Her indignation burned the more

fiercely as she found herself obliged to suppress it in presence

of Lady Blenkensop, the kinswoman, and of Craigengelt, the

confidential friend, of Bucklaw, of whose alliance she now became

trebly desirous, since it occurred to her alarmed imagination

that her husband might, in his policy or timidity, prefer that of

Ravenswood.

The Captain was engineer enough to discover that the train was

fired; and therefore heard, in the course of the same day,

without the least surprise, that Lady Ashton had resolved to

abridge her visit to Lady Blenkensop, and set forth with the peep

of morning on her return to Scotland, using all the despatch

which the state of the roads and the mode of travelling would

possibly permit.

Unhappy Lord Keeper! little was he aware what a storm was

travelling towards him in all the speed with which an old-

fashioned coach and six could possibly achieve its journey. He,

like Don Gayferos, "forgot his lady fair and true," and was only

anxious about the expected visit of the Marquis of A----.

Soothfast tidings had assured him that this nobleman was at

length, and without fail, to honour his castle at one in the

afternoon, being a late dinner-hour; and much was the bustle in

consequence of the annunciation. The Lord Keeper traversed the

chambers, held consultation with the butler in the cellars, and

even ventured, at the risk of a demele with a cook of a spirit

lofty enough to scorn the admonitions of Lady Ashton herself, to

peep into the kitchen. Satisfied, at length, that everything was

in as active a train of preparation as was possible, he summoned

Ravenswood and his daughter to walk upon the terrace, for the

purpose of watching, from that commanding position, the earliest

symptoms of his lordship's approach. For this purpose, with

slow and idle step, he paraded the terrace, which, flanked with a

heavy stone battlement, stretched in front of the castle upon a

level with the first story; while visitors found access to the

court by a projecting gateway, the bartizan or flat-leaded roof

of which was accessible from the terrace by an easy flight of low

and broad steps. The whole bore a resemblance partly to a

castle, partly to a nobleman's seat; and though calculated, in

some respects, for defence, evinced that it had been constructed

under a sense of the power and security of the ancient Lords of

Ravenswood.

This pleasant walk commanded a beautiful and extensive view.

But what was most to our present purpose, there were seen from

the terrace two roads, one leading from the east, and one from

the westward, which, crossing a ridge opposed to the eminence on

which the castle stood, at different angles, gradually approached

each other, until they joined not far from the gate of the

avenue. It was to the westward approach that the Lord Keeper,

from a sort of fidgeting anxiety, his daughter, from complaisance

to him, and Ravenswood, though feeling some symptoms of internal

impatience, out of complaisance to his daughter, directed their

eyes to see the precursors of the Marquis's approach.

These were not long of presenting themselves. Two running

footmen, dressed in white, with black jockey-caps, and long

staffs in their hands, headed the train; and such was their

agility, that they found no difficulty in keeping the necessary

advance, which the etiquette of their station required, before

the carriage and horsemen. Onward they came at a long swinging

trot, arguing unwearied speed in their long-breathed calling.

Such running footmen are often alluded to in old plays (I would

particularly instance Middleton's Mad World, my Masters), and

perhaps may be still remembered by some old persons in Scotland,

as part of the retinue of the ancient nobility when travelling in

full ceremony. Behind these glancing meteors, who footed it as

if the Avenger of Blood had been behind them, came a cloud of

dust, raised by riders who preceded, attended, or followed the

state-carriage of the Marquis.

The privilege of nobility, in those days, had something in it

impressive on the imagination. The dresses and liveries and

number of their attendants, their style of travelling, the

imposing, and almost warlike, air of the armed men who surrounded

them, place them far above the laird, who travelled with his

brace of footmen; and as to rivalry from the mercantile part of

the community, these would as soon have thought of imitating the

state equipage of the Sovereign. At present it is different; and

I myself, Peter Pattieson, in a late journey to Edinburgh, had

the honour, in the mail-coach phrasem to "change a leg" with a

peer of the realm. It was not so in the days of which I write;

and the Marquis's approach, so long expected in vain, now took

place in the full pomp of ancient aristocracy. Sir William

Ashton was so much interested in what he beheld, and in

considering the ceremonial of reception, in case any

circumstance had been omitted, that he scarce heard his son Henry

exclaim: "There is another coach and six coming down the east

road, papa; can they both belong to the Marquis of A----?"

At length, when the youngster had fairly compelled his attention

by pulling his sleeve,

He turned his eyes, and, as he turned, survey'd

An awful vision.

Sure enough, another coach and six, with four servants or

outriders in attendance, was descending the hill from the

eastward, at such a pace as made it doubtful which of the

carriages thus approaching from different quarters would first

reach the gate at the extremity of the avenue. The one coach was

green, the other blue; and not the green and blue chariots in the

circus of Rome or Constantinople excited more turmoil among the

citizens than the double apparition occasioned in the mind of the

Lord Keeper.

We all remember the terrible exclamation of the dying

profligate, when a friend, to destroy what he supposed the

hypochondriac idea of a spectre appearing in a certain shape at a

given hour, placed before him a person dressed up in the manner

he described. "Mon Dieu!" said the expiring sinner, who, it

seems, saw both the real and polygraphic apparition, "il y en a

deux!" The surprise of the Lord Keeper was scarcely less

unpleasing at the duplication of the expected arrival; his mind

misgave him strangely. There was no neighbour who would have

approached so unceremoniously, at a time when ceremony was held

in such respect. It must be Lady Ashton, said his conscience,

and followed up the hint with an anxious anticipation of the

purpose of her sudden and unannounced return. He felt that he

was caught "in the manner." That the company in which she had so

unluckily surprised him was likely to be highly distasteful to

her, there was no question; and the only hope which remained for

him was her high sense of dignified propriety, which, he trusted,

might prevent a public explosion. But so active were his doubts

and fears as altogether to derange his purposed ceremonial for

the reception of the Marquis.

These feelings of apprehension were not confined to Sir William

Ashton. "It is my mother--it is my mother!" said Lucy, turning

as pale as ashes, and clasping her hands together as she looked

at Ravenswood.

"And if it be Lady Ashton," said her lover to her in a low tone,

"what can be the occasion of such alarm? Surely the return of a

lady to the family from which she has been so long absent should

excite other sensations than those of fear and dismay."

"You do not know my mother," said Miss Ashton, in a tone almost

breathless with terror; "what will she say when she sees you in

this place!"

"My stay has been too long," said Ravenswood, somewhat

haughtily, "if her displeasure at my presence is likely to be so

formidable. My dear Lucy," he resumed, in a tone of soothing

encouragement, "you are too childishly afraid of Lady Ashton; she

is a woman of family--a lady of fashion--a person who must know

the world, and what is due to her husband and her husband's

guests."

Lucy shook her head; and, as if her mother, still at the

distance of half a mile, could have seen and scrutinised her

deportment, she withdrew herself from besdie Ravenswood, and,

taking her brother Henry's arm, led him to a different part of

the terrace. The Keeper also shuffled down towards the portal of

the great gate, without inviting Ravenswood to accompany him; and

thus he remained standing alone on the terrace, deserted and

shunned, as it were, by the inhabitants of the mansion.

This suited not the mood of one who was proud in proportion to

his poverty, and who thought that, in sacrificing his deep-

rooted resentments so far as to become Sir William Ashton's

guest, he conferred a favour, and received none. "I can forgive

Lucy," he said to himself; "she is young, timid, and conscious of

an important engagement assumed without her mother's sanction;

yet she should remember with whom it has been assumed, and leave

me no reason to suspect that she is ashamed of her choice. For

the Keeper, sense, spirit, and expression seem to have left his

face and manner since he had the first glimpse of Lady Ashton's

carriage. I must watch how this is to end; and, if they give me

reason to think myself an unwelcome guest, my visit is soon

abridged."

With these suspicions floating on his mind, he left the terrace,

and walking towards the stables of the castle, gave directions

that his horse should be kept in readiness, in case he should

have occasion to ride abroad.

In the mean while, the drivers of the two carriages, the

approach of which had occasioned so much dismay at the castle,

had become aware of each other's presence, as they approached

upon different lines to the head of the avenue, as a ocmmon

centre. Lady Ashton's driver and postilions instantly received

orders to get foremost, if possible, her ladyship being desirous

of despatching her first interview with her husband before the

arrival of these guests, whoever they might happen to be. On the

other hand, the coachman of the Marquis, conscious of his own

dignity and that of his master, and observing the rival

charioteer was mending his pace, resolved, like a true brother of

the whip, whether ancient or modern, to vindicate his right of

precedence. So that, to increase the confusion of the Lord

Keeper's understanding, he saw the short time which remained for

consideration abridged by the haste of the contending coachmen,

who, fixing their eyes sternly on each other, and applying the

lash smartly to their horses, began to thunder down the descent

with emulous rapidity, while the horsemen who attended them were

forced to put on to a hand-gallop.

Sir William's only chance now remaining was the possibility of

an overturn, and that his lady or visitor might break their

necks. I am not aware that he formed any distinct wish on the

subject, but I have no reason to think that his grief in either

case would have been altogether inconsolable. This chance,

however, also disappeared; for Lady Ashton, though insensible to

fear, began to see the ridicule of running a race with a visitor

of distinction, the goal being the portal of her own castle, and

commanded her coachman, as they approached the avenue, to slacken

his pace, and allow precedence to the stranger's equipage; a

command which he gladly obeyed, as coming in time to save his

honour, the horses of the Marquis's carriage being better, or, at

least, fresher than his own. He restrained his pace, therefore,

and suffered the green coach to enter the avenue, with all its

retinue, which pass it occupied with the speed of a whirlwind.

The Marquis's laced charioteer no sooner found the pas d'avance

was granted to him than he resumed a more deliberate pace, at

which he advanced under the embowering shade of the lofty elms,

surrounded by all the attendants; while the carriage of Lady

Ashton followed, still more slowly, at some distance.

In the front of the castle, and beneath the portal which

admitted guests into the inner court, stood Sir William Ashton,

much perplexed in mind, his younger son and daughter beside him,

and in their rear a train of attendants of various ranks, in and

out of livery. The nobility and gentry of Scotland, at this

period, were remarkable even to extravagance for the number of

their servants, whose services were easily purchased in a country

where men were numerous beyond proportion to the means of

employing them.

The manners of a man trained like Sir William Ashton are too

much at his command to remain long disconcerted with the most

adverse concurrence of circumstances. He received the Marquis,

as he alighted from his equipage, with the usual compliments of

welcome; and, as he ushered him into the great hall, expressed

his hope that his journey had been pleasant. The Marquis was a

tall, well-made man, with a thoughtful and intelligent

countenance, and an eye in which the fire of ambition had for

some years replaced the vivacity of youth; a bold, proud

expression of countenance, yet chastened by habitual caution, and

the desire which, as the head of a party, he necessarily

entertained of acquiring popularity. He answered with courtesy

the courteous inquiries of the Lord Keeper, and was formally

presented to Miss Ashton, in the course of which ceremony the

Lord Keeper gave the first symptom of what was chiefly occupying

his mind, by introducing his daughter as "his wife, Lady Ashton."

Lucy blushed; the Marquis looked surprised at the extremely

juvenile appearance of his hostess, and the Lord Keeper with

difficulty rallied himself so far as to explain. "I should have

said my daughter, my lord; but the truth is, that I saw Lady

Ashton's carriage enter the avenue shortly after your lordship's,

and----"

"Make no apology, my lord," replied his noble guest; "let me

entreat you will wait on your lady, and leave me to cultivate

Miss Ashton's acquaintance. I am shocked my people should have

taken precedence of our hostess at her own gate; but your

lordship is aware that I supposed Lady Ashton was still in the

south. Permit me to beseech you will waive ceremony, and hasten

to welcome her."

This was precisely what the Lord Keeper longed to do; and he

instantly profited by his lordship's obliging permission. To see

Lady Ashton, and encounter the first burst of her displeasure in

private, might prepare her, in some degree, to receive her

unwelcome guests with due decorum. As her carriage, therefore,

stopped, the arm of the attentive husband was ready to assist

Lady Ashton in dismounting. Looking as if she saw him not, she

put his arm aside, and requested that of Captain Craigengelt, who

stood by the coach with his laced hat under his arm, having acted

as cavaliere servente, or squire in attendance, during the

journey. Taking hold of this respectable person's arm as if to

support her, Lady Ashton traversed the court, uttering a wod or

two by way of direction to the servants, but not one to Sir

William, who in vain endeavoured to attract her attention, as he

rather followed than accompanied her into the hall, in which they

found the Marquis in close conversation with the Master of

Ravenswood. Lucy had taken the first opportunity of escaping.

There was embarrassment on every countenance except that of the

Marquis of A----; for even Craigengelt's impudence was hardly

able to veil his fear of Ravenswood, an the rest felt the

awkwardness of the position in which they were thus unexpectedly

placed.

After waiting a moment to be presented by Sir William Ashton,

the Marquis resolved to introduce himself. "The Lord Keeper," he

said, bowing to Lady Ashton, "has just introduced to me his

daughter as his wife; he might very easily present Lady Ashton as

his daughter, so little does she differ from what I remember her

some years since. Will she permit an old

acquaintance the privilege of a guest?"

He saluted the lady with too good a grace to apprehend a

repulse, and then proceeded: "This, Lady Ashton, is a peacemaking

visit, and therefore I presume to introduce my cousin, the young

Master of Ravenswood, to your favourable notice."

Lady Ashton could not choose but courtesy; but there was in her

obeisance an air of haughtiness approaching to contemptuous

repulse. Ravenswood could not choose but bow; but his manner

returned the scorn with which he had been greeted.

"Allow me," she said, "to present to your lordship MY friend."

Craigengelt, with the forward impudence which men of his cast

mistake for ease, made a sliding bow to the Marquis, which he

graced by a flourish of his gold-laced hat. The lady turned to

her husband. "You and I, Sir William," she said, and these were

the first words she had addressed to him, "have acquired new

acquaintances since we parted; let me introduce the acquisition I

have made to mine--Captain Craigengelt."

Another bow, and another flourish of the gold-laced hat, which

was returned by the Lord Keeper without intimation of former

recognition, and with that sort of anxious readiness which

intimated his wish that peace and amnesty should take place

betwixt the contending parties, including the auxiliaries on both

sides. "Let me introduce you to the Master of Ravenswood," said

he to Captain Craigengelt, following up the same amicable system.

But the Master drew up his tall form to the full extent of his

height, and without so much as looking towards the person thus

introduced to him, he said, in a marked tone: "Captain

Craigengelt and I are already perfectly well acquainted with each

other."

"Perfectly--perfectly," replied the Captain, in a mumbling tone,

like that of a double echo, and with a flourish of his hat, the

circumference of which was greatly abridged, compared with those

which had so cordially graced his introduction to the Marquis and

the Lord Keeper.

Lockhard, followed by three menials, now entered with wine and

refreshments, which it was the fashion to offer as a whet before

dinner; and when they were placed before the guests, Lady Ashton

made an apology for withdrawing her husband from them for some

minutes upon business of special import. The Marquis, of

course, requested her ladyship would lay herself under no

restraint; and Craigengelt, bolting with speed a second glass of

racy canary, hastened to leave the room, feeling no great

pleasure in the prospect of being left alone with the Marquis of

A---- and the Master of Ravenswood; the presence of the former

holding him in awe, and that of the latter in bodily terror.

Some arrangements about his horse and baggage formed the pretext

for his sudden retreat, in which he persevered, although Lady

Ashton gave Lockhard orders to be careful most particularly to

accommodate Captain Craigengelt with all the attendance which he

could possibly require. The Marquis and the Master of

Ravenswood were thus left to communicate to each other their

remarks upon the reception which they had met with, while Lady

Ashton led the way, and her lord followed somewhat like a

condemned criminal, to her ladyship's dressing-room.

So soon as the spouses had both entered, her ladyship gave way

to that fierce audacity of temper which she had with

difficulty suppressed, out of respect to appearances. She shut

the door behind the alarmed Lord Keeper, took the key out of the

spring-lock, and with a countenance which years had not bereft of

its haughty charms, and eyes which spoke at once resolution and

resentment, she addressed her astounded husband in these words:

"My lord, I am not greatly surprised at the connexions you have

been pleased to form during my absence, they are entirely in

conformity with your birth and breeding; and if I did expect

anything else, I heartily own my error, and that I merit, by

having done so, the disappointment you had prepared for me."

"My dear Lady Ashton--my dear Eleanor [Margaret]," said the Lord

Keeper, "listen to reason for a moment, and I will convince you I

have acted with all the regard due to the dignity, as well as the

interest, of my family."

"To the interest of YOUR family I conceive you perfectly

capable of attending," returned the indignant lady, "and even to

the dignity of your own family also, as far as it requires any

looking after. But as mine happens to be inextricably involved

with it, you will excuse me if I choose to give my own attention

so far as that is concerned."

"What would you have, Lady Ashton?" said the husband. "What is

it that displeases you? Why is it that, on your return after so

long an absence, I am arraigned in this manner?"

"Ask your own conscience, Sir William, what has prompted you to

become a renegade to your political party and opinions, and led

you, for what I know, to be on the point of marrying your only

daughter to a beggarly Jacobite bankrupt, the inveterate enemy of

your family to the boot."

"Why, what, in the name of common sense and common civility,

would you have me do, madam?" answered her husband. "Is it

possible for me, with ordinary decency, to turn a young

gentleman out of my house, who saved my duaghter's life and my

own, but the other morning, as it were?"

"Saved your life! I have heard of that story," said the lady.

"The Lord Keeper was scared by a dun cow, and he takes the young

fellow who killed her for Guy of Warwick: any butcher from

Haddington may soon have an equal claim on your hospitality."

"Lady Ashton," stammered the Keeper, "this is intolerable; and

when I am desirous, too, to make you easy by any sacrifice, if

you would but tell me what you would be at."

"Go down to your guests," said the imperious dame, "and make

your apology to Ravenswood, that the arrival of Captain

Craigengelt and some other friends renders it impossible for you

to offer him lodgings at the castle. I expect young Mr. Hayston

of Bucklaw."

"Good heavens, madam!" ejaculated her husband. "Ravenswood to

give place to Craigengelt, a common gambler and an informer! It

was all I could do to forbear desiring the fellow to get out of

my house, and I was much surprised to see him in your

ladyship's train."

"Since you saw him there, you might be well assured," answered

this meek helpmate, "that he was proper society. As to this

Ravenswood, he only meets with the treatment which, to my

certain knowledge, he gave to a much-valued friend of mine, who

had the misfortune to be his guest some time since. But take

your resolution; for, if Ravenswood does not quit the house, I

will."

Sir William Ashton paced up and down the apartment in the most

distressing agitation; fear, and shame, and anger contending

against the habitual deference he was in the use of rendering to

his lady. At length it ended, as is usual with timid minds

placed in such circumstances, in his adopting a mezzo termine--

a middle measure.

"I tell you frankly, madam, I neither can nor will be guilty of

the incivility you propose to the Master of Ravenswood; he has

not deserved it at my hand. If you will be so unreasonable as

to insult a man of quality under your own roof, I cannot prevent

you; but I will not at least be the agent in such a preposterous

proceeding."

"You will not?" asked the lady.

"No, by heavens, madam!" her husband replied; "ask me anything

congruent with common decency, as to drop his

acquaintance by degrees, or the like; but to bid him leave my

house is what I will nto and cannot consent to."

"Then the task of supporting the honour of the family will fall

on me, as it has often done before," said the lady.

She sat down, and hastily wrote a few lines. The Lord Keeper

made another effort to prevent her taking a step so decisive,

just as she opened the door to call her female

attendant from the ante-room. "Think what you are doing, Lady

Ashton: you are making a mortal enemy of a young man who is like

to have the means of harming us----"

"Did you ever know a Douglas who feared an enemy?" answered the

lady, contemptuously.

"Ay, but he is as proud and vindictive as an hundred

Douglasses, and an hundred devils to boot. Think of it for a

night only."

"Not for another moment," answered the lady. "Here, Mrs.

Patullo, give this billet to young Ravenswood."

"To the Master, madam!" said Mrs. Patullo.

"Ay, to the Master, if you call him so."

"I wash my hands of it entirely," said the Keeper; "and I shall

go down into the garden, and see that Jardine gathers the winter

fruit for the dessert."

"Do so," said the lady, looking after him with glances of

infinite contempt; "and thank God that you leave one behind you

as fit to protect the honour of the family as you are to look

after pippins and pears."

The Lord Keeper remained long enough in the garden to give her

ladyship's mind time to explode, and to let, as he thought, at

least the first violence of Ravenswood's displeasure blow oever.

When he entered the hall, he found the Marquis of A----giving

orders to some of his attendants. He seemed in high

displeasure, and interrupted an apology which Sir William had

commenced for having left his lordship alone.

"I presume, Sir William, you are no stranger to this

singular billet with which MY kinsman of Ravenswood (an

emphasis on the word 'my') has been favoured by your lady; and,

of course, that you are prepared to receive my adieus. My

kinsman is already gone, having thought it unnecessary to offer

any on his part, since all former civilities had been cancelled

by this singular insult."

"I protest, my lord," said Sir William, holding the billet in

his hand, "I am not privy to the contents of this letter. I

know Lady Ashton is a warm-tempered and prejudiced woman, and I

am sincerely sorry for any offence that has been given or taken;

but I hope your lordship will consider that a lady----"

"Should bear herself towards persons of a certain rank with the

breeding of one," said the Marquis, completing the half-uttered

sentence.

"True, my lord," said the unfortunate Keeper; "but Lady Ashton

is still a woman----"

"And, as such, methinks," said the Marquis, again

interrupting him, "should be taught the duties which correspond

to her station. But here she comes, and I will learn from her

own mouth the reason of this extraordinary and unexpected affront

offered to my near relation, while both he and I were her

ladyship's guests."

Lady Ashton accordingly entered the apartment at this moment.

Her dispute with Sir William, and a subsequent interview with her

daughter, had not prevented her from attending to the duties of

her toilette. She appeared in full dress; and, from the

character of her countenance and manner, well became the

splendour with which ladies of quality then appeared on such

occasions.

The Marquis of A---- bowed haughtily, and she returned the

salute with equal pride and distance of demeanour. He then took

from the passive hand of Sir William Ashton the billet he had

given him the moment before he approached the lady, and was about

to speak, when she interrupted him. "I perceive, my lord, you

are about to enter upon an unpleasant subject. I am sorry any

such should have occurred at this time, to interrupt in the

slightest degree the respectful reception due to your lordship;

but so it is. Mr. Edgar Ravenswood, for whom I have addressed

the billet in your lordship's hand, has abused the hospitality of

this family, and Sir William Ashton's softness of temper, in

order to seduce a young person into engagements without her

parents' consent, and of which they never can approve."

Both gentlemen answered at once. "My kinsman is incapable----"

said the Lord Marquis.

"I am confident that my daughter Lucy is still more

incapable----" said the Lord Keeper.

Lady Ashton at once interrupted and replied to them both: "My

Lord Marquis, your kinsman, if Mr. Ravenswood has the honour to

be so, has made the attempt privately to secure the

affections of this young and inexperienced girl. Sir William

Ashton, your daughter has been simple enough to give more

encouragement than she ought to have done to so very improper a

suitor."

"And I think, madam," said the Lord Keeper, losing his

accustomed temper and patience, "that if you had nothing better

to tell us, you had better have kept this family secret to

yourself also."

"You will pardon me, Sir William," said the lady, calmly; "the

noble Marquis has a right to know the cause of the treatment I

have found it necessary to use to a gentleman whom he calls his

blood-relation."

"It is a cause," muttered the Lord Keeper, "which has emerged

since the effect has taken place; for, if it exists at all, I am

sure she knew nothing of it when her letter to

Ravenswood was written."

"It is the first time that I have heard of this," said the

Marquis; "but, since your ladyship has tabled a subject so

delicate, permit me to say, that my kinsman's birth and

connexions entitled him to a patient hearing, and at least a

civil refusal, even in case of his being so ambitious as to

raise his eyes to the daughter of Sir William Ashton."

"You will recollect, my lord, of what blood Miss Lucy Ashton is

come by the mother's side," said the lady.

"I do remember your descent--from a younger branch of the house

of Angus," said the Marquis; "and your ladyship--forgive me,

lady--ought not to forget that the Ravenswoods have thrice

intermarried with the main stem. Come, madam, I know how matters

stand--old and long-fostered prejudices are difficult to get

over, I make every allowance for them; I ought not, and I would

not, otherwise have suffered my kinsman to depart alone,

expelled, in a manner, from this house, but I had hopes of being

a mediator. I am still unwilling to leave you in anger, and

shall not set forward till after noon, as I rejoin the Master of

Ravenswood upon the road a few miles from hence. Let us talk

over this matter more coolly."

"It is what I anxiously desire, my lord," said Sir William

Ashton, eagerly. "Lady Ashton, we will not permit my Lord of A--

-- to leave us in displeasure. We must compel him to tarry

dinner at the castle."

"The castle," said the lady, "and all that it contains, are at

the command of the Marquis, so long as he chooses to honour it

with his residence; but touching the farther discussion of this

disagreeable topic----"

"Pardon me, good madam," said the Marquis; "but I cannot allow

you to express any hasty resolution on a subject so

important. I see that more company is arriving; and, since I

have the good fortune to renew my former acquaintance with Lady

Ashton, I hope she will give me leave to avoid perilling what I

prize so highly upon any disagreeable subject of discussion--at

least till we have talked over more pleasant topics."

The lady smiled, courtesied, and gave her hand to the Marquis,

by whom, with all the formal gallantry of the time, which did not

permit the guest to tuck the lady of the house under the arm, as

a rustic does his sweetheart at a wake, she was ushered to the

eating-room.

Here they were joined by Bucklaw, Craigengelt, and other

neighbours, whom the Lord Keeper had previously invited to meet

the Marquis of A----. An apology, founded upon a slight

indisposition, was alleged as an excuse for the absence of Miss

Ashton, whose seat appeared unoccupied. The entertainment was

splendid to profusion, and was protracted till a late hour.

CHAPTER XXIII.

Such was our fallen father's fate,

Yet better than mine own;

He shared his exile with his mate,

I'm banish'd forth alone.

WALLER

I WILL not attempt to describe the mixture of indignation and

regret with which Ravenswood left the seat which had belonged to

his ancestors. The terms in which Lady Ashton's billet was

couched rendered it impossible for him, without being deficient

in that spirit of which he perhaps had too much, to remain an

instant longer within its walls. The Marquis, who had his share

in the affront, was, nevertheless, still willing to make some

efforts at conciliation. He therefore suffered his kinsman to

depart alone, making him promise, however, that he would wait

for him at the small inn called the Tod's Hole, situated, as our

readers may be pleased to recollect, half-way betwixt Ravenswood

Castle and Wolf's Crag, and about five Scottish miles distant

from each. Here the Marquis proposed to join the Master of

Ravenswood, either that night or the next morning. His own

feelings would have induced him to have left the castle directly,

but he was loth to forfeit, without at least one effort, the

advantages which he had proposed from his visit to the Lord

Keeper; and the Master of Ravenswood was, even in the very heat

of his resentment, unwilling to foreclose any chance of

reconciliation which might arise out of the partiality which Sir

William Ashton had shown towards him, as well as the intercessory

arguments of his noble kinsman. He himself departed without a

moment's delay, farther than was necessary to make this

arrangement.

At first he spurred his horse at a quick pace through an avenue

of the park, as if, by rapidity of motion, he could stupify the

confusion of feelings with which he was assailed. But as the

road grew wilder and more sequestered, and when the trees had

hidden the turrets of the castle, he gradually

slackened his pace, as if to indulge the painful reflections

which he had in vain endeavoured to repress. The path in which

he found himself led him to the Mermaiden's Fountain, and to the

cottage of Alice; and the fatal influence which superstitious

belief attached to the former spot, as well as the admonitions

which had been in vain offered to him by the inhabitant of the

latter, forced themselves upon his memory. "Old saws speak

truth," he said to himself, "and the Mermaiden's Well has indeed

witnessed the last act of rashness of the heir of Ravenswood.

Alice spoke well," he continued, "and I am in the situation which

she foretold; or rather, I am more deeply dishonoured--not the

dependant and ally of the destroyer of my father's house, as the

old sibyl presaged, but the degraded wretch who has aspired to

hold that subordinate character, and has been rejected with

disdain."

We are bound to tell the tale as we have received it; and,

considering the distance of the time, and propensity of those

through whose mouths it has passed to the marvellous, this could

not be called a Scottish story unless it manifested a tinge of

Scottish superstition. As Ravenswood approached the solitary

fountain, he is said to have met with the following singular

adventure: His horse, which was moving slowly forward, suddenly

interrupted its steady and composed pace, snorted, reared, and,

though urged by the spur, refused to proceed, as if some object

of terror had suddenly presented itself. On looking to the

fountain, Ravenswood discerned a female figure, dressed in a

white, or rather greyish, mantle, placed on the very spot on

which Lucy Ashton had reclined while listening to the fatal tale

of love. His immediate impression was that she had conjectured

by which path he would traverse the park on his departure, and

placed herself at this well-known and sequestered place of

rendezvous, to indulge her own sorrow and his parting interview.

In this belief he jumped from his horse, and, making its bridle

fast to a tree, walked hastily towards the fountain, pronouncing

eagerly, yet under his breath, the words, "Miss Ashton!--Lucy!"

The figure turned as he addressed it, and displayed to his

wondering eyes the features, not of Lucy Ashton, but of old blind

Alice. The singularity of her dress, which rather resembled a

shroud than the garment of a living woman; the appearance of her

person, larger, as it struck him, than it usually seemed to be;

above all, the strange circumstance of a blind, infirm, and

decrepit person being found alone and at a distance from her

habitation (considerable, if her infirmities be taken into

account), combined to impress him with a feeling of wonder

approaching to fear. As he approached, she arose slowly from her

seat, held her shrivelled hand up as if to prevent his coming

more near, and her withered lips moved fast, although no sound

issued from them. Ravenswood stopped; and as, after a moment's

pause, he again advanced towards her, Alice, or her apparition,

moved or glided backwards towards the thicket, still keeping her

face turned towards him. The trees soon hid the form from his

sight; and, yielding to the strong and terrific

impression that the being which he had seen was not of this

world, the Master of Ravenswood remained rooted to the ground

whereon he had stood when he caught his last view of her. At

length, summoning up his courage, he advanced to the spot on

which the figure had seemed to be seated; but neither was there

pressure of the grass nor any other circumstance to induce him to

believe that what he had seen was real and substantial.

Full of those strange thoughts and confused apprehensions which

awake in the bosom of one who conceives he has witnessed some

preternatural appearance, the Master of Ravenswood walked back

towards his horse, frequently, however, looking behind him, not

without apprehension, as if expecting that the vision would

reappear. But the apparition, whether it was real or whether it

was the creation of a heated and agitated imagination, returned

not again; and he found his horse sweating and terrified, as if

experiencing that agony of fear with which the presence of a

supernatural being is supposed to agitate the brute creation.

The Master mounted, and rode slowly forward, soothing his steed

from time to time, while the animal seemed internally to shrink

and shudder, as if expecting some new object of fear at the

opening of every glade. The rider, after a moment's

consideration, resolved to investigate the matter further. "Can

my eyes have deceived me," he said, "and deceived me for such a

space of time? Or are this woman's infirmities but feigned, in

order to excite compassion? And even then, her motion resembled

not that of a living and existing person. Must I adopt the

popular creed, and think that the unhappy being has formed a

league with the powers of

darkness? I am determined to be resolved; I will not brook

imposition even from my own eyes."

In this uncertainty he rode up to the little wicket of Alice's

garden. Her seat beneath the birch-tree was vacant, though the

day was pleasant and the sun was high. He approached the hut,

and heard from within the sobs and wailing of a female. No

answer was returned when he knocked, so that, after a moment's

pause, he lifted the latch and entered. It was indeed a house of

solitude and sorrow. Stretched upon her miserable pallet lay the

corpse of the last retainer of the house of Ravenswood who still

abode on their paternal domains! Life had but shortly departed;

and the little girl by whom she had been attended in her last

moments was wringing her hands and sobbing, betwixt childish fear

and sorrow, over the body of her mistress.

The Master of Ravenswood had some difficulty to compose the

terrors of the poor child, whom his unexpected appearance had at

first rather appalled than comforted; and when he succeeded, the

first expression which the girl used intimated that "he had come

too late." Upon inquiring the meaning of this expression, he

learned that the deceased, upon the first attack of the mortal

agony, had sent a peasant to the castle to beseech an interview

of the Master of Ravenswood, and had expressed the utmost

impatience for his return. But the messengers of the poor are

tardy and negligent: the fellow had not reached the castle, as

was afterwards learned, until Ravenswood had left it, and had

then found too much amusement maong the retinue of the strangers

to return in any haste to the cottage of Alice. Meantime her

anxiety of mind seemed to increase with the agony of her body;

and, to use the phrase of Babie, her only attendant, "she prayed

powerfully that she might see her master's son once more, and

renew her warning." She died just as the clock in the distant

village tolled one; and Ravenswood remembered, with internal

shuddering, that he had heard the chime sound through the wood

just before he had seen what he was now much disposed to consider

as the spectre of the deceased.

It was necessary, as well from his respect to the departed as in

common humanity to her terrified attendant, that he should take

some measures to relieve the girl from her distressing

situation. The deceased, he understood, had expressed a desire

to be buried in a solitary churchyard, near the little inn of the

Tod's Hole, called the Hermitage, or more commonly Armitage, in

which lay interred some of the Ravenswood family, and many of

their followers. Ravenswood conceived it his duty to gratify

this predilection, commonly found to exist among the Scottish

peasantry, and despatched Babie to the neighbouring village to

procure the assistance of some females, assuring her that, in the

mean while, he would himself remain with the dead body, which, as

in Thessaly of old, it is accounted highly unfit to leave without

a watch.

Thus, in the course of a quarter of an hour or little more, he

found himself sitting a solitary guard over the inanimate corpse

of her whose dismissed spirit, unless his eyes had

strangely deceived him, had so recently manifested itself before

him. Notwithstanding his natural courage, the Master was

considerably affected by a concurrence of circumstances so

extraordinary. "She died expressing her eager desire to see me.

Can it be, then," was his natural course of reflection--"can

strong and earnest wishes, formed during the last agony of

nature, survive its catastrophe, surmount the awful bounds of the

spiritual world, and place before us its inhabitants in the hues

and colouring of life? And why was that manifested to the eye

which could not unfold its tale to the ear? and wherefore should

a breach be made in the laws of nature, yet its purpose remain

unknown? Vain questions, which only death, when it shall make me

like the pale and withered form before me, can ever resolve."

He laid a cloth, as he spoke, over the lifeless face, upon whose

features he felt unwilling any longer to dwell. He then took his

place in an old carved oaken chair, ornamented with his own

armorial bearings, which Alice had contrived to appropriate to

her own use in the pillage which took place among creditors,

officers, domestics, and messengers of the law when his father

left Ravenswood Castle for the last time. Thus seated, he

banished, as much as he could, the superstitious feelings which

the late incident naturally inspired. His own were sad enough,

without the exaggeration of supernatural terror, since he found

himself transferred from the situation of a successful lover of

Lucy Ashton, and an honoured and respected friend of her father,

into the melancholy and solitary guardian of the abandoned and

forsaken corpse of a common pauper.

He was relieved, however, from his sad office sooner that he

could reasonably have expected, considering the distance betwixt

the hut of the deceased and the village, and the age and

infirmities of three old women who came from thence, in military

phrase, to relieve guard upon the body of the defunct. On any

other occasion the speed of these reverend sibyls would have been

much more moderate, for the first was eighty years of age and

upwards, the second was paralytic, and the third lame of a leg

from some accident. But the burial duties rendered to the

deceased are, to the Scottish peasant of either sex, a labour of

love. I know not whether it is from the temper of the people,

grave and enthusiastic as it certainly is, or from the

recollection of the ancient Catholic opinions, when the funeral

rites were always considered as a period of festival to the

living; but feasting, good cheeer, and even inebriety, were, and

are, the frequent accompaniments of a Scottish old-fashioned

burial. What the funeral feast, or "dirgie," as it is called,

was to the men, the gloomy preparations of the dead body for the

coffin were to the women. To straight the contorted limbs upon a

board used for that melancholy purpose, to array the corpse in

clean linen, and over that in its woollen shroad, were operations

committed always to the old matrons of the village, and in which

they found a singular and gloomy delight.

The old women paid the Master their salutations with a ghastly

smile, which reminded him of the meeting betwixt Macbeth and the

witches on the blasted heath of Forres. He gave them some money,

and recommended to them the charge of the dead body of their

contemporary, an office which they willingly undertook;

intimating to him at the same time that he must leave the hut, in

order that they might begin their mournful duties. Ravenswood

readily agreed to depart, only tarrying to recommend to them due

attention to the body, and to receive information where he was to

find the sexton, or beadle, who had in charge the deserted

churchyard of the Armitage, in order to prepare matters for the

reception of Old Alice in the place of repose which she had

selected for herself.

"Ye'll no be pinched to find out Johnie Mortsheugh," said the

elder sibyl, and still her withered cheek bore a grisly smile;

"he dwells near the Tod's Hole, an house of entertainment where

there has been mony a blythe birling, for death and drink-

draining are near neighbours to ane anither."

"Ay! and that's e'en true, cummer," said the lame hag, propping

herself with a crutch which supported the shortness of her left

leg, "for I mind when the father of this Master of Ravenswood

that is now standing before us sticked young Blackhall with his

whinger, for a wrang word said ower their wine, or brandy, or

what not: he gaed in as light as a lark, and he came out wi' his

feet foremost. I was at the winding of the corpse; and when the

bluid was washed off, he was a bonny bouk of man's body."

It may be easily believed that this ill-timed anecdote hastened

the Master's purpose of quitting a company so evil-omened and so

odious. Yet, while walking to the tree to which his horse was

tied, and busying himself with adjusting the girhts of the

saddle, he could not avoid hearing, through the hedge of the

little garden, a conversation respecting himself, betwixt the

lame woman and the octagenarian sibyl. The pair had hobbled into

the garden to gather rosemary, southernwood, rue, and other

plants proper to be strewed upon the body, and burned by way of

fumigation in the chimney of the cottage. The paralytic wretch,

almost exhausted by the journey, was left guard upon the corpse,

lest witches or fiends might play their sport with it.

The following law, croaking dialogue was necessarily

overheard by the Master of Ravenswood:

"That's a fresh and full-grown hemlock, Annie Winnie; mony a

cummer lang syne wad hae sought nae better horse to flee over

hill and how, through mist and moonlight, and light down in the

the King of France's cellar."

"Ay, cummer! but the very deil has turned as hard-hearted now as

the Lord Keeper and the grit folk, that hae breasts like

whinstane. They prick us and they pine us, and they pit us on

the pinnywinkles for witches; and, if I say my prayers backwards

ten times ower, Satan will never gie me amends o' them."

"Did ye ever see the foul thief?" asked her neighbour.

"Na!" replied the other spokeswoman; "but I trow I hae dreamed

of him mony a time, and I think the day will come they will burn

me for't. But ne'er mind, cummer! we hae this dollar of the

Master's, and we'll send doun for bread and for yill, and

tobacco, and a drap brandy to burn, and a wee pickle saft sugar;

and be there deil, or nae deil, lass, we'll hae a merry night

o't."

Here her leathern chops uttered a sort of cackling, ghastly

laugh, resembling, to a certain degree, the cry of the screech-

owl.

"He's a frank man, and a free-handed man, the Master," said

Annie Winnie, "and a comely personage--broad in the shouthers,

and narrow around the lunyies. He wad mak a bonny corpse; I wad

like to hae the streiking and winding o' him."

"It is written on his brow, Annie Winnie," returned the

octogenarian, her companion, "that hand of woman, or of man

either, will never straught him: dead-deal will never be laid on

his back, make you your market of that, for I hae it frae a sure

hand."

"Will it be his lot to die on the battle-ground then, Ailsie

Gourlay? Will he die by the sword or the ball, as his forbears

had dune before him, mony ane o' them?"

"Ask nae mair questions about it--he'll no be graced sae far,"

replied the sage.

"I ken ye are wiser than ither folk, Aislie Gourlay. But wha

tell'd ye this?"

"Fashna your thumb about that, Annie Winnie," answered the

sibyl, "I hae it frae a hand sure eneugh."

"But ye said ye never saw the foul thief," reiterated her

inquisitive companion.

"I hae it frae as sure a hand," said Ailsie, "and frae them that

spaed his fortune before the sark gaed ower his head."

"Hark! I hear his horse's feet riding aff," said the other;

"they dinna sound as if good luck was wi' them."

"Mak haste, sirs," cried the paralytic hag from the cottage,

"and let us do what is needfu', and say what is fitting; for, if

the dead corpse binna straughted, it will girn and thraw, and

that will fear the best o' us."

Ravenswood was now out of hearing. He despised most of the

ordinary prejudices about witchcraft, omens, and vaticination, to

which his age and country still gave such implicit credit that to

express a doubt of them was accounted a crime equal to the

unbelief of Jews or Saracens; he knew also that the prevailing

belief, concerning witches, operating upon the hypochondriac

habits of those whom age, infirmity, and poverty rendered liable

to suspicion, and enforced by the fear of death and the pangs of

the most cruel tortures, often extorted those confessions which

encumber and disgrace the criminal records of Scotland during the

17th century. But the vision of that morning, whether real or

imaginary, had impressed his mind with a superstitious feeling

which he in vain endeavoured to shake off. The nature of the

business which awaited him at the little inn, called Tod's Hole,

where he soon after arrived, was not of a kind to restore his

spirits.

It was necessary he should see Mortsheugh, the sexton of the old

burial-ground at Armitage, to arrange matters for the funeral of

Alice; and, as the man dwelt near the place of her late

residence, the Master, after a slight refreshment, walked towards

the place where the body of Alice was to be deposited. It was

situated in the nook formed by the eddying sweep of a stream,

which issued from the adjoining hills. A rude cavern in an

adjacent rock, which, in the interior, was cut into the shape of

a cross, formed the hermitage, where some Saxon saint had in

ancient times done penance, and given name to the place. The

rich Abbey of Coldinghame had, in latter days, established a

chapel in the neighbourhood, of which no vestige was now visible,

though the churchyard which surrounded it was still, as upon the

present occasion, used for the interment of particular persons.

One or two shattered yew-trees still grew within the precincts of

that which had once been holy ground. Warriors and barons had

been buried there of old, but their names were forgotten, and

their monuments demolished. The only sepulchral memorials which

remained were the upright headstonres which mark the graves of

persons of inferior rank. The abode of the sexton was a solitary

cottage adjacent to the ruined wall of the cemetery, but so low

that, with its thatch, which nearly reached the ground, covered

with a thick crop of grass, fog, and house-leeks, it resembled an

overgrown grave. On inquiry, however, Ravenswood found that the

man of the last mattock was absent at a bridal, being fiddler as

well as grave-digger to the vicinity. He therefore retired to

the little inn, leaving a message that early next morning he

would again call for the person whose double occupation connected

him at once with the house of mourning and the house of feasting.

An outrider of the Marquis arrived at Tod's Hole shortly after,

with a message, intimating that his master would join Ravenswood

at that place on the following morning; and the Master, who would

otherwise have proceeded to his old retreat at Wolf's Crag,

remained there accordingy to give meeting to his noble kinsman.

CHAPTER XXIV.

Hamlet: Has this fellow no feeling of his business? he sings at

grave making. Horatio: Custom hath made it in him a property

of easiness. Hamlet: 'Tis e'en so: the hand of little

employment hath the daintier sense.

Hamlet, Act V. Scene 1.

THE sleep of Ravenswood was broken by ghastly and agitating

visions, and his waking intervals disturbed by melancholy

reflections on the past and painful anticipations of the future.

He was perhaps the only traveller who ever slept in that

miserable kennel without complaining of his lodgings, or feeling

inconvenience from their deficiencies. It is when "the mind is

free the body's delicate." Morning, however, found the Master an

early riser, in hopes that the fresh air of the dawn might afford

the refreshment which night had refused him. He took his way

towards the solitary burial-ground, which lay about half a mile

from the inn.

The thin blue smoke, which already began to curl upward, and to

distinguish the cottage of the living from the habitation of the

dead, apprised him that its inmate had returned and was

stirring. Accordingly, on entering the little churchyard, he saw

the old man labouring in a half-made grave. "My destiny,"

thought Ravenswood, "seems to lead me to scenes of fate and of

death; but these are childish thoughts, and they shall not master

me. I will not again suffer my imagination to beguile my

senses." The old man rested on his spade as the Master

approached him, as if to receive his commands; and as he did not

immediately speak, the sexton opened the discourse in his own

way.

"Ye will be a wedding customer, sir, I'se warrant?"

"What makes you think so, friend?" replied the Master.

"I live by twa trades, sir," replied the blythe old man--

"fiddle, sir, and spade; filling the world, and emptying of it;

and I suld ken baith cast of customers by head-mark in thirty

years' practice."

"You are mistaken, however, this morning," replied

Ravenswood.

"Am I?" said the old man, looking keenly at him, "troth and it

may be; since, for as brent as your brow is, there is

something sitting upon it this day that is as near akin to death

as to wedlock. Weel--weel; the pick and shovel are as ready to

your order as bow and fiddle."

"I wish you," said Ravenswood, "to look after the descent

interment of an old woman, Alice Gray, who lived at the Graigfoot

in Ravenswood Park."

"Alice Gray!--blind Alice!" said the sexton; "and is she gane at

last? that's another jow of the bell to bid me be ready. I mind

when Habbie Gray brought her down to this land; a likely lass she

was then, and looked ower her southland nose at us a'. I trow

her pride got a downcome. And is she e'en gane?"

"She died yesterday," said Ravenswood; "and desired to be buried

here beside her husband; you know where he lies, no doubt?"

"Ken where he lies!" answered the sexton, with national

indirection of response. "I ken whar a'body lies, that lies

here. But ye were speaking o' her grave? Lord help us, it's no

an ordinar grave that will haud her in, if a's true that folk

said of Alice in her auld days; and if I gae to six feet deep--

and a warlock's grave shouldna be an inch mair ebb, or her ain

witch cummers would soon whirl her out of her shroud for a' their

auld acquaintance--and be't six feet, or be't three, wha's to pay

the making o't, I pray ye?"

"I will pay that, my friend, and all other reasonable charges."

"Reasonable charges!" said the sexton; "ou, there's

grundmail--and bell-siller, though the bell's broken, nae doubt--

and the kist--and my day's wark--and my bit fee--and some brandy

and yill to the dirgie, I am no thinking that you can inter her,

to ca' decently, under saxteen pund Scots."

"There is the money, my friend," said Ravenswood, "and something

over. Be sure you know the grave."

"Ye'll be ane o' her English relations, I'se warrant," said the

hoary man of skulls; "I hae heard she married far below her

station. It was very right to let her bite on the bridle when

she was living, and it's very right to gie her a secent burial

now she's dead, for that's a matter o' credit to yoursell rather

than to her. Folk may let their kindred shift for themsells when

they are alive, and can bear the burden fo their ain misdoings;

but it's an unnatural thing to let them be buried like dogs, when

a' the discredit gangs to the kindred. What kens the dead corpse

about it?"

"You would not have people neglect their relations on a bridal

occasion neither?" said Ravenswood, who was amused with the

professional limitation of the grave-digger's philanthropy.

The old man cast up his sharp grey eyes with a shrewd smile, as

if he understood the jest, but instantly continued, with his

former gravity: "Bridals--wha wad neglect bridals that had ony

regard for plenishing the earth? To be sure, they suld be

celebrated with all manner of good cheer, and meeting of friends,

and musical instruments--harp, sackbut, and psaltery; or gude

fiddle and pipes, when these auld-warld instruments of melody are

hard to be compassed."

"The presence of the fiddle, I dare say," replied

Ravenswood, "would atone for the absence of all the others."

The sexton again looked sharply up at him, as he answered. "Nae

doubt--nae doubt, if it were weel played; but yonder," he said,

as if to change the discourse, "is Halbert Gray's lang hame, that

ye were speering after, just the third bourock beyond the muckle

through-stane that stands on sax legs yonder, abune some ane of

the Ravenswoods; for there is mony of their kin and followers

here, deil lift them! though it isna just their main burial-

place."

"They are no favourites, then, of yours, these Ravenswoods?"

said the Master, no much pleased with the passing benediction

which was thus bestowed on his family and name.

"I kenna wha should favour them," said the grave-digger; "when

they had lands and power, they were ill guides of them baith, and

now their head's down, there's few care how lang they may be of

lifting it again."

"Indeed!" said Ravenswood; "I never heard that this unhappy

family deserved ill-will at the hands of their country. I grant

their poverty, if that renders them contemptible."

"It will gang a far way till't" said the sexton of

Hermitage, "ye may tak my word for that; at least, I ken naething

else that suld mak myself contemptible, and folk are far frae

respecting me as they wad do if I lived in a twa-lofted sclated

house. But as for the Ravenswoods, I hae seen three generations

of them, and deil ane to mend other."

"I thought they had enjoyed a fair character in the

country," said their descendant.

"Character! Ou, ye see, sir," said the sexton, "as for the auld

gudesire body of a lord, I lived on his land when I was a

swanking young chield, and could hae blawn the trumpet wi' ony

body, for I had wind eneugh then; and touching this trumpeter

Marine that I have heard play afore the lords of the circuit, I

wad hae made nae mair o' him than of a bairn and a bawbee

whistle. I defy him to hae played 'Boot and saddle,' or 'Horse

and away,' or 'Gallants, come trot,' with me; he hadna the

tones."

"But what is all this to old Lord Ravenswood, my friend?" said

the Master, who, with an anxiety not unnatural in his

circumstances, was desirous of prosecuting the musician's first

topic--"what had his memory to do with the degeneracy of the

trumpet music?"

"Just this, sir," answered the sexton, "that I lost my wind in

his service. Ye see I was trumpeter at the castle, and had

allowance for blawing at break of day, and at dinner time, and

other whiles when there was company about, and it pleased my

lord; and when he raised his militia to caper awa' to Bothwell

Brig against the wrang-headed westland Whigs, I behoved, reason

or name, to munt a horse and caper awa' wi' them."

"And very reasonable," said Ravenswood; "you were his servant

and vassal."

"Servitor, say ye?" replied the sexton, "and so I was; but it

was to blaw folk to their warm dinner, or at the warst to a

decent kirkyard, and no to skirl them awa' to a bluidy braeside,

where there was deil a bedral but the hooded craw. But bide ye,

ye shall hear what cam o't, and how far I am bund to be bedesman

to the Ravenswoods. Till't, ye see, we gaed on a braw simmer

morning, twenty-fourth of June, saxteen hundred and se'enty-nine,

of a' the days of the month and year--drums beat, guns rattled,

horses kicked and trampled. Hackstoun of Rathillet keepit the

brig wi' mustket and carabine and pike, sword and scythe for what

I ken, and we horsemen were ordered down to cross at the ford,--I

hate fords at a' times, let abee when there's thousands of armed

men on the other side. There was auld Ravenswood brandishing his

Andrew Ferrara at the head, and crying to us to come and buckle

to, as if we had been gaun to a fair; there was Caleb

Balderstone, that is living yet, flourishing in the rear, and

swearing Gog and Magog, he would put steel through the gus of ony

man that turned bridle; there was young Allan Ravenswood, that

was then Master, wi' a bended pistol in his hand--it was a mercy

it gaed na aff!--crying to me, that had scarce as much wind left

as serve the necessary purpose of my ain lungs, 'Sound, you

poltroon!--sound, you damned cowardly villain, or I will blow

your brains out!' and, to be sure, I blew sic points of war that

the scraugh of a clockin-hen was music to them."

"Well, sir, cut all this short," said Ravenswood.

"Short! I had like to hae been cut short mysell, in the flower

of my youth, as Scripture says; and that's the very thing that I

compleen o'. Weel! in to the water we behoved a' to splash,

heels ower head, sit or fa'--ae horse driving on anither, as is

the way of brute beasts, and riders that hae as little sense; the

very bushes on the ither side were ableeze wi' the flashes of the

Whig guns; and my horse had just taen the grund, when a

blackavised westland carle--I wad mind the face o' him a hundred

years yet--an ee like a wild falcon's, and a beard as broad as my

shovel--clapped the end o' his lang black gun within a quarter's

length of my lug! By the grace o' Mercy, the horse swarved

round, and I fell aff at the tae side as the ball

whistled by at the tither, and the fell auld lord took the Whig

such a swauk wi' his broadsword that he made twa pieces o' his

head, and down fell the lurdance wi' a' his bouk abune me."

"You were rather obliged to the old lord, I think," said

Ravenswood.

"Was I? my sartie! first for bringing me into jeopardy, would I

nould I, and then for whomling a chield on the tap o' me that

dang the very wind out of my body? I hae been short-

breathed ever since, and canna gang twenty yards without peghing

like a miller's aiver."

"You lost, then, your place as trumpeter?" said Ravenswood.

"Lost it! to be sure I lost it," replied the sexton, "for I

couldna hae played pew upon a dry hemlock; but I might hae dune

weel eneugh, for I keepit the wage and the free house, and little

to do but play on the fiddle to them, but for Allan, last Lord

Ravenswood, that was far waur than ever his father was."

"What," said the Master, "did my father--I mean, did his

father's son--this last Lord Ravenswood, deprive you of what the

bounty of his father allowed you?"

"Ay, troth did he," answered the old man; "for he loot his

affairs gang to the dogs, and let in this Sir William Ashton on

us, that will gie naething for naething, and just removed me and

a' the puir creatures that had bite and soup at the castle, and a

hole to put our heads in, when things were in the auld way."

"If Lord Ravenswood protected his people, my friend, while he

had the means of doing so, I think they might spare his memory,"

replied the Master.

"Ye are welcome to your ain opinion, sir," said the sexton; "but

ye winna persuade me that he did his duty, either to himsell or

to huz puir dependent creatures, in guiding us the gate he has

done; he might hae gien us life-rent tacks of our bits o' houses

and yards; and me, that's an auld man, living in you miserable

cabin, that's fitter for the dead than the quick, and killed wi'

rheumatise, and John Smith in my dainty bit mailing, and his

window glazen, and a' because Ravenswood guided his gear like a

fule!"

"It is but too true," said Ravenswood, conscience-struck; "the

penalties of extravagance extend far beyond the prodigal's own

sufferings."

"However," said the sexton, "this young man Edgar is like to

avenge my wrangs on the haill of his kindred."

"Indeed?" said Ravenswood; "why should you suppose so?"

"They say he is about to marry the daughter of Leddy Ashton; and

let her leddyship get his head ance under her oxter, and see you

if she winna gie his neck a thraw. Sorra a bit, if I were him!

Let her alane for hauding a'thing in het water that draws near

her. Sae the warst wish I shall wish the lad is, that he may

take his ain creditable gate o't, and ally himsell wi' his

father's enemies, that have taken his broad lands and my bonny

kail-yard from the lawful owners thereof."

Cervantes acutely remarks, that flattery is pleasing even from

the mouth of a madman; and censure, as well as praise, often

affects us, while we despise the opinions and motives on which it

is founded and expressed. Ravenswood, abruptly reiterating his

command that Alice's funeral should be attended to, flung away

from the sexton, under the painful impression that the great as

well as the small vulgar would think of his engagement with Lucy

like this ignorant and selfish peasant.

"And I have stooped to subject myself to these calumnies, and am

rejected notwithstanding! Lucy, your faith must be true and

perfect as the diamond to compensate for the dishonour which

men's opinions, and the conduct of your mother, attach to the

heir of Ravenswood!"

As he raised his eyes, he beheld the Marquis of A----, who,

having arrived at the Tod's Hole, had walked forth to look for

his kinsman.

After mutual greetings, he made some apology to the Master for

not coming forward on the preceding evening. "It was his wish,"

he said, "to have done so, but he had come to the

knowledge of some matters which induced him to delay his purpose.

I find," he proceeded, "there has been a love affair here,

kinsman; and though I might blame you for not having communicated

with me, as being in some degree the chief of your family----"

"With your lordship's permission," said Ravenswood, "I am deeply

grateful for the interest you are pleased to take in me, but _I_

am the chief and head of my family."

"I know it--I know it," said the Marquis; "in a strict heraldic

and genealogical sense, you certainly are so; what I mean is,

that being in some measure under my guardianship----"

"I must take the liberty to say, my lord----" answered

Ravenswood, and the tone in which he interrupted the Marquis

boded no long duration to the friendship of the noble relatives,

when he himself was interrupted by the little sexton, who cam

puffing after them, to ask if their honours would choose music at

the change-house to make up for short cheer.

"We want no music," said the Master, abruptly.

"Your honour disna ken what ye're refusing, then," said the

fiddler, with the impertinent freedom of his profession. "I can

play, 'Wilt thou do't again,' and 'The Auld Man's Mear's Dead,'

sax times better than ever Patie Birnie. I'll get my fiddle in

the turning of a coffin-screw."

"Take yourself away, sir," said the Marquis.

"And if your honour be a north-country gentleman," said the

persevering minstrel, "whilk I wad judge from your tongue, I can

play 'Liggeram Cosh,' and 'Mullin Dhu,' and 'The Cummers of

Athole.'"

"Take yourself away, friend; you interrupt our

conversation."

"Or if, under your honour's favour, ye should happen to be a

thought honest, I can play (this in a low and confidential tone)

'Killiecrankie,' and 'The King shall hae his ain,' and 'The Auld

Stuarts back again'; and the wife at the change-house is a

decent, discreet body, neither kens nor cares what toasts are

drucken, and what tunes are played, in her house: she's deaf to

a'thing but the clink o' the siller."

The Marquis, who was sometimes suspected of Jacobitism, could

not help laughing as he threw the fellow a dollar, and bid him go

play to the servants if he had a mind, and leave them at peace.

"Aweel, gentlemen," said he, "I am wishing your honours gude

day. "I'll be a' the better of the dollar, and ye'll be the waur

of wanting music, I'se tell ye. But I'se gang hame, and finish

the grave in the tuning o' a fiddle-string, lay by my spade, and

then get my tother bread-winner, and awa' to your folk, and see

if they hae better lugs than their masters."

CHAPTER XXV.

True love, an thou be true,

Thou has ane kittle part to play;

For fortune, fashion, fancy, and thou,

Maun strive for many a day.

I've kend by mony a friend's tale,

Far better by this heart of mine,

What time and change of fancy avail

A true-love knot to untwine.

HENDERSOUN.

"I WISHED to tell you, my good kinsman," said the Marquis, "now

that we are quit of that impertinent fiddler, that I had tried to

discuss this love affair of yours with Sir William Ashton's

daughter. I never saw the young lady but for a few minutes to-

day; so, being a stranger to her personal merits, I pay a

compliment to you, and offer her no offence, in saying you might

do better."

"My lord, I am much indebted for the interest you have taken in

my affairs," said Ravenswood. "I did not intend to have

troubled you in any matter concerning Miss Ashton. As my

engagement with that young lady has reached your lordship, I can

only say, that you must necessarily suppose that I was aware of

the objections to my marrying into her father's family, and of

course must have been completely satisfied with the reasons by

which these objections are overbalanced, since I have proceeded

so far in the matter."

"Nay, Master, if you had heard me out," said his noble relation,

"you might have spared that observation; for, withotu

questioning that you had reasons which seemed to you to

counterbalance every other obstacle, I set myself, by every means

that it became me to use towards the Ashtons, to persuade them to

meet your views."

"I am obliged to your lordship for your unsolicited

intercession," said Ravenswood; "especially as I am sure your

lordship would never carry it beyond the bounds which it became

me to use."

"Of that," said the Marquis, "you may be confident; I myself

felt the delicacy of the matter too much to place a gentleman

nearly connected with my house in a degrading or dubious

situation with these Ashtons. But I pointed out all the

advantages of their marrying their daughter into a house so

honourable, and so nearly related with the first of Scotland; I

explained the exact degree of relationship in which the

Ravenswoods stand to ourselves; and I even hinted how political

matters were like to turn, and what cards would be trumps next

Parliament. I said I regarded you as a son--or a nephew, or so--

rather than as a more distant relation; and that I made your

affair entirely my own."

"And what was the issue of your lordship's explanation?" said

Ravenswood, in some doubt whether he should resent or express

gratitude for his interference.

"Why, the Lord Keeper would have listened to reason," said the

Marquis; "he is rather unwilling to leave his place, which, in

the present view of a change, must be vacated; and, to say

truth, he seemed to have a liking for you, and to be sensible of

the general advantages to be attained by such a match. But his

lady, who is tongue of the trump, Master----"

"What of Lady Ashton, my lord?" said Ravenswood; "let me know

the issue of this extraordinary conference: I can bear it."

"I am glad of that, kinsman," said the Marquis, "for I am

ashamed to tell you half what she said. It is enough--her mind

is made up, and the mistress of a first-rate boarding-school

could not have rejected with more haughty indifference the suit

of a half-pay Irish officer, beseeching permission to wait upon

the heiress of a West India planter, than Lady Ashton spurned

every proposal of mediation which it could at all become me to

offer in behalf of you, my good kinsman. I cannot guess what she

means. A more honourable connexion she could not form, that's

certain. As for money and land, that used to be her husband's

business rather than hers; I really think she hates you for

having the rank which her husband has not, and perhaps for not

having the lands that her goodman has. But I should only vex you

to say more about it--here we are at the change-house."

The Master of Ravenswood paused as he entered the cottage, which

reeked through all its crevices, and they were not few, from the

exertions of the Marquis's travelling-cooks to supply good cheer,

and spread, as it were, a table in the wilderness.

"My Lord Marquis," said Ravenswood, "I already mentioned that

accident has put your lordship in possession of a secret which,

with my consent, should have remained one even to you, my

kinsman, for some time. Since the secret was to part from my own

custody, and that of the only person besides who was interested

in it, I am not sorry it should have reached your lordship's

ears, as being fully aware that you are my noble kinsman and

friend."

"You may believe it is safely lodged with me, Master of

Ravenswood," said the Marquis; "but I should like well to hear

you say that you renounced the idea of an alliance which you can

hardly pursue without a certain degree of degradation."

"Of that, my lord, I shall judge," answered Ravenswood, "and I

hope with delicacy as sensitive as any of my friends. But I

have no engagement with Sir William and Lady Ashton. It is with

Miss Ashton alone that I have entered upon the subject, and my

conduct in the matter shall be entirely ruled by hers. If she

continues to prefer me in my poverty to the wealthier suitors

whom her friends recommend, I may well make some sacrifice to her

sincere affection: I may well surrender to her the less tangible

and less palpable advantages of birth, and the deep-rooted

prejudices of family hatred. If Miss Lucy Ashton should change

her mind on a subject of such delicacy, I trust my friends will

be silent on my disappointment, and I shall know how to make my

enemies so."

"Spoke like a gallant young nobleman," said the Marquis; "for my

part, I have that regard for you, that I should be sorry the

thing went on. This Sir William Ashton was a pretty enough

pettifogging kind of a lawyer twenty years ago, and betwixt

battling at the bar and leading in committees of Parliament he

has got well on; the Darien matter lent him a lift, for he had

good intelligence and sound views, and sold out in time; but the

best work is had out of him. No government will take him at his

own, or rather his wife's extravagant, valuation; and betwixt his

indecision and her insolence, from all I can guess, he will

outsit his market, and be had cheap when no one will bid for him.

I say nothing of Miss Ashton; but I assure you, a connexion with

her father will be neither useful nor ornamental, beyond that

part of your father's spoils which he may be prevailed upon to

disgorge by way of tocher-good; and take my word for it, you will

get more if you have spirit to bell the cat with him in the House

of Peers. And I will be the man, cousin," continued his

lordship, "will course the fox for you, and make him rue the day

that ever he refused a composition too honourable for him, and

proposed by me on the behalf of a kinsman."

There was something in all this that, as it were, overshot the

mark. Ravenswood could not disguise from himself that his noble

kinsman had more reasons for taking offence at the

reception of his suit than regarded his interest and honour, yet

he could neither complain nor be surprised that it should be so.

He contented himself, therefore, with repeating, that his

attachment was to Miss Ashton personally; that he desired neither

wealth nor aggrandisement from her father's means and influence;

and that nothing should prevent his keeping his engagement,

excepting her own express desire that it should be relinquished;

and he requested as a favour that the matter might be no more

mentioned betwixt them at present, assuring the Marquis of A----

that he should be his confidant or its interruption.

The Marquis soon had more agreeable, as well as more

interesting, subjects on which to converse. A foot-post, who had

followed him from Edinburgh to Ravenswood Castle, and had traced

his steps to the Tod's Hole, brought him a packet laden with good

news. The political calculations of the Marquis had proved just,

both in London and at Edinburgh, and he saw almost within his

grasp the pre-eminence for which he had panted. The refreshments

which the servants had prepared were now put on the table, and an

epicure would perhaps have enjoyed them with additional zest from

the contrast which such fare afforded to the miserable cabin in

which it was served up.

The turn of conversation corresponded with and added to the

social feelings of the company. The Marquis expanded with

pleasure on the power which probably incidents were likely to

assign to him, and on the use which eh hoped to make of it in

serving his kinsman Ravenswood. Ravenswood could but repeat the

gratitude which he really felt, even when he considered the topic

as too long dwelt upon. The wine was excellent, notwithstanding

its having been brought in a runlet from Edinburgh; and the

habits of the Marquis, when engaged with such good cheer, were

somewhat sedentary. And so it fell out that they delayed their

journey two hours later than was their original purpose.

"But what of that, my good young friend?" said the Marquis.

"Your Castle of Wolf's Crag is at but five or six miles'

distance, and will afford the same hospitality to your kinsman of

A----that it gave to this same Sir William Ashton."

"Sir William took the castle by storm," said Ravenswood, "and,

like many a victor, had little reason to congratulate himself on

his conquest."

"Well--well!" said Lord A----, whose dignity was something

relaxed by the wine he had drunk, "I see I must bribe you to

harbour me. Come, pledge me in a bumper health to the last

young lady that slept at Wolf's Crag, and liked her quarters. My

bones are not so tender as hers, and I am resolved to occupy her

apartment to-night, that I may judge how hard the couch is that

love can soften."

"Your lordship may choose what penance you please," said

Ravenswood; "but I assure you, I should expect my old servant to

hang himself, or throw himself from the battlements, should your

lordship visit him so unexpectedly. I do assure you, we are

totally and literally unprovided."

But his declaration only brought from his noble patron an

assurance of his own total indifference as to every species of

accommodation, and his determination to see the Tower of Wolf's

Crag. His ancestor, he said, had been feasted there, when he

went forward with the then Lord Ravenswood to the fatal battle of

Flodden, in which they both fell. Thus hard pressed, the Master

offered to ride forward to get matters put in such preparation as

time and circumstances admitted; but the Marquis protested his

kinsman must afford him his company, and would only consent that

an avant-courier should carry to the desinted seneschal, Caleb

Balderstone, the unexpected news of this invasion.

The Master of Ravenswood soon after accompanied the Marquis in

his carriage, as the latter had proposed; and when they became

better acquainted in the progress of the journey, his noble

relation explained the very liberal views which he entertained

for his relation's preferment, in case of the success of his own

political schemes. They related to a secret and highly important

commission beyond sea, which could only be entrusted to a person

of rank, talent, and perfect confidence, and which, as it

required great trust and reliance on the envoy employed, could

but not prove both honourable and advantageous to him. We need

not enter into the nature and purpose of this commission, farther

than to acquaint our readers that the charge was in prospect

highly acceptable to the Master of Ravenswood, who hailed with

pleasure the hope of emerging from his present state of indigence

and inaction into independence and honourable exertion.

While he listened thus eagerly to the details with which the

Marquis now thought it necessary to entrust him, the messenger

who had been despatched to the Tower of Wolf's Crag returned with

Caleb Balderstone's humble duty, and an assurance that "a' should

be in seemly order, sic as the hurry of time permitted, to

receive their lordships as it behoved."

Ravenswood was too well accustomed to his seneschal's mode of

acting and speaking to hope much from this confident

assurance. He knew that Caleb acted upon the principle of the

Spanish geenrals, in the campaign of ----, who, much to the

perplexity of the Prince of Orange, their commander-in-chief,

used to report their troops as full in number, and possessed of

all necessary points of equipment, not considering it consistent

with their dignity, or the honour of Spain, to confess any

deficiency either in men or munition, until the want of both was

unavoidably discovered in the day of battle. Accordingly,

Ravenswood thought it necessary to give the Marquis some hint

that the fair assurance which they had just received from Caleb

did not by any means ensure them against a very indifferent

reception.

"You do yourself injustice, Master," said the Marquis, "or you

wish to surprise me agreeably. From this window I see a great

light in the direction where, if I remember aright, Wolf's Crag

lies; and, to judge from the splendour which the old Tower sheds

around it, the preparations for our reception must be of no

ordinary description. I remember your father putting the same

deception on me, when we went to the Tower for afew days'

hawking, about twenty years since, and yet we spent our time as

jollily at Wolf's Crag as we could have done at my own hunting

seat at B----."

"Your lordship, I fear, will experience that the faculty of the

present proprietor to entertain his friends is greatly

abridged," said Ravenswood; "the will, I need hardly say, remains

the same. But I am as much at a loss as your lordship to account

for so strong and brilliant a light as is now above Wolf's Crag;

the windows of the Tower are few and narrow, and those of the

lower story are hidden from us by the walls of the court. I

cannot conceive that any illumination of an ordinary nature could

afford such a blaze of light."

The mystery was soon explained; for the cavalcade almost

instantly halted, and the voice of Caleb Balderstone was heard

p278

at the coach window, exclaiming, in accents broken by grief and

fear, "Och, gentlemen! Och, my gude lords! Och, haud to the

right! Wolf's Crag is burning, bower and ha'--a' the rich

plenishing outside and inside--a' the fine graith, pictures,

tapestries, needle-wark, hangings, and other decorements--a' in a

bleeze, as if they were nae mair than sae mony peats, or as

muckle pease-strae! Haud to the right, gentlemen, I implore ye;

there is some sma' provision making at Luckie Sma'trash's; but

oh, wae for this night, and wae for me that lives to see it!"

Ravenswood was first stunned by this new and unexpected

calamity; but after a moment's recollection he sprang from the

carriage, and hastily bidding his noble kinsman goodnight, was

about to ascend the hill towards the castle, the broad and full

conflagration of which now flung forth a high column of red

light, that flickered far to seaward upon the dashing waves of

the ocean.

"Take a horse, Master," exclaimed the Marquis, greatly affected

by this additional misfortune, so unexpectedly heaped upon his

young protege; "and give me my ambling palfrey; and haste

forward, you knaves, to see what can be done to save the

furniture, or to extinguish the fire--ride, you knaves, for your

lives!"

The attendants bustled together, and began to strike their

horses with the spur, and call upon Caleb to show them the road.

But the voice of that careful seneschal was heard above the

tumult, "Oh, stop sirs, stop--turn bridle, for the luve of Mercy;

add not loss of lives to the loss of warld's gean! Thirty

barrels of powther, landed out of a Dunkirk dogger in the auld

lord's time--a' in the vau'ts of the auld tower,--the fire canna

be far off it, I trow. Lord's sake, to the right, lads--to the

right; let's pit the hill atween us and peril,--a wap wi' a

corner-stane o' Wolf's Crag wad defy the doctor!"

It will readily be supposed that this annunciation hurried the

Marquis and his attendants into the route which Caleb

prescribed, dragging Ravenswood along with them, although there

was much in the matter which he could not possibly comprehend.

"Gunpowder!" he exclaimed, laying hold of Caleb, who in vain

endeavoured to escape from him; "what

gunpowder? How any quantity of powder could be in Wolf's Crag

without my knowledge, I cannot possibly comprehend."

"But I can," interrupted the Marquis, whispering him, "I can

comprehend it thoroughly; for God's sake, ask him no more

questions at present."

"There it is, now," said Caleb, extricating himself from his

master, and adjusting his dress, "your honour will believe his

lordship's honourable testimony. His lordship minds weel how, in

the year that him they ca'd King Willie died----"

"Hush! hush, my good friend!" said the Marquis; "I shall satisfy

your master upon that subject."

"And the people at Wolf's Hope," said Ravenswood, "did none of

them come to your assistance before the flame got so high?"

"Ay did they, mony ane of them, the rapscallions!" said Caleb;

"but truly I was in nae hurry to let them into the Tower, where

there were so much plate and valuables."

"Confound you for an impudent liar!" said Ravenswood, in

uncontrollable ire, "there was not a single ounce of----"

"Forbye," said the butler, most irreverently raising his voice

to a pitch which drowned his master's, "the fire made fast on us,

owing to the store of tapestry and carved timmer in the

banqueting-ha', and the loons ran like scaulded rats sae sune as

they heard of the gunpouther."

"I do entreat," said the Marquis to Ravenswood, "you will ask

him no more questions."

"Only one, my lord. What has become of poor Mysie?"

"Mysie!" said Caleb, "I had nae time to look about ony Mysie;

she's in the Tower, I'se warrant, biding her awful doom."

"By heaven," said Ravenswood, "I do not understand all this !

The life of a faithful old creature is at stake; my lord, I will

be withheld no longer; I will at least ride up, and see whether

the danger is as imminent as this old fool pretends."

"Weel, then, as I live by bread," said Caleb, "Mysie is weel and

safe. I saw her out of the castle before I left it mysell. Was

I ganging to forget an auld fellow-servant?"

"What made you tell me the contrary this moment?" said his

master.

"Did I tell you the contrary?" said Caleb; "then I maun hae been

dreaming surely, or this awsome night has turned my

judgment; but safe she is, and ne'er a living soul in the castle,

a' the better for them: they wau have gotten an unco heezy."

The Master of Ravenswood, upon this assurance being solemnly

reiterated, and notwithstanding his extreme wish to witness the

last explosion, which was to ruin to the ground the mansion of

his fathers, suffered himself to be dragged onward towards the

village of Wolf's Hope, where not only the change-house, but that

of our well-known friend the cooper, were all prepared for

reception of himself and his noble guest, with a liberality of

provision which requires some explanation.

We omitted to mention in its place, that Lockhard having fished

out the truth concerning the mode by which Caleb had obtained the

supplies for his banquet, the Lord Keeper, amused with the

incident, and desirous at the time to gratify

Ravenswood, had recommended the cooper of Wolf''s Hope to the

official situation under government the prospect of which had

reconciled him to the loss of his wild-fowl. Mr. Girder's

preferment had occasioned a pleasing surprise to old Caleb; for

when, some days after his master's departure, he found himself

absolutely compelled, by some necessary business, to visit the

fishing hamlet, and was gliding like a ghost past the door of the

cooper, for fear of being summoned to give some account of the

progress of the solicitation in his favour, or, more probably

that the inmates might upbraid him with the false hope he had

held out upon the subject, he heard himself, not without some

apprehension, summoned at once in treble, tenor, and bass--a trio

performed by the voices of Mrs. Girder, old Dame Loup-the-Dyke,

and the goodman of the dwelling--"Mr. Caleb!--Mr. Caleb

Balderstone! I hope ye arena ganging dry-lipped by our door, and

we sae muckle indebted to you?"

This might be said ironically as well as in earnest. Caleb

augured the worst, turned a deaf ear to the trio aforesaid, and

was moving doggedly on, his ancient castor pulled over his brows,

and his eyes bent on the ground, as if to count the flinty

pebbles with which the rude pathway was causewayed. But on a

sudden he found himself surrounded in his progress, like a

stately merchantman in the Gut of Gibraltar (I hope the ladies

will excuse the tarpaulin phrase) by three Algerine galleys.

"Gude guide us, Mr. Balderstone!" said Mrs. Girder.

"Wha wad hae thought it of an auld and kenn'd friend!" said the

mother.

"And no sae muckle as stay to receive our thanks," said the

cooper himself, "and frae the like o' me that seldom offers them!

I am sure I hope there's nae ill seed sawn between us, Mr.

Balderstone. Ony man that has said to ye I am no gratefu' for

the situation of Queen's cooper, let me hae a whample at him wi'

mine eatche, that's a'."

"My good friends--my dear friends," said Caleb, still doubting

how the certainty of the matter might stand, "what needs a' this

ceremony? Ane tries to serve their friends, and

sometimes they may happen to prosper, and sometimes to misgie.

Naething I care to be fashed wi' less than thanks; I never could

bide them."

"Faith, Mr. Balderstone, ye suld hae been fashed wi' few o'

mine," said the downright man of staves and hoops, "if I had only

your gude-will to thank ye for: I suld e'en hae set the guse, and

the wild deukes, adn the runlet of sack to balance that account.

Gude-will, man, is a geizen'd tub, that hauds in nae liquor; but

gude deed's like the cask, tight, round, and sound, that will

haud liquor for the king."

"Have ye no heard of our letter," said the mother-in-law,

"making our John [Gibbie] the Queen's cooper for certain? and

scarce a chield that had ever hammered gird upon tub but was

applying for it?"

"Have I heard!!!" said Caleb, who now found how the wind set,

with an accent of exceeding contempt, at the doubt

expressed--"have I heard, quo'she!!!" and as he spoke he changed

his shambling, skulking, dodging pace into a manly and

authoritative step, readjusted his cocked hat, and suffered his

brow to emerge from under it in all the pride of aristocracy,

like the sun from behind a cloud.

"To be sure, he canna but hae heard," said the good woman.

"Ay, to be sure it's impossible but I should," said Caleb; "and

sae I'll be the first to kiss ye, joe, and wish you, cooper,

much joy of your preferment, naething doubting but ye ken wha are

your friends, and HAVE helped ye, and CAN help ye. I thought

it right to look a wee strange upon it at first," added Caleb,

"just to see if ye were made of the right mettle; but ye ring

true, lad--ye ring true!"

So saying, with a most lordly air he kissed the women, and

abandoned his hand, with an air of serene patronage, to the

hearty shake of Mr. Girder's horn-hard palm. Upon this complete,

and to Caleb most satisfactory, information he did not, it may

readily be believed, hesitate to accept an invitation to a solemn

feast, to which were invited, not only all the NOTABLES of the

village, but even his ancient antagonist, Mr. Dingwall, himself.

At this festivity he was, of course, the most welcome and most

honoured guest; and so well did he ply the company with stories

of what he could do with his master, his master with the Lord

Keeper, the Lord Keeper with the council, and the council with

the king [queen], that before the company dismissed (which was,

indeed, rather at an early hour than a late one), every man of

note in the village was ascending to the top-gallant of some

ideal preferment by the ladder of ropes which Caleb had presented

to their imagination. Nay, the cunning butler regained in that

moment not only all the influence he possessed formerly over the

villagers, when the baronial family which he served were at the

proudest, but acquired even an accession of importance. The

writer--the very attorney himself, such is the thirst of

preferment--felt the force of the attraction, and taking an

opportunity to draw Caleb into a corner, spoke, with affectionate

regret, of the declining health of the sheriff-clerk of the

county.

"An excellent man--a most valuable man, Mr. Caleb; but fat sall

I say! we are peer feckless bodies, here the day and awa' by

cock-screech the morn; and if he failyies, there maun be somebody

in his place; and gif that ye could airt it my way, I sall be

thankful, man--a gluve stuffed wi gowd nobles; an' hark ye, man

something canny till yoursell, and the Wolf's Hope carles to

settle kindly wi' the Master of Ravenswood--that is, Lord

Ravenswood--God bless his lordship!"

A smile, and a hearty squeeze by the hand, was the suitable

answer to this overture; and Caleb made his escape from the

jovial party, in order to avoid committing himself by any special

promises.

"The Lord be gude to me," said Caleb, when he found himself in

the open air, and at liberty to give vent to the self-

exultation with which he was, as it were, distended; "did ever

ony man see sic a set of green-gaislings? The very pickmaws and

solan-geese out-bye yonder at the Bass hae ten times their sense!

God, an I had been the Lord High Commissioner to the Estates o'

Parliament, they couldna hae beflumm'd me mair; and, to speak

Heaven's truth, I could hardly hae beflumm'd them better neither!

But the writer--ha! ha! ha!--ah, ha! ha! ha! mercy on me, that I

suld live in my auld days to gie the ganag-bye to the very

writer! Sheriff-clerk!!! But I hae an auld account to settle

wi' the carle; and to make amends for bye-ganes, the office shall

just cost him as much time-serving and tide-serving as if he were

to get it in gude earnest, of whilk there is sma' appearance,

unless the Master learns mair the ways of this warld, whilk it is

muckle to be doubted that he never will do."

CHAPTER XXVI.

Why flames yon far summit--why shoot to the blast

Those embers, like stars from the firmament cast?

'Tis the fire-shower of ruin, all dreadfully driven

From thine eyrie, that beacons the darkness of Heaven.

CAMPBELL.

THE circumstances announced in the conclusion of the last

chapter will account for the ready and cheerful reception of the

Marquis of A---- and the Master of Ravenswood in the village of

Wolf's Hope. In fact, Caleb had no sooner announced the

conflagration of the tower than the whole hamlet were upon foot

to hasten to extinguish the flames. And although that zealous

adherent diverted their zeal by intimating the formidable

contents of the subterranean apartments, yet the check only

turned their assiduity into another direction. Never had there

been such slaughtering of capons, and fat geese, and barndoor

fowls; never such boiling of "reested" hams; never such making of

car-cakes and sweet scones, Selkirk bannocks, cookies, and

petticoat-tails--delicacies little known to the present

generation. Never had there been such a tapping of barrels, and

such uncorking of greybeards, in the village of Wolf's Hope. All

the inferior houses were thrown open for the reception of the

Marquis's dependants, who came, it was thought, as precursors of

the shower of preferment which hereafter was to leave the rest of

Scotland dry, in order to distil its rich dews on the village of

Wolf's Hope under Lammermoor. The minister put in his claim to

have the guests of distinction lodged at the manse, having his

eye, it was thought, upon a neighbouring preferment, where the

incumbent was sickly; but Mr. Balderstone destined that honour to

the cooper, his wife, and wife's mother, who danced for joy at

the preferences thus assigned them.

Many a beck and many a bow welcomed these noble guests to as

good entertainment as persons of such rank could set before such

visitors; and the old dame, who had formerly lived in Ravenswood

Castle, and knew, as she said, the ways of the nobility, was in

no whit wanting in arranging matters, as well as circumstances

permitted, according to the etiquette of the times. The

cooper's house was so roomy that each guest had his separate

retiring-room, to which they were ushered with all due ceremony,

while the plentiful supper was in the act of being placed upon

the table.

Ravenswood no sooner found himself alone than, impelled by a

thousand feelings, he left the apartment, the house, and the

village, and hastily retraced his steps to the brow of the hill,

which rose betwixt the village and screened it from the tower, in

order to view the final fall of the house of his fathers. Some

idle boys from the hamlet had taken the same direction out of

curiosity, having first witnessed the arrival of the coach and

six and its attendants. As they ran one by one past the Master,

calling to each other to "Come and see the auld tower blaw up in

the lift like the peelings of an ingan," he could not but feel

himself moved with indignation. "And these are the sons of my

father's vassals," he said--"of men bound, both by law and

gratitude, to follow our steps through battle, and fire, and

flood; and now the destruction of their liege lord's house is but

a holiday's sight to them"

These exasperating reflections were partly expresssed in the

acrimony with which he exclaimed, on feeling himself pulled by

the cloak: "What do you want, you dog?"

"I am a dog, and an auld dog too," answered Caleb, for it was he

who had taken the freedom, "and I am like to get a dog's wages;

but it does not signification a pinch of sneesing, for I am ower

auld a dog to learn new tricks, or to follow a new master."

As he spoke, Ravenswood attained the ridge of the hill from

which Wolf's Crag was visible; the flames had entirely sunk down,

and, to his great surprise, there was only a dusky reddening upon

the clouds immediately over the castle, which seemed the

reflection of the embers of the sunken fire.

"The place cannot have blown up," said the Master; "we must have

heard the report: if a quarter of the gunpowder was there you

tell me of, it would have been heard twenty miles off."

"It've very like it wad," said Balderstone, composedly.

"Then the fire cannot have reached the vaults?"

"It's like no," answered Caleb, with the same impenetrable

gravity.

"Hark ye, Caleb," said his master, "this grows a little too much

for my patience. I must go and examine how matters stand at

Wolf's Crag myself."

"Your honour is ganging to gang nae sic gate," said Caleb,

firmly.

"And why not?" said Ravenswood, sharply; "who or what shall

prevent me?"

"Even I mysell," said Caleb, with the same determination.

"You, Balderstone!" replied the Master; "you are forgetting

yourself, I think."

"But I think no," said Balderstone; "for I can just tell ye a'

about the castle on this knowe-head as weel as if ye were at it.

Only dinna pit yoursell into a kippage, and expose yoursell

before the weans, or before the Marquis, when ye gang down-bye."

"Speak out, you old fool," replied his master, "and let me know

the best and the worst at once."

"Ou, the best and the warst is, just that the tower is standing

hail and feir, as safe and as empty as when ye left it."

"Indeed! and the fire?" said Ravenswood.

"Not a gleed of fire, then, except the bit kindling peat, and

maybe a spunk in Mysie's cutty-pipe," replied Caleb.

"But the flame?" demanded Ravenswood--"the broad blaze which

might have been seen ten miles off--what occasioned that?"

"Hout awa'! it's an auld saying and a true--

Little's the light

Will be seen far in a mirk night.

A wheen fern and horse little that I fired in the courtyard,

after sending back the loon of a footman; and, to speak Heaven's

truth, the next time that ye send or bring ony body here, let

them ge gentles allenarly, without ony fremd servants, like that

chield Lockhard, to be gledging and gleeing about, and looking

upon the wrang side of ane's housekeeping, to the discredit of

the family, and forcing ane to damn their souls wi' telling ae

lee after another faster than I can count them: I wad rather set

fire to the tower in gude earnest, and burn it ower my ain head

into the bargain, or I see the family dishonoured in the sort."

"Upon my word, I am infinitely obliged by the proposal, Caleb,"

said his master, scarce able to to restrain his laughter, though

rather angry at the same time. "But the gunpowder--is there such

a thing in the tower? The Marquis seemed to know of it."

"The pouther, ha! ha! ha!--the Marquis, ha! ha! ha!" replied

Caleb,--"if your honour were to brain me, I behooved to laugh,--

the Marquis--the pouther! Was it there? Ay, it was there. Did

he ken o't? My certie! the Marquis kenn'd o't, and it was the

best o' the game; for, when I couldna pacify your honour wi' a'

that I could say, I aye threw out a word mair about the

gunpouther, and garr'd the Marquis tak the job in his ain hand."

"But you have not answered my question," said the Master,

impatiently; "how came the powder there, and where is it now?"

"Ou, it came there, an ye maun needs ken," said Caleb, looking

mysteriously, and whispering, "when there was like to be a wee

bit rising here; and the Marquis, and a' the great lords of the

north, were a' in it, and mony a gudely gun and broadsword were

ferried ower frae Dunkirk forbye the pouther. Awfu' work we had

getting them into the tower under cloud o' night, for ye maun

think it wasna everybody could be trusted wi' sic kittle jobs.

But if ye will gae hame to your supper, I will tell you a' about

it as ye gang down."

"And these wretched boys," said Ravenswood, "is it your pleasure

they are to sit there all night, to wait for the blowing up of a

tower that is not even on fire?"

"Surely not, if it is your honour's pleasure that they suld gang

hame; although," added Caleb, "it wadna do them a grain's

damage: they wad screigh less the next day, and sleep the

sounder at e'en. But just as your honour likes."

Stepping accordingly towards the urchins who manned the knolls

near which they stood, Caleb informed them, in an

authoritative tone, that their honours Lord Ravenswood and the

Marquis of A---- had given orders that the tower was not to be

blow up till next day at noon. The boys dispersed upon this

comfortable assurance. One or two, however, followed Caleb for

more information, particularly the urchin whom he had cheated

while officiating as turnspit, who screamed, "Mr. Balderstone!--

Mr. Balderstone! then the castle's gane out like an auld wife's

spunk?"

"To be sure it is, callant," said the butler; "do ye think the

castle of as great a lord as Lord Ravenswood wad continue in a

bleeze, and him standing looking on wi' his ain very een? It's

aye right," continued Caleb, shaking off his ragged page, and

closing in to his Master, "to train up weans, as the wise man

says, in the way they should go, and, aboon a', to teach them

respect to their superiors."

"But all this while, Caleb, you have never told me what became

of the arms and powder," said Ravenswood.

"Why, as for the arms," said Caleb, "it was just like the

bairn's rhyme--

Some gaed east and some gaed west,

And some gaed to the craw's nest.

And for the pouther, I e'en changed it, as occasion served, with

the skippers o' Dutch luggers and French vessels, for gin and

brandy, and is served the house mony a year--a gude swap too,

between what cheereth the soul of man and that which hingeth it

clean out of his body; forbye, I keepit a wheen pounds of it for

yoursell when ye wanted to take the pleasure o' shooting: whiles,

in these latter days, I wad hardly hae kenn'd else whar to get

pouther for your pleasure. And now that your anger is ower, sir,

wasna that weel managed o' me, and arena ye far better sorted

doun yonder than ye could hae been in your ain auld ruins up-bye

yonder, as the case stands wi' us now? the mair's the pity!"

"I believe you may be right, Caleb; but, before burning down my

castle, either in jest or in earnest," said Ravenswood, "I think

I had a right to be in the secret."

"Fie for shame, your honour!" replied Caleb; "it fits an auld

carle like me weel eneugh to tell lees for the credit of the

family, but it wadna beseem the like o' your honour's sell;

besides, young folk are no judicious: they cannot make the maist

of a bit figment. Now this fire--for a fire it sall be, if I

suld burn the auld stable to make it mair feasible--this fire,

besides that it will be an excuse for asking ony thing we want

through the country, or doun at the haven--this fire will settle

mony things on an honourable footing for the family's credit,

that cost me telling twenty daily lees to a wheen idle chaps and

queans, and, what's waur, without gaining credence."

"That was hard indeed, Caleb; but I do not see how this fire

should help your veracity or your credit."

"There it is now?" said Caleb; "wasna I saying that young folk

had a green judgment? How suld it help me, quotha? It will be a

creditable apology for the honour of the family for this score of

years to come, if it is weel guided. 'Where's the family

pictures?' says ae meddling body. 'The great fire at Wolf's

Crag,' answers I. 'Where's the family plate?' says another.

'The great fire,' says I; 'wha was to think of plate, when life

and limb were in danger?' 'Where's the wardrobe and the linens?-

-where's the tapestries and the decorements?--beds of state,

twilts, pands and testors, napery and broidered wark?' 'The

fire--the fire--the fire.' Guide the fire weel, and it will

serve ye for a' that ye suld have and have not; and, in some

sort, a gude excuse is better than the things themselves; for

they maun crack and wear out, and be consumed by time, whereas a

gude offcome, prudently and creditably handled, may serve a

nobleman and his family, Lord kens how lang!"

Ravenswood was too well acquainted with his butler's

pertinacity and self-opinion to dispute the point with him any

farther. Leaving Caleb, therefore, to the enjoyment of his own

successful ingenuity, he returned to the hamlet, where he found

the Marquis and the good women of the mansion under some anxiety-

-the former on account of his absence, the others for the

discredit their cookery might sustain by the delay of the supper.

All were now at ease, and heard with pleasure that the fire at

the castle had burned out of itself without reaching the vaults,

which was the only information that Ravenswood thought it proper

to give in public concerning the event of his butler's strategem.

They sat down to an excellent supper. No invitation could

prevail on Mr. and Mrs. Girder, even in their own house, to sit

down at table with guests of such high quality. They remained

standing in the apartment, and acted the part of respectful and

careful attendants on the company. Such were the manners of the

time. The elder dame, confident through her age and connexion

with the Ravenswood family, was less

scrupulously ceremonious. She played a mixed part betwixt that

of the hostess of an inn and the mistress of a private house, who

receives guests above her own degree. She recommended, and even

pressed, what she thought best, and was herself easily entreated

to take a moderate share of the good cheer, in order to encourage

her guests by her own example. Often she interrupted herself, to

express her regret that "my lord did not eat; that the Master was

pyking a bare bane; that, to be sure, there was naething there

fit to set before their honours; that Lord Allan, rest his saul,

used to like a pouthered guse, and said it was Latin for a tass

o' brandy; that the brandy came frae France direct; for, for a'

the English laws and gaugers, the Wolf's Hope brigs hadna

forgotten the gate to Dunkirk."

Here the cooper admonished his mother-in-law with his elbow,

which procured him the following special notice in the progress

of her speech:

"Ye needna be dunshin that gate, John [Gibbie]," continued the

old lady; "naebody says that YE ken whar the brandy comes

frae; and it wadna be fitting ye should, and you the Queen's

cooper; and what signifies't," continued she, addressing Lord

Ravenswood, "to king, queen, or kaiser whar an auld wife like me

buys her pickle sneeshin, or her drap brandy-wine, to haud her

heart up?"

Having thus extricated herself from her supposed false step,

Dame Loup-the-Dyke proceeded, during the rest of the evening, to

supply, with great animation, and very little assistance from her

guests, the funds necessary for the support of the conversation,

until, declining any further circulation of their glass, her

guests requested her permission to retire to their apartments.

The Marquis occupied the chamber of dais, which, in every house

above the rank of a mere cottage, was kept sacred for such high

occasions as the present. The modern finishing with plaster was

then unknown, and tapestry was confined to the houses of the

nobility and superior gentry. The cooper, therefore, who was a

man of some vanity, as well as some wealth, had imitated the

fashion observed by the inferior landholders and clergy, who

usually ornamented their state apartments with hangings of a sort

of stamped leather, manufactured in the Netherlands, garnished

with trees and aminals executed in copper foil, and with many a

pithy sentence of morality, which, although couched in Low Dutch,

were perhaps as much attended to in

practice as if written in broad Scotch. The whole had somewhat

of a gloomy aspect; but the fire, composed of old pitch-barrel

staves, blazed merrily up the chimney; the bed was decorated with

linen of most fresh and dazzling whiteness, which had never

before been used, and might, perhaps, have never been used at

all, but for this high occasion. On the toilette beside, stood

an old-fashioned mirror, in a fillagree frame, part of the

dispersed finery of the neighbouring castle. It was flanked by a

long-necked bottle of Florence wine, by which stood a glass

enarly as tall, resembling in shape that which Teniers usually

places in the hands of his own portrait, when he paints himself

as mingling in the revels of a country village. To

counterbalance those foreign sentinels, there mounted guard on

the other side of the mirror two stout warders of Scottish

lineage; a jug, namely, of double ale, which held a Scotch pint,

and a quaigh, or bicker, of ivory and ebony, hooped with silver,

the work of John Girder's own hands, and the pride of his heart.

Besides these preparations against thirst, there was a goodly

diet-loaf, or sweet cake; so that, with such auxiliaries, the

apartment seemed victualled against a siege of two or three days.

It only remains to say, that the Marquis's valet was in

attendance, displaying his master's brocaded nightgown, and

richly embroidered velvet cap, lined and faced with Brussels

lace, upon a huge leathern easy-chair, wheeled round so as to

have the full advantage of the comfortable fire which we have

already mentioned. We therefore commit that eminent person to

his night's repose, trusting he profited by the ample

preparations made for his accommodation--preparations which we

have mentioned in detail, as illustrative of ancient Scottish

manners.

It is not necessary we should be equally minute in

describing the sleeping apartment of the Master of Ravenswood,

which was that usually occupied by the goodman and goodwife

themselves. It was comfortably hung with a sort of warm-coloured

worsted, manufactured in Scotland, approaching in trexture to

what is now called shalloon. A staring picture of John [Gibbie]

Girder himself ornamented this dormiory, painted by a starving

Frenchman, who had, God knows how or why, strolled over from

Flushing or Dunkirk to Wolf's Hope in a smuggling dogger. The

features were, indeed, those of the stubborn, opinionative, yet

sensible artisan, but Monsieur had contrived to throw a French

grace into the look and manner, so utterly inconsistent with the

dogged gravity of the original, that it was impossible to look at

it without laughing. John and his family, however, piqued

themselves not a little upon this picture, and were

proportionably censured by the neighbourhood, who pronounced that

the cooper, in sitting for the same, and yet more in presuming to

hang it up in his bedchamber, had exceeded his privilege as the

richest man of the village; at once stept beyond the bounds of

his own rank, and encroached upon those of the superior orders;

and, in fine, had been guilty of a very overweening act of vanity

and presumption. Respect for the memory of my deceased friend,

Mr. Richard Tinto, has obliged me to treat this matter at some

length; but I spare the reader his prolix though curious

observations, as well upon the character of the French school as

upon the state of painting in Scotland at the beginning of the

18th century.

The other preparations of the Master's sleeping apartment were

similar to those in the chamber of dais.

At the usual early hour of that period, the Marquis of A---- and

his kinsman prepared to resume their journey. This could not be

done without an ample breakfast, in which cold meat and hot meat,

and oatmeal flummery, wine and spirits, and milk varied by every

possible mode of preparation, evinced the same desire to do

honour to their guests which had been shown by the hospitable

owners of the mansion upon the evening before. All the bustle of

preparation for departure now resounded through Wolf's Hope.

There was paying of bills and shaking of hands, and saddling of

horses, and harnessing of carriages, and distributing of drink-

money. The Marquis left a broad piece for the gratification of

John Girder's household, which he, the said John, was for some

time disposed to convert to his own use; Dingwall, the writer,

assuring him he was justified in so doing, seeing he was the

disburser of those expenses which were the occasion of the

gratification. But, notwithstanding this legal authority, John

could not find in his heart to dim the splendour of his late

hospitality by picketing anything in the nature of a gratuity.

He only assured his menials he would consider them as a damned

ungrateful pack if they bought a gill of brandy elsewhere than

out of his own stores; and as the drink-money was likely to go to

its legitimate use, he comforted himself that, in this manner,

the Marquis's donative would, without any impeachment of credit

and character, come ultimately into his own exclusive possession.

While arrangements were making for departure, Ravenswood made

blythe the heart of his ancient butler by informing him,

cautiously however (for he knew Caleb's warmth of imagination),

of the probably change which was about to take place in his

fortunes. He deposited with Balderstone, at the same time, the

greater part of his slender funds, with an assurance, which he

was obliged to reiterate more than once, that he himself had

sufficient supplies in certain prospect. He therefore enjoined

Caleb, as he valued his favour, to desist from all farther

maneouvres against the inhabitants of Wolf's Hope, their cellars,

poultry-yards, and substance whatsoever. In this prohibition,

the old domestic acquiesced more readily than his master

expected.

"It was doubtless," he said, "a shame, a discredit, and a sin to

harry the puir creatures, when the family were in

circumstances to live honourably on their ain means; and there

might be wisdom," he added, "in giving them a while's breathing-

time at any rate, that they might be the more readily brougth

forward upon his honour's future occasions."

This matter being settled, and having taken an affectionate

farewell of his old domestic, the Master rejoined his noble

relative, who was now ready to enter his carriage. The two

landladies, old and young, having received in all kindly greeting

a kiss from each of their noble guests, stood simpering at the

door of their house, as the coach and six, followed by its train

of clattering horsemen, thundered out of the village. John

Girder also stood upon his threshold, now looking at his honoured

right hand, which had been so lately shaken by a marquis and a

lord, and now giving a glance into the interior of his mansion,

which manifested all the disarray of the late revel, as if

balancing the distinction which he had attained with the

expenses of the entertainment.

At length he opened his oracular jaws. "Let every man and woman

here set about their ain business, as if there was nae sic thing

as marquis or master, duke or drake, laird or lord, in this

world. Let the house be redd up, the broken meat set bye, and if

there is ony thing totally uneatable, let it be gien to the puir

folk; and, gude mother and wife, I hae just ae thing to entreat

ye, that ye will never speak to me a single word, good or bad,

anent a' this nonsense wark, but keep a' your cracks about it to

yoursells and your kimmers, for my head is weel-nigh dung donnart

wi' it already."

As John's authority was tolerably absolute, all departed to

their usual occupations, leaving him to build castles in the air,

if he had a mind, upon the court favour which he had acquired by

the expenditure of his worldly substance.

CHAPTER XXVII.

Why, now I have Dame Fortune by the Forelock,

And if she escapes my grasp, the fault is mine;

He that hath buffeted with stern adversity

Best knows the shape his course to favouring breezes.

Old Play.

OUR travellers reach Edinburgh without any farther

adventure, and the Master of Ravenswood, as had been previously

settled, took up his abode with his noble friend.

In the mean time, the political crisis which had been expected

took place, and the Tory party obtained in the Scottish, as in

the English, councils of Queen Anne a short-lived

ascendency, of which it is not our business to trace either the

cause or consequences. Suffice it to say, that it affected the

different political parties according to the nature of their

principles. In England, many of the High Church party, with

Harley, afterwards Earl of Oxford, at their head, affected to

separate their principles from those of the Jacobites, and, on

that account, obtained the denomination of Whimsicals. The

Scottish High Church party, on the contrary, or, as they termed

themselves, the Cavaliers, were more consistent, if not so

prudent, in their politics, and viewed all the changes now made

as preparatory to calling to the throne, upon the queen's demise,

her brother the Chevalier de St. George. Those who had suffered

in his service now entertained the most unreasonable hopes, not

only of indemnification, but of vengeance upon their political

adversaries; while families attached to the Whig interest saw

nothing before them but a renewal of the hardships they had

undergone during the reigns of Charles the Second and his

brother, and a retaliation of the confiscation which had been

inflicted upon the Jacobites during that of King William.

But the most alarmed at the change of system was that prudential

set of persons, some of whom are found in all

governments, but who abound in a provincial administration like

that of Scotland during the period, and who are what Cromwell

called waiters upon Providence, or, in other words, uniform

adherents to the party who are uppermost. Many of these hastened

to read their recantation to the Marquis of A----; and, as it was

easily seen that he took a deep interest in the affairs of his

kinsman, the Master of Ravenswood, they were the first to suggest

measures for retrieving at least a part of his property, and for

restoring him in blood against his father's attainder.

Old Lord Turntippet professed to be one of the most anxious for

the success of these measures; for "it grieved him to the very

saul," he said, "to see so brave a young gentleman, of sic auld

and undoubted nobility, and, what was mair than a' that, a bluid

relation of the Marquis of A----, the man whom," he swore, "he

honoured most upon the face of the earth, brougth to so severe a

pass. For his ain puir peculiar," as he said, "and to

contribute something to the rehabilitation of sae auld ane

house," the said Turntippet sent in three family pictures lacking

the frames, and six high-backed chairs, with worked Turkey

cushions, having the crest of Ravenswood broidered thereon,

without charging a penny either of the principal or interest they

had cost him, when he bought them, sixteen years before, at a

roup of the furniture of Lord Ravenswood's lodgings in the

Canongate.

Much more to Lord Turntippet's dismay than to his surprise,

although he affected to feel more of the latter than the former,

the Marquis received his gift very drily, and observed, that his

lordship's restitution, if he expected it to be received by the

Master of Ravenswood and his friends, must comprehend a pretty

large farm, which, having been mortgaged to Turntippet for a very

inadequate sum, he had contrived, during the confusion of the

family affairs, and by means well understood by the lawyers of

that period, to acquire to himself in absolute property.

The old time-serving lord winced excessively under the

requisition, protesting to God, that he saw no occasion the lad

could have for the instant possession of the land, seeing he

would doubtless now recover the bulk of his estate from Sir

William Ashton, to which he was ready to contribute by every

means in his power, as was just and reasonable; and finally

declaring, that he was willing to settle the land on the young

gentleman after his own natural demise.

But all these excuses availed nothing, and he was compelled to

disgorge the property, on receiving back the sum for which it

had been mortgaged. Having no other means of making peace with

the higher powers, he returned home sorrowful and malcontent,

complaining to his confidants, "That every mutation or change in

the state had hitherto been productive of some sma' advantage to

him in his ain quiet affairs; but that the present had--pize upon

it!--cost him one of the best penfeathers o' his wing."

Similar measures were threatened against others who had profited

by the wreck of the fortune of Ravenswood; and Sir William

Ashton, in particular, was menaced with an appeal to the House of

Peers, a court of equity, against the judicial

sentences, proceeding upon a strict and severe construction of

the letter of the law, under which he held the castle and barony

of Ravenswood. With him, however, the Master, as well for Lucy's

sake as on account of the hospitality he had received from him,

felt himself under the necessity of proceeding with great

candor. He wrote to the late Lord Keeper, for he no longer held

that office, stating frankly the engagement which existed between

him and Miss Ashton, requesting his permission for their union,

and assuring him of his willingness to put the settlement of all

matters between them upon such a footing as Sir William himself

should think favourable.

The same messenger was charged with a letter to Lady Ashton,

deprecating any cause of displeasure which the Master might

unintentionally have given her, enlarging upon his attachment to

Miss Ashton, and the length to which it had proceeded, and

conjuring the lady, as a Douglas in nature as well as in name,

generously to forget ancient prejudices and misunderstandings,

and to believe that the family had acquired a friend, and she

herself a respectful and attached humble servant, in him who

subscribed himself, "Edgar, Master of Ravenswood."

A third letter Ravenswood addressed to Lucy, and the

messenger was instructed to find some secret and secure means of

delivering it into her own hands. It contained the strongest

protestations of continued affection, and dwelt upon the

approaching change of the writer's fortunes, as chiefly valuable

by tending to remove the impediments to their union. He related

the steps he had taken to overcome the prejudices of her parents,

and especially of her mother, and expressed his hope they might

prove effectual. If not, he still trusted that his absence from

Scotland upon an important and honourable mission might give time

for prejudices to die away; while he hoped and trusted Miss

Ashton's constancy, on which he had the most implicit reliance,

would baffle any effort that might be used to divert her

attachment. Much more there was, which, however interesting to

the lovers themselves, would afford the reader neither interest

nor information. To each of these three letters the Master of

Ravenswood received an answer, but by different means of

conveyance, and certainly couched in very different styles.

Lady Ashton answered his leetter by his own messenger, who was

not allowed to remain at Ravenswood a moment longer than she was

engaged in penning these lines. "For the hand of Mr.

Ravenswood of Wolf's Crag--These:

"SIR, UNKNOWN:

"I have received a letter, signed 'Edgar, Master of

Ravenswood,' concerning the writer whereof I am uncertain, seeing

that the honours of such a family were forfeited for high reason

in the person of Allan, late Lord Ravenswood. Sir, if you shall

happen to be the person so subscribing yourself, you will please

to know, that I claim the full interest of a parent in Miss Lucy

Ashton, which I have disposed of irrevocably in behalf of a

worthy person. And, sir, were this otherwise, I would not listen

to a proposal from you, or any of your house, seeing their hand

has been uniformly held up against the freedom of the subject and

the immunities of God's kirk. Sir, it is not a flightering blink

of prosperity which can change my constant opinion in this

regard, seeing it has been my lot before now, like holy David, to

see the wicked great in power and flourishing like a green bay-

tree; nevertheless I passed, and they were not, and the place

thereof knew them no more. Wishing you to lay these things to

your heart for your own sake, so far as they may concern you, I

pray you to take no farther notice of her who desires to remain

your unknown servant,

"MARGARET DOUGLAS,

"otherwise ASHTON."

About two days after he had received this very

unsatisfactory epistle, the Master of Ravenswood, while walking

up the High Street of Edinburgh, was jostled by a person, in

whom, as the man pulled off his hat to make an apology, he

recognized Lockhard, the confidential domestic of Sir William

Ashton. The man bowed, slipt a letter into his hand, and

disappeared. The packet contained four close-written folios,

from which, however, as is sometimes incident to the compositions

of great lawyers, little could be extracted, excepting that the

writer felt himself in a very puzzling predicament.

Sir William spoke at length of his high value and regard for his

dear young friend, the Master of Ravenswood, and of his very

extreme high value and regard for the Marquis of A----, his very

dear old friend; he trusted that any measures that they might

adopt, in which he was concerned, would be carred on with due

regard to the sanctity of decreets and judgments obtained in

foro contentioso; protesting, before men and angels, that if the

law of Scotland, as declared in her supreme courts, were to

undergo a reversal in the English House of Lords, the evils which

would thence arise to the public would inflict a greater wound

upon his heart than any loss he might himself sustain by such

irregular proceedings. He flourished much on generosity and

forgiveness of mutual injuries, and hinted at the mutability of

human affairs, always favourite topics with the weaker party in

politics. He pathetically lamented, and gently censured, the

haste which had been used in depriving him of his situation of

Lord Keeper, which his experience had enabled him to fill with

some advantage to the public, without so much as giving him an

opportunity of explaining how far his own views of general

politics might essentially differ from those now in power. He

was convinced the Marquis of A---- had as sincere intentions

towards the public as himself or any man; and if, upon a

conference, they could have agreed upon the measures by which it

was to be pursued, his experience and his interest should have

gone to support the present administration. Upon the engagement

betwixt Ravenswood and his daughter, he spoke in a dry and

confused manner. He regretted so premature a step as the

engagement of the young people should have been taken, and

conjured the Master to remember he had never given any

encouragement thereunto; and observed that, as a transaction

inter minores, and without concurrence of his daughter's

natural curators, the engagement was inept, and void in law.

This precipitate measure, he added, had produced a very bad

effect upon Lady Ashton's mind, which it was impossible at

present to remove. Her son, Colonel Douglas Ashton, had embraced

her prejudices in the fullest extent, and it was impossible for

Sir William to adopt a course disagreeable to them without a

fatal and irreconcilable breach in his family; which was not at

present to be thought of. Time, the great physician, he hoped,

would mend all.

In a postscript, Sir William said something more explicitly,

which seemed to intimate that, rather than the law of Scotland

should sustain a severe wound through his sides, by a reversal of

the judgment of her supreme courts, in the case of the barony of

Ravenswood, through the intervention of what, with all

submission, he must term a foreign court of appeal, he himself

would extrajudically consent to considerable sacrifices.

From Lucy Ashton, by some unknown conveyance, the Master

received the following lines: "I received yours, but it was at

the utmost risk; do not attempt to write again till better

times. I am sore beset, but I will be true to my word, while the

exercise of my reason is vouchsafed to me. That you are happy

and prosperous is some consolation, and my situation requires it

all." The note was signed "L.A."

This letter filled Ravenswood with the most lively alarm. He

made many attempts, notwithstanding her prohibition, to convey

letters to Miss Ashton, and even to obtain an interview; but his

plans were frustrated, and he had only the mortification to learn

that anxious and effectual precautions had been taken to prevent

the possibility of their correspondence. The Master was the

more distressed by these circumstances, as it became impossible

to delay his departure from Scotland, upon the important mission

which had been confided to him. Before his departure, he put Sir

William Ashton's letter into the hands of the Marquis of A----,

who observed with a smile, that Sir William's day of grace was

past, and that he had now to learn which side of the hedge the

sun had got to. It was with the greatest difficulty that

Ravenswood extorted from the Marquis a promise that he would

compromise the proceedings in Parliament, providing Sir William

should be disposed to acquiesce in a union between him and Lucy

Ashton.

"I would hardly," said the Marquis, "consent to your

throwing away your birthright in this manner, were I not

perfectly confident that Lady Ashton, or Lady Douglas, or

whatever she calls herself, will, as Scotchmen say, keep her

threep; and that her husband dares not contradict her."

"But yet," said the Master, "I trust your lordship will consider

my engagement as sacred."

"Believe my word of honour," said the Marquis, "I would be a

friend even to your follies; and having thus told you MY

opinion, I will endeavour, as occasion offers, to serve you

according to your own."

The master of Ravenswood could but thank his generous kinsman

and patron, and leave him full power to act in all his affairs.

He departed from Scotland upon his mission, which, it was

supposed, might detain him upon the continent for some months.

CHAPTER XXVIII.

Was ever woman in this humor wooed?

Was ever woman in this humour won?

I'll have her.

Richard III.

TWELVE months had passed away since the Master of

Ravenswood's departure for the continent, and, although his

return to Scotland had been expected in a much shorter space, yet

the affairs of his mission, or, according to a prevailing report,

others of a nature personal to himself, still detained him

abroad. In the mean time, the altered state of affairs in Sir

William Ashton's family may be gathered from the following

conversation which took place betwixt Bucklaw and his

confidential bottle companion and dependant, the noted Captain

Craigengelt. They were seated on either side of the huge

sepulchral-looking freestone chimney in the low hall at

Girnington. A wood fire blazed merrily in the grate; a round

oaken table, placed between them, supported a stoup of excellent

claret, two rummer glasses, and other good cheer; and yet, with

all these appliances and means to boot, the countenance of the

patron was dubious, doubtful, and unsatisfied, while the

invention of his dependant was taxed to the utmost to parry what

he most dreaded, a fit, as he called it, of the sullens, on the

part of his protector. After a long pause, only interrupted by

the devil's tattoo, which Bucklaw kept beating against the hearth

with the toe of his boot, Craigengelt at last ventured to break

silence. "May I be double distanced," said he, "if ever I saw a

man in my life have less the air of a bridegroom! Cut me out of

feather, if you have not more the look of a man condemned to be

hanged!"

"My kind thanks for the compliment," replied Bucklaw; "but I

suppose you think upon the predicament in which you yourself are

most likely to be placed; and pray, Captain Craigengelt, if it

please your worship, why should I look merry, when I'm sad, and

devilish sad too?"

"And that's what vexes me," said Craigengelt. "Here is this

match, the best in the whole country, andwhich were so anxious

about, is on the point of being concluded, and you are as sulky

as a bear that has lost its whelps."

"I do not know," answered the Laird, doggedly, "whether I should

conclude or not, if it was not that I am too far forwards to leap

back."

"Leap back!" exclaimed Craigengelt, with a well-assumed air of

astonishment, "that would be playing the back-game with a

witness! Leap back! Why, is not the girl's fortune----"

"The young lady's, if you please," said Hayston,

interrupting him.

"Well--well, no disrespect meant. Will Miss Ashton's tocher not

weigh against any in Lothian?"

"Granted," answered Bucklaw; "but I care not a penny for her

tocher; I have enough of my own."

"And the mother, that loves you like her own child?"

"Better than some of her children, I believe," said Bucklaw, "or

there would be little love wared on the matter."

"And Colonel Sholto Douglas Ashton, who desires the marriage

above all earthly things?"

"Because," said Bucklaw, "he expects to carry the county of ----

through my interest."

"And the father, who is as keen to see the match concluded as

ever I have been to win a main?"

"Ay," said Bucklaw, in the same disparaging manner, "it lies

with Sir William's policy to secure the next best match, since he

cannot barter his child to save the great Ravenswood estate,

which the English House of Lords are about to wrench out of his

clutches."

"What say you to the young lady herself?" said Craigengelt; "the

finest young woman in all Scotland, one that you used to be so

fond of when she was cross, and now she consents to have you,

and gives up her engagement with Ravenswood, you are for jibbing.

I must say, the devil's in ye, when ye neither know what you

would have nor what you would want."

"I'll tell you my meaning in a word," answered Bucklaw, getting

up and walking through the room; "I want to know what the devil

is the cause of Miss Ashton's changing her mind so

suddenly?"

"And what need you care," said Craigengelt, "since the change is

in your favour?"

"I'll tell you what it is," returned his patron, "I never knew

much of that sort of fine ladies, and I believe they may be as

capricious as the devil; but there is something in Miss Ashton's

change a devilish deal too sudden and too serious for a mere

flisk of her own. I'll be bound, Lady Ashton understands every

machine for breaking in the human mind, and there are as many as

there are cannon-bit, martingales, and cavessons for young

colts."

"And if that were not the case," said Craigengelt, "how the

devil should we ever get them into training at all?"

"And that's true too," said Bucklaw, suspending his march

through the dining-room, and leaning upon the back of a chair.

"And besides, here's Ravenswood in the way still, do you think

he'll give up Lucy's engagement?"

"To be sure he will," answered Craigengelt; "what good can it do

him to refuse, since he wishes to marry another woman and she

another man?"

"And you believe seriously," said Bucklaw, "that he is going to

marry the foreign lady we heard of?"

"You heard yourself," answered Craigengelt, "what Captain

Westenho said about it, and the great preparation made for their

blythesome bridal."

"Captain Westenho," replied Bucklaw, "has rather too much of

your own cast about, Craigie, to make what Sir William would call

a 'famous witness.' He drinks deep, plays deep, swears deep, and

I suspect can lie and cheat a little into the bargain; useful

qualities, Craigie, if kept in their proper sphere, but which

have a little too much of the freebooter to make a figure in a

court of evidence."

"Well, then," said Craigengelt, "will you believe Colonel

Douglas Ashton, who heard the Marquis of A---- say in a public

circle, but not aware that he was within ear-shot, that his

kinsman had made a better arrangement for himself than to give

his father's land for the pale-cheeked daughter of a broken-down

fanatic, and that Bucklaw was welcome to the wearing of

Ravenswood's shaughled shoes."

"Did he say so, by heavens!" cried Bucklaw, breaking out into

one of those incontrollable fits of passion to which he was

constitutionally subject; "if I had heard him, I would have torn

the tongue out of his throat before all his peats and minions,

and Highland bullies into the bargain. Why did not Ashton run

him through the body?"

"Capot me if I know," said the Captain. "He deserved it sure

enough; but he is an old man, and a minister of state, and there

would be more risk than credit in meddling with him. You had

more need to think of making up to Miss Lucy Ashton the disgrace

that's like to fall upon her than of interfering with a man too

old to fight, and on too high a tool for your hand to reach him."

"It SHALL reach him, though, one day," said Bucklaw, "and his

kinsman Ravenswood to boot. In the mean time, I'll take care

Miss Ashton receives no discredit for the slight they have put

upon her. It's an awkward job, however, and I wish it were

ended; I scarce know how to talk to her,--but fill a bumper,

Craigie, and we'll drink her health. It grows late, and a night-

cowl of good claret is worth all the considering-caps in Europe."

CHAPTER XXIX.

It was the copy of our conference.

In bed she slept not, for my urging it;

At board she fed not, for my urging it;

Alone, it was the subject of my theme;

In company I often glanced at it.

Comedy of Errors.

THE next morning saw Bucklaw and his faithful Achates,

Craigengelt, at Ravenswood Castle. They were most courteously

received by the knight and his lady, as well, as by their son

and heir, Colonel Ashton. After a good deal of stammering and

blushing--for Bucklaw, notwithstanding his audacity in other

matters, had all the sheepish bashfulness common to those who

have lived little in respectable society--he contrived at length

to explain his wish to be admitted to a conference with Miss

Ashton upon the subject of their approaching union. Sir William

and his son looked at Lady Ashton, who replied with the greatest

composure, "That Lucy would wait upon Mr. Hayston directly. I

hope," she added with a smile, "that as Lucy is very young, and

has been lately trepanned into an engagement of which she is now

heartily ashamed, our dear Bucklaw will excuse her wish that I

should be present at their interview?"

"In truth, my dear lady," said Bucklaw, "it is the very thing

that I would have desired on my own account; for I have been so

little accustomed to what is called gallantry, that I shall

certainly fall into some cursed mistake unless I have the

advantage of your ladyship as an interpreter."

It was thus that Bucklaw, in the perturbation of his

embarrassment upon this critical occasion, forgot the just

apprehensions he had entertained of Lady Ashton's overbearing

ascendency over her daughter's mind, and lost an opportunity of

ascertaining, by his own investigation, the real state of Lucy's

feelings.

The other gentlemen left the room, and in a shrot time Lady

Ashton, followed by her daughter, entered the apartment. She

appeared, as he had seen her on former occasions, rather

composed than agitated; but a nicer judge than he could scarce

have determined whether her calmness was that of despair or of

indifference. Bucklaw was too much agitated by his own feelings

minutely to scrutinise those of the lady. He stammered out an

unconnected address, confounding together the two or three topics

to which it related, and stopt short before he brought it to any

regular conclusion. Miss Ashton listened, or looked as if she

listened, but returned not a single word in answer, continuing to

fix her eyes on a small piece of embroidery on which, as if by

instinct or habit, her fingers were busily employed. Lady Ashton

sat at some distance, almost screened from notice by the deep

embrasure of the window in which she had placed her chair. From

this she whispered, in a tone of voice which, though soft and

sweet, had something in it of admonition, if not command: "Lucy,

my dear, remember--have you heard what Bucklaw has been saying?"

The idea of her mother's presence seemed to have slipped from

the unhappy girl's recollection. She started, dropped her

needle, and repeated hastily, and almost in the same breath, the

contradictory answers: "Yes, madam--no, my lady--I beg pardon, I

did not hear."

"You need not blush, my love, and still less need you look so

pale and frightened," said Lady Ashton, coming forward; "we know

that maiden's ears must be slow in receiving a gentleman's

language; but you must remember Mr. Hayston speaks on a subject

on which you have long since agreed to give him a favourable

hearing. You know how much your father and I have our hearts set

upon an event so extremely desirable."

In Lady Ashton's voice, a tone of impressive, and even stern,

innuendo was sedulously and skilfully concealed under an

appearance of the most affectionate maternal tenderness. The

manner was for Bucklaw, who was easily enough imposed upon; the

matter of the exhortation was for the terrified Lucy, who well

knew how to interpret her mother's hints, however skilfully their

real purport might be veiled from general observation.

Miss Ashton sat upright in her chair, cast round her a glance in

which fear was mingled with a still wilder expression, but

remained perfectly silent. Bucklaw, who had in the mean time

paced the room to and fro, until he had recovered his composure,

now stopped within two or three yards of her chair, and broke out

as follows: "I believe I have been a d--d fool, Miss Ashton; I

have tried to speak to you as people tell me young ladies like to

be talked to, and I don't think you comprehend what I have been

saying; and no wonder, for d--n me if I understand it myself!

But, however, once for all, and in broad Scotch, your father and

mother like what is proposed, and if you can take a plain young

fellow for your husband, who will never cross you in anything you

have a mind to, I will place you at the head of the best

establishment in the three Lothians; you shall have Lady

Girnington's lodging in the Canongate of Edinburgh, go where you

please, do what you please, and see what you please--and that's

fair. Only I must have a corner at the board-end for a worthless

old playfellow of mine, whose company I would rather want than

have, if it were not that the d--d fellow has persuaded me that I

can't do without him; and so I hope you won't except against

Craigie, although it might be easy to find much better company."

"Now, out upon you, Bucklaw," said Lady Ashton, again

interposing; "how can you think Lucy can have any objection to

that blunt, honest, good-natured creature, Captain Craigengelt?"

"Why, madam," replied Bucklaw, "as to Craigie's sincerity,

honesty, and good-nature, they are, I believe, pretty much upon a

par; but that's neither here nor there--the fellow knows my ways,

and has got useful to me, and I cannot well do without him, as I

said before. But all this is nothing to the purpose; for since I

have mustered up courage to make a plain proposal, I would fain

hear Miss Ashton, from her own lips, give me a plain answer."

"My dear Bucklaw," said Lady Ashton, "let me spare Lucy's

bashfulness. I tell you, in her presence, that she has already

consented to be guided by her father and me in this matter.

Lucy, my love," she added, with that singular combination of

suavity of tone and pointed energy which we have already noticed-

-"Lucy, my dearest love! speak for yourself, is it not as I say?"

Her victim answered in a tremulous and hollow voice: "I HAVE

promised to obey you--but upon one condition."

"She means," said Lady Ashton, turning to Bucklaw, "she expects

an answer to the demand which she has made upon the man at

Vienna, or Ratisbon, or Paris--or where is he?--for

restitution of the engagement in which he had the art to involve

her. You will not, I am sure, my dear friend, think it is wrong

that she should feel much delicacy upon this head; indeed, it

concerns us all."

"Perfetly right--quite fair," said Bucklaw, half humming, half

speaking the end of the old song--

"It is best to be off wi' the old love

Before you be on wi' the new.

But I thought," said he, pausing, "you might have had an answer

six times told from Ravenswood. D--n me, if I have not a mind to

go fetch one myself, if Miss Ashton will honour me with the

commission."

"By no means," said Lady Ashton; "we have had the utmost

difficulty of preventing Douglas, for whom it would be more

proper, from taking so rash a step; and do you think we could

permit you, my good friend, almost equally dear to us, to go to a

desperate man upon an errand so desperate? In fact, all the

friends of the family are of opinion, and my dear Lucy herself

ought so to think, that, as this unworthy person has returned no

answer to her letter, silence must on this, as in other cases,

be held to give consent, and a contract must be supposed to be

given up, when the party waives insisting upon it. Sir William,

who should know best, is clear upon this subject; and therefore,

my dear Lucy----"

"Madam," said Lucy, with unwonted energy, "urge me no farther;

if this unhappy engagement be restored, I have already said you

shall dispose of me as you will; till then I should commit a

heavy sin in the sight of God and man in doing what you

require."

"But, my love, if this man remains obstinately silent----"

"He will NOT be silent," answered Lucy; "it is six weeks since

I sent him a double of my former letter by a sure hand."

"You have not--you could not--you durst not," said Lady Ashton,

with violence inconsistent with the tone she had intended to

assume; but instantly correcting herself, "My dearest Lucy,"

said she, in her sweetest tone of expostulation, "how could you

think of such a thing?"

"No matter," said Bucklaw; "I respect Miss Ashton for her

sentiments, and I only wish I had been her messenger myself."

"And pray how long, Miss Ashton," said her mother,

ironically, "are we to wait the return of your Pacolet--your

fairy messenger--since our humble couriers of flesh and blood

could not be trusted in this matter?"

"I have numbered weeks, days, hours, and minutes," said Miss

Ashton; "within another week I shall have an answer, unless he is

dead. Till that time, sir," she said, addressing Bucklaw, "let

me be thus far beholden to you, that you will beg my mother to

forbear me upon this subject."

"I will make it my particular entreaty to Lady Ashton," said

Bucklaw. "By my honour, madam, I respect your feelings; and,

although the prosecution of this affair be rendered dearer to me

than ever, yet, as I am a gentleman, I would renounce it, were it

so urged as to give you a moment's pain."

"Mr. Hayston, I think, cannot comprehend that," said Lady

Ashton, looking pale with anger, "when the daughter's happiness

lies in the bosom of the mother. Let me ask you, Miss Ashton, in

what terms your last letter was couched?"

"Exactly in the same, madam," answered Lucy, "which you dictated

on a former occasion."

"When eight days have elapsed, then," said her mother, resuming

her tone of tenderness, "we shall hope, my dearest love, that you

will end this suspense."

"Miss Ashton must not be hurried, madam," said Bucklaw, whose

bluntness of feeling did not by any means arise from want of

good-nature; "messengers may be stopped or delayed. I have

known a day's journey broke by the casting of a foreshoe. Stay,

let me see my calendar: the twentieth day from this is St.

Jude's, and the day before I must be at Caverton Edge, to see the

match between the Laird of Kittlegirth's black mare and Johnston

the meal-monger's four-year-old-colt; but I can ride all night,

or Craigie can bring me word how the match goes; and I hope, in

the mean time, as I shall not myself dstress Miss Ashton with any

further importunity, that your ladyship yourself, and Sir

William, and Colonel Douglas will have the goodness to allow her

uninterrupted time for making up her mind."

"Sir," said Miss Ashton, "you are generous."

"As for that, madam," answered Bucklaw, "I only pretend to be a

plain, good-humoured young fellw, as I said before, who will

willingly make you happy if you will permit him, and show him how

to do so."

Having said this, he saluted her with more emotion than was

consistent with his usual train of feeling, and took his leave;

Lady Ashton, as she accompanied him out of the apartment,

assuring him thta her daughter did full justice to the sincerity

of his attachment, and requesting him to see Sir William before

his departure, "since," as she said, with a keen glance reverting

towards Lucy, "against St. Jude's day, we must all be ready to

SIGN AND SEAL."

"To sign and seal!" echoed Lucy, in a muttering tone, as the

door of the apartment closed--"to sign and seal--to do and die!"

and, clasping her extenuated hands together, she sunk back on

the easy-chair she occupied, in a state resembling stupor.

From this she was shortly after awakened by the boisterous entry

of her brother Henry, who clamorously reminded her of a promise

to give him two yards of carnation ribbon to make knots to his

new garters. With the most patient composure Lucy arose, and

opening a little ivory cabinet, sought out the ribbon the lad

waned, measured it accurately, cut it off into proper lengths,

and knotted it into the fashion his boyish whim required.

"Dinna shut the cabinet yet," said Henry, "for I must have some

of your silver wire to fasten the bells to my hawk's

jesses,--and yet the new falcon's not worth them neither; for do

you know, after all the plague we had to get her frm an eyrie,

all the way at Posso, in Mannor Water, she's going to prove,

after all, nothing better than a rifler: she just wets her

singles in the blood of the partridge, and then breaks away, and

lets her fly; and what good can the poor bird do after that, you

know, except pine and die in the first heather-cow or whin-bush

she can crawl into?"

"Right, Henry--right--very right," said Luch, mournfully,

holding the boy fast by the hand, after she had given him the

wire he wanted; "but there are more riflers in the world than

your falcon, and more wounded birds that seek but to die in

quiet, that can find neither brake nor whin-bush to hide their

head in."

"Ah! that's some speech out of your romances," said the boy;

"and Sholto says they have turned your head. But I hear Norman

whistling to the hawk; I must go fasten on the jesses."

And he scampered away with the thoughtless gaiety of

boyhood, leaving his sister to the bitterness of her own

reflections.

"It is decreed," she said, "that every living creature, even

those who owe me most kindness, are to shun me, and leave me to

those by whom I am beset. It is just it should be thus. Alone

and uncounselled, I involved myself in these perils; alone and

uncounselled, I must extricate myself or die."

CHAPTER XXX.

What doth ensue

But moody and dull melancholy,

Kinsman to grim and comfortless despair,

And at her heel, a huge infectious troop

Of pale distemperatures, and foes to life?

Comedy of Errors.

AS some vindication of the ease with which Bucklaw (who

otherwise, as he termed himself, was really a very good-humoured

fellow) resigned his judgment to the management of Lady Ashton,

while paying his addresses to her daughter, the reader must call

to mind the strict domestic discipline which, at this period, was

exercised over the females of a Scottish family.

The manners of the country in this, as in many other

respects, coincided with those of France before the Revolution.

Young women of the higher rank seldom mingled in society until

after marriage, and, both in law and fact, were held to be under

the strict tutelage of their parents, who were too apt to enforce

the views for their settlement in life without paying any regard

to the inclination of the parties chiefly interested. On such

occasions, the suitor expected little more from his bride than a

silent acquiescence in the will of her parents; and as few

opportunities of acquaintance, far less of intimacy, occurred, he

made his choice by the outside, as the lovers in the Merchant of

Venice select the casket, contented to trust to chance the issue

of the lottery in which he had hazarded a venture.

It was not therefore surprising, such being the general manners

of the age, that Mr. Hayston of Bucklaw, whom dissipated habits

had detached in some degree from the best society, should not

attend particularly to those feelings in his elected bride to

which many men of more sentiment, experience, and reflection

would, in all probability, have been equally indifferent. He

knew what all accounted the principal point, that her parents and

friends, namely, were decidedly in his favour, and that there

existed most powerful reasons for their predilection.

In truth, the conduct of the Marquis of A----, since

Ravenswood's departure, had been such as almost to bar the

possibility of his kinsman's union with Lucy Ashton. The Marquis

was Ravenswood's sincere but misjudging friend; or rather, like

many friends and patrons, he consulted what he considered to be

his relation's true interest, although he knew that in doing so

he run counter to his inclinations.

The Marquis drove on, therefore, with the plentitude of

ministerial authority, an appeal to the British House of Peers

against those judgments of the courts of law by which Sir William

became possessed of Ravenswood's hereditary property. As this

measure, enforced with all the authority of power, was new in

Scottish judicial proceedings, though now so frequently resorted

to, it was exclaimed against by the lawyers on the opposite side

of politics, as an interference with the civil judicature of the

country, equally new, arbitrary, and tyrannical. And if it thus

affected even strangers connected with them only by political

party, it may be guessed what the Ashton family themselves said

and thought under so gross a dispensation. Sir William, still

more worldly-minded than he was timid, was reduced to despair by

the loss by which he was threatened. His son's haughtier spirit

was exalted into rage at the idea of being deprived of his

expected patrimony. But to Lady Ashton's yet more vindictive

temper the conduct of Ravenswood, or rather of his patron,

appeared to be an offence challenging the deepest and most

immortal revenge. Even the quiet and confiding temper of Lucy

herself, swayed by the opinions expressed by all around her,

could not but consider the conduct of Ravenswood as precipitate,

and even unkind. "It was my father," she repeated with a sigh,

"who welcomed him to this place, and encouraged, or at least

allowed, the intimacy between us. Should he not have remembered

this, and requited it with at least some moderate degree of

procrastination in the assertion of his own alleged rights? I

would have forfeited for him double the value of these lands,

which he pursues with an ardour that shows he has forgotten how

much I am implicated in the matter."

Lucy, however, could only murmur these things to herself,

unwilling to increase the prejudices against her lover

entertained by all around her, who exclaimed against the steps

pursued on his account as illegal, vexatious, and tyrannical,

resembling the worst measures in the worst times of the worst

Stuarts, and a degradation of Scotland, the decisions of whose

learned judges were thus subjected to the review of a court

composed indeed of men of the highest rank, and who were not

trained to the study of any municipal law, and might be supposed

specially to hold in contempt that of Scotland. As a natural

consequence of the alleged injustice meditated towards her

father, every means was restored to, and every argument urged to

induce Miss Ashton to break off her engagement with Ravenswood,

as being scandalous, shameful, and sinful, formed with the mortal

enemy of her family, and calculated to add bitterness to the

distress of her parents.

Lucy's spirit, however, was high, and, although unaided and

alone, she could have borne much: she could have endured the

repinings of her father; his murmurs against what he called the

tyrannical usage of the ruling party; his ceaseless charges of

ingratitude against Ravenswood; his endless lectures on the

various means by which contracts may be voided an annulled; his

quotations from the civil, municipal, and the canon law; and his

prelections upon the patria potestas.

She might have borne also in patience, or repelled with scorn,

the bitter taunts and occasional violence of her brother,

Colonel Douglas Ashton, and the impertinent and intrusive

interference of other friends and relations. But it was beyond

her power effectually to withstand or elude the constant and

unceasing persecution of Lady Ashton, who, laying every other

wish aside, had bent the whol efforts of her powerful mind to

break her daughter's contract with Ravenswood, and to place a

perpetual bar between the lovers, by effecting Lucy's union with

Bucklaw. Far more deeply skilled than her husband in the

recesses of the human heart, she was aware that in this way she

might strike a blow of deep and decisive vengeance upon one whom

she esteemed as her mortal enemy; nor did she hestitate at

raising her arm, although she knew that the wound must be dealt

through the bosom of her daughter. With this stern and fixed

purpose, she sounded every deep and shallow of her daughter's

soul, assumed alternately every disguise of manner which could

serve her object, and prepared at leisure every species of dire

machinery by which the human mind can be wrenched from its

settled determination. Some of these were of an obvious

description, and require only to be cursorily

mentioned; others were characteristic of the time, the country,

and the persons engaged in this singular drama.

It was of the last consequence that all intercourse betwixt the

lovers should be stopped, and, by dint of gold and authority,

Lady Ashton contrived to possess herself of such a complete

command of all who were placed around her daughter, that, if

fact, no leaguered fortress was ever more completely blockaded;

while, at the same time, to all outward appearance Miss Ashton

lay under no restriction. The verge of her parents' domains

became, in respect to her, like the viewless and enchanted line

drawn around a fairy castle, where nothing unpermitted can either

enter from without or escape from within. Thus every letter, in

which Ravenswood conveyed to Lucy Ashton the indispensable

reasons which detained him abroad, and more than one note which

poor Lucy had addressed to him through what she thought a secure

channel, fell into the hands of her mother. It could not be but

that the tenor of these intercepted letters, especially those of

Ravenswood, should contain something to irritate the passions and

fortify the obstinacy of her into whose hands they fell; but Lady

Ashton's passions were too deep-rooted to require this fresh

food. She burnt the papers as regularly as she perused them; and

as they consumed into vapour and tinder, regarded them with a

smile upon her compressed lips, and an exultation in her steady

eye, which showed her confidence that the hopes of the writers

should soon be rendered equally unsubstantial.

It usually happens that fortune aids the machinations of those

who are prompt to avail themselves of every chance that offers.

A report was wafted from the continent, founded, like others of

the same sort, upon many plausible circumstances, but without any

real basis, stating the Master of Ravenswood to be on the eve of

marriage with a foreign lady of fortune and

distinction. This was greedily caught up by both the political

parties, who were at once struggling for power and for popular

favour, and who seized, as usual, upon the most private

circumstances in the lives of each other's partisans t convert

them into subjects of political discussion.

The Marquis of A---- gave his opinion aloud and publicly, not

indeed in the coarse terms ascribed to him by Captain

Craigengelt, but in a manner sufficiently offensive to the

Ashtons. "He thought the report," he said, "highly probably, and

heartily wished it might be true. Such a match was fitter and

far more creditable for a spirited young fellow than a marriage

with the daughter of an old Whig lawyer, whose chicanery had so

nearly ruined his father."

The other party, of course, laying out of view the

opposition which the Master of Ravenswood received from Miss

Ashton's family, cried shame upon his fickleness and perfidy, as

if he had seduced the young lady into an engagement, and wilfully

and causelessly abandoned her for another.

Sufficient care was taken that this report should find its way

to Ravenswood Castle through every various channel, Lady Ashton

being well aware that the very reiteration of the same rumour,

from so many quarters, could not but give it a semblance of

truth. By some it was told as a piece of ordinary news, by some

communicated as serious intelligence; now it was whispered to

Lucy Ashton's ear in the tone of malignant pleasantry, and now

transmitted to her as a matter of grave and serious warning.

Even the boy henry was made the instrument of adding to his

sister's torments. One morning he rushed into the room with a

willow branch in his hand, which he told her had arrived that

instant from Germany for her special wearing. Lucy, as we have

seen, was remarkably fond of her younger brother, and at that

moment his wanton and thoughtless unkindness seemed more keenly

injurious than even the studied insults of her elder brother.

Her grief, however, had no shade of resentment; she folded her

arms about the boy's neck, and saying faintly, "Poor Henry! you

speak but what they tell you" she burst into a flood of

unrestrained tears. The boy was moved, notwithstanding the

thoughtlessness of his age and character. "The devil take me,"

said he, "Lucy, if I fetch you any more of these tormenting

messages again; for I like you better," said he, kissing away the

tears, "than the whole pack of them; and you shall have my grey

pony to ride on, and you shall canter him if you like--ay, and

ride beyond the village, too, if you have a mind."

"Who told you," said Lucy, "that I am not permitted to ride

where I please?"

"That's a secret," said the boy; "but you will find you can

never ride beyond the village but your horse will cast a she, or

fall lame, or the catle bell will ring, or something will happen

to bring you back. But if I tell you more of these things,

Douglas will nto get me the pair of colours they have promised

me, and so good-morrow to you."

This dialogue plunged Lucy in still deeper dejection, as it

tended to show her plainly what she had for some time suspected,

that she was little better than a prisoner at large in her

father's house. We have described her in the outsdet of our

story as of a romantic disposition, delighting in tales of love

and wonder, and readily identifying herself with the situation of

those legendary heroines with whose adventures, for want of

better reading, her memory had become stocked. The fairy wand,

with which in her solitude she had delighted to raise visions of

enchantment, became now the rod of a magician, the bond slave pof

evil genii, serving only to invoke spectres at which the exorcist

trembled. She felt herself the object of suspicion, of scorn, of

dislike at least, if not of hatred, to her own family; and it

seemed to her that she was abandoned by the very person on whose

account she was exposed to the enmity of all around her. Indeed,

the evidence of Ravenswood's infidelity began to assume every day

a more determined character. A soldier of fortune, of the name

of Westenho, an old familiar of Craigengelt's, chanced to arrive

from abroad about this time. The worthy Captian, though without

any precise communication with Lady Ashton, always acted most

regularly and sedulously in support of her plans, and easily

prevailed upon his friend, by dint of exaggeration of real

circumstances and

coining of others, to give explicit testimony to the truth of

Ravenswood's approaching marriage.

Thus beset on all hands, and in a manner reduced to despair,

Lucy's temper gave way under the pressure of constant affliction

and persecution. She became gloomy and abstracted, and,

contrary to her natural and ordinary habit of mind, sometimes

turned with spirit, and even fierceness, on those by whom she was

long and closely annoyed. Her health also began to be shaken,

and her hectic cheek and wandering eye gave symptoms of what is

called a fever upon the spirits. In most mothers this would have

moved compassion; but Lady Ashton, compact and firm of purpose,

saw these waverings of health and intellect with no greater

sympathy than that with which the hostile engineer regards the

towers of a beleaguered city as they reel under the discharge of

his artillery; or rather, she considered these starts and

inequalities of temper as symptoms of Lucy's expiring resolution;

as the angler, by the throes and convulsive exertions of the fish

which he has hooked, becomes aware that he soon will be able to

land him. To accelerate the catastrophe in the present case,

Lady Ashton had recourse to an expedient very consistent with the

temper and credulity of those times, but which the reader will

probably pronounce truly detestable and diabolical.

CHAPTER XXXI.

In which a witch did dwell, in loathly weeds,

And wilful want, all careless of her deeds;

So choosing solitary to abide,

Far from all neighbours, that her devilish deeds

And hellish arts from people she might hide,

And hurt far off, unknown, whome'er she envied.

Faerie Queene.

THE health of Lucy Ashton soon required the assistance of a

person more skilful in the office of a sick-nurse than the female

domestics of the family. Ailsie Gourlay, sometimes called the

Wise Woman of Bowden, was the person whom, for her own strong

reasons, Lady Ashton selected as an attendant upon her daughter.

This woman had acquired a considerable reputation among the

ignorant by the pretended cures which she performed, especially

in "oncomes," as the Scotch call them, or mysterious diseases,

which baffle the regular physician. Her pharmacopoeia consisted

partly of herbs selected in planetary hours, partly of words,

signs, and charms, which sometimes, perhaps, produced a

favourable influence upon the imagination of her patients. Such

was the avowed profession of Luckie Gourlay, which, as may well

be supposed, was looked upon with a suspicious eye, not only by

her neighbours, but even by the clergy of the district. In

private, however, she traded more deeply in the occult sciences;

for, notwithstanding the dreadful punishments inflicted upon the

supposed crime of witchcraft, there wanted not those who, steeled

by want and bitterness of spirit, were willing to adopt the

hateful and dangerous character, for the sake of the influence

which its terrors enabled them to exercise in the vicinity, and

the wretched emolument which they could extract by the practice

of their supposed art.

Ailsie Gourlay was not indeed fool enough to acknowledge a

compact with the Evil One, which would have been a swift and

ready road to the stake and tar-barrel. Her fairy, she said,

like Caliban's, was a harmless fairy. Nevertheless, she "spaed

fortunes," read dreams, composed philtres, discovered stolen

goods, and made and dissolved matches as successfully as if,

according to the belief of the whole neighbourhood, she had been

aided in those arts by Beelzebub himself. The worst of the

pretenders to these sciences was, that they were generally

persons who, feeling themselves odious to humanity, were careless

of what they did to deserve the public hatred. Real crimes were

often committed under pretence of magical imposture; and it

somewhat relieves the disgust with which we read, in the criminal

records, the conviction of these wretches, to be aware that many

of them merited, as poisoners, suborners, and diabolical agents

in secret domestic crimes, the severe fate to which they were

condemned for the imaginary guilt of witchcraft.

Such was Aislie Gourlay, whom, in order to attain the absolute

subjugation of Lucy Ashton's mind, her mother thought it fitting

to place near her person. A woman of less consequence than Lady

Ashton had not dared to take such a step; but her high rank and

strength of character set her above the censure of the world, and

she was allowed to have seleced for her daughter's attendant the

best and most experienced sick-nurse and

"mediciner" in the neighbourhood, where an inferior person would

have fallen under the reproach of calling in the assistance of a

partner and ally of the great Enemy of mankind.

The beldam caught her cue readily and by innuendo, without

giving Lady Ashton the pain of distinct explanation. She was in

many respects qualified for the part she played, which indeed

could not be efficiently assumed without some knowledge of the

human heart and passions. Dame Gourlay perceived that Lucy

shuddered at her external appearance, which we have already

described when we found her in the death-chamber of blind Alice;

and while internally she hated the poor girl for the involuntary

horror with which she saw she was regarded, she commenced her

operations by endeavouring to efface or overcome those prejudices

which, in her heart, she resented as mortal offences. This was

easily done, for the hag's external ugliness was soon balanced by

a show of kindness and interest, to which Lucy had of late been

little accustomed; her attentive services and real skill gained

her the ear, if not the confidence, of her patient; and under

pretence of diverting the solitude of a sick-room, she soon led

her attention captive by the legends in which she was well

skilled, and to which Lucy's habit of reading and reflection

induced her to "lend an attentive ear." Dame Gourlay's tales

were at first of a mild and

interesting character--

Of fays that nightly dance upon the wold,

And lovers doom'd to wander and to weep,

And castles high, where wicked wizards keep

Their captive thralls.

Gradually, however, they assumed a darker and more

mysterious character, and became such as, told by the midnight

lamp, and enforced by the tremulous tone, the quivering and livid

lip, the uplifted skinny forefinger, and the shaking head of the

blue-eyed hag, might have appalled a less credulous imagination

in an age more hard of belief. The old Sycorax saw her

advantage, and gradually narrowed her magic circle around the

devoted victim on whose spirit she practised. Her legends began

to relate to the fortunes of the Ravenswood family, whose ancient

grandeur and portentous authority credulity had graced with so

many superstitious attributes. The story of the fatal fountain

was narrated at full length, and with formidable additions, by

the ancient sibyl. The prophecy, quoted by Caleb, concerning the

dead bride who was to be won by the last of the Ravenswoods, had

its own mysterious commentary; and the singular circumstance of

the apparition seen by the Master of Ravenswood in the forest,

having partly transpired through his hasty inquiries in the

cottage of Old Alice, formed a theme for many exaggerations.

Lucy might have despised these tales if they had been related

concerning another family, or if her own situation had been less

despondent. But circumstanced as she was, the idea that an evil

fate hung over her attachment became predominant over her other

feelings; and the gloom of superstition darkened a mind already

sufficiently weakned by sorrow, distress, uncertainty, and an

oppressive sense of desertion and desolation. Stories were told

by her attendant so closely resembling her own in their

circumstances, that she was gradually led to converse upon such

tragic and mystical subjects with the beldam, and to repose a

sort of confidence in the sibyl, whom she still regarded with

involuntary shuddering. Dame Gourlay knew how to avail herself

of this imperfect confidence. She directed Lucy's thoughts to

the means of inquiring into futurity--the surest mode perhaps, of

shaking the understanding and destroying the spirits. Omens were

expounded, dreams were interpreted, and other tricks of jugglery

perhaps resorted to, by which the pretended adepts of the period

deceived and fascinated their deluded followers. I find it

mentioned in the articles of dittay against Ailsie Gourlay--for

it is some comfort to know that the old hag was tried, condemned,

and burned on the top of North Berwick Law, by sentence of a

commission from the privy council--I find, I say, it was charged

against her, among other offences, that she had, by the aid and

delusions of Satan, shown to a young person of quality, in a

mirror glass, a gentleman then abroad, to whom the said young

person was betrothed, and who appeared in the vision to be in the

act of bestowing his hand upon another lady. But this and some

other parts of the record appear to have been studiously left

imperfect in names and dates, probably out of regard to the

honour of the families concerned. If Dame Gourlay was able

actually to play off such a piece of jugglery, it is clear she

must have had better assistance to practise the

deception than her own skill or funds could supply. Meanwhile,

this mysterious visionary traffic had its usual effect in

unsettling Miss Ashton's mind. Her temper became unequal, her

health decayed daily, her manners grew moping, melancholy, and

uncertain. her father, guessing partly at the cause of these

appearances, made a point of banishing Dame Gourlay from the

castle; but the arrow was shot, and was rankling barb-deep in the

side of the wounded deer.

It was shortly after the departure of this woman, that Lucy

Ashton, urged by her parents, announced to them, with a vivacity

by which they were startled, "That she was concious heaven and

earth and hell had set themselves against her union with

Ravenswood; still her contract," she said, "was a binding

contract, and she neither would nor could resign it without the

consent of Ravenswood. Let me be assured," she concluded, "that

he will free me from my engagement, and dispose of me as you

please, I care not how. When the diamonds are gone, what

signifies the casket?"

The tone of obstinacy with which this was said, her eyes

flashingt with unnatural light, and her hands firmly clenched,

precluded the possibility of dispute; and the utmost length which

Lady Ashton's art could attain, only got her the privilege of

dictating the letter, by which her daughter required to know of

Ravenswood whether he intended to abide by or to surrender what

she termed "their unfortuante engagement." Of this advantage

Lady Ashton so far and so ingeniously availed herself that,

according to the wording of the letter, the reader would have

supposed Lucy was calling upon her lover to renounce a contract

which was contrary to the interests and inclinations of both.

Not trusting even to this point of deception, Lady Ashton finally

determined to suppress the letter altogether, in hopes that

Lucy's impatience would induce her to condemn Ravenswood unheard

and in absence. In this she was disappointed. The time, indeed,

had long elapsed when an answer should have been received from

the continent. The faint ray of hope which still glimmered in

Lucy's mind was well nigh extinguished. But the idea never

forsook her that her letter might not have been duly forwarded.

One of her mother's new machinations unexpectedly furnished her

with the means of ascertaining what she most desired to know.

The female agent of hell having been dismissed from the castle,

Lady Ashton, who wrought by all variety of means,

resolved to employ, for working the same end on Lucy's mind, an

agent of a very different character. This was no other than the

Reverent Mr. Bide-the-Bent, a presbyterian clergyman, formerly

mentioned, of the very strictest order and the most rigid

orthodoxy, whose aid she called in, upon the principle of the

tyrant in the in the tragedy:

I'll have a priest shall preach her from her faith,

And make it sin not to renounce that vow

Which I'd have broken.

But Lady Ashton was mistaken in the agent she had selected. His

prejudices, indeed, were easily enlisted on her side, and it was

no difficult matter to make him regard with horror the prospect

of a union betwixt the daughter of a God-fearing, professing, and

Presbyterian family of distinction and the heir of a bloodthirsty

prelatist and persecutor, the hands of whose fathers had been

dyed to the wrists in the blood of God's saints. This resembled,

in the divine's opinion, the union of a Moabitish stranger with a

daughter of Zion. But with all the more severe prejudices and

principles of his sect, Bide-the-Bent possessed a sound judgment,

and had learnt sympathy even in that very school of presecution

where the heart is so frequently hardened. In a private

interview with Miss Ashton, he was deeply moved by her distress,

and could not but admit the justice of her request to be

permitted a direct communication with Ravenswood upon the subject

of their solemn contract. When she urged to him the great

uncertainty under which she laboured whether her letter had been

ever forwarded, the old man paced the room with long steps, shook

his grey head, rested repeatedly for a space on his ivory-headed

staff, and, after much hesitation, confessed that he thought her

doubts so reasonable that he would himself aid in the removal of

them.

"I cannot but opine, Miss Lucy," he said, "that your

worshipful lady mother hath in this matter an eagerness whilk,

although it ariseth doubtless from love to your best interests

here and hereafter, for the man is of persecuting blood, and

himself a persecutor, a Cavalier or Malignant, and a scoffer, who

hath no inheritance in Jesse; nevertheless, we are commanded to

do justice unto all, and to fulfil our bond and covenant, as well

to the stranger as to him who is in brotherhood with us.

Wherefore myself, even I myself, will be aiding unto the delivery

of your letter to the man Edgar Ravenswood, trusting that the

issue therof may be your deliverance from the nets in which he

hath sinfully engaged you. And that I may do in this neither

more nor less than hath been warranted by your honourable

parents, I pray you to transcribe, without increment or

subtraction, the letter formerly expeded under the dictation of

your right honourable mother; and I shall put it into such sure

course of being delivered, that if, honourable young madam, you

shall receive no answer, it will be necessary that you conclude

that the man meaneth in silence to abandon that naughty

contract, which, peradventure, he may be unwilling directly to

restore."

Lucy eagerly embraced the expedient of the worthy divine. A new

letter was written in the precise terms of the former, and

consigned by Mr. Bide-the-Bent to the charge of Saunders

Moonshine, a zealous elder of the church when on shore, and when

on board his brig as bold a smuggler as ever ran out a sliding

bowsprit to the winds that blow betwixt Campvere and the east

coast of Scotland. At the recommendation of his pastor, Saunders

readily undertook that the letter should be securely conveyed to

the Master of Ravenswood at the court where he now resided.

This retrospect became necessary to explain the conference

betwixt Miss Ashton, her mother, and Bucklaw which we have

detailed in a preceding chapter.

Lucy was now like the sailor who, while drifting through a

tempestuous ocean, clings for safety to a single plank, his

powers of grasping it becoming every moment more feeble, and the

deep darkness of the night only checkered by the flashes of

lightning, hissing as they show the white tops of the billows, in

which he is soon to be engulfed.

Week crept away after week, and day after day. St. Jude's day

arrived, the last and protracted term to which Lucy had limited

herself, and there was neither letter nor news of

Ravenswood.

CHAPTER XXXII.

How fair these names, how much unlike they look

To all the blurr'd subscriptions in my book!

The bridegroom's letters stand in row above,

Tapering, yet straight, like pine-trees in his grove;

While free and fine the bride's appear below,

As light and slender as her jessamines grow.

CRABBE.

ST. JUDE's day came, the term assigned by Lucy herself as the

furthest date of expectation, and, as we have already said,

there were neither letters from nor news of Ravenswood. But

there were news of Bucklaw, and of his trusty associate

Craigengelt, who arrived early in the morning for the completion

of the proposed espousals, and for signing the necessary deeds.

These had been carefully prepared under the revisal of Sir

William Ashton himself, it having been resolved, on account of

the state of Miss Ashton's health, as it was said, that none

save the parties immediately interested should be present when

the parchments were subscribed. It was further determined that

the marriage should be solemnised upon the fourth day after

signing the articles, a masure adopted by Lady Ashton, in order

that Lucy might have as little time as possible to recede or

relapse into intractability. There was no appearance, however,

of her doing either. She heard the proposed arrangement with the

calm indifference of despair, or rather with an apathy arising

from the oppressed and stupified state of her feelings. To an

eye so unobserving as that of Bucklaw, her demeanour had little

more of reluctance than might suit the character of a bashful

young lady, who, however, he could not disguise from himself, was

complying with the choice of her friends rather than exercising

any personal predilection in his favour.

When the morning compliment of the bridegroom had been paid,

Miss Ashton was left for some time to herself; her mother

remarking, that the deeds must be signed before the hour of noon,

in order that the marriage might be happy. Lucy suffered herself

to be attired for the occasion as the taste of her attendants

suggested, and was of course splendidly arrayed. Her dress was

composed of white satin and Brussels lace, and her hair arranged

with a profusion of jewels, whose lustre made a strange contrast

to the deadly paleness of her complexion, and to the trouble

which dwelt in her unsettled eye.

Her toilette was hardly finished ere Henry appeared, to conduct

the passive bride to the state apartment, where all was prepared

for signing the contract. "Do you know, sister," he said, "I am

glad you are to have Bucklaw after all, instead of Ravenswood,

who looked like a Spanish grandee come to cute our throats and

trample our bodies under foot. And I am glad the broad seas are

between us this day, for I shall never forget how frightened I

was when I took him for the picture of old Sir Malise walked out

of the canvas. Tell me true, are you not glad to be fairly shot

of him?"

"Ask me no questions, dear Henry," said his unfortunate sister;

"there is little more can happen to make me either glad or sorry

in this world."

"And that's what all young brides say," said Henry; "and so do

not be cast down, Lucy, for you'll tell another tale a

twelvemonth hence; and I am to be bride's-man, and ride before

you to the kirk; and all our kith, kin, and allies, and all

Bucklaw's, are to be mounted and in order; and I am to have a

scarlet laced coat, and a feathered hat, and a swordbelt, double

bordered with gold, and point d'Espagne, and a dagger instead

of a sword; and I should like a sword much better, but my father

won't hear of it. All my things, and a hundred besides, are to

come out from Edinburgh to-night with old Gilbert and the sumpter

mules; and I will bring them and show them to you the instant

they come."

The boy's chatter was here interrupted by the arrival of Lady

Ashton, somewhat alarmed at her daughter's stay. With one of her

sweetest smiles, she took Lucy's arm under her own.

There were only present, Sir William Ashton and Colonel Douglas

Ashton, the last in full regimentals; Bucklaw, in bridegroom

trim; Craigengelt, freshly equipt from top to toe by the bounty

of his patron, and bedizened with as much lace as might have

become the dress of the Copper Captain; together with the Rev.

Mr. Bide-the-Bent; the presence of a minister being, in strict

Presbyterian families, an indispensable requisite upon all

occasions of unusual solemnity.

Wines and refreshments were placed on a table, on which the

writings were displayed, ready for signature.

But before proceeding either to business or refreshment, Mr.

Bide-the-Bent, at a signal from Sir William Ashton, invited the

company to join him in a short extemporary prayer, in which he

implored a blessing upon the contract now to be solemnised

between the honourable parties then present. With the simplicity

of his times and profession, which permitted strong personal

allusions, he petitioned that the wounded mind of one of these

noble parties might be healed, in reward of her compliance with

the advice of her right honourable parents; and that, as she had

proved herself a child after God's commandment, by honouring her

father and mother, she and hers might enjoy the promised

blessing--length of days in the land here, and a happy portion

hereafter in a better country. He prayed farther, that the

bridegroom might be weaned from those follies which seduced youth

from the path of knowledge; that he might cease to take delight

in vain and unprofitable company, scoffers, rioters, and those

who sit late at the wine (here Bucklaw winked at Craigengelt),

and cease from the society that causeth to err. A suitable

supplication in behalf of Sir William and Lady Ashton and their

family concluded this religious address, which thus embraced

every individual present excepting Craigengelt, whom the worthy

divine probably considered as past all hopes of grace.

The business of the day now went forward: Sir William Ashton

signed the contract with legal solemnity and precision; his son,

with military nonchalance; and Bucklaw, having

subscribed as rapidly as Craigengelt could manage to turn the

leaves, concluded by wiping his pen on that worthy's new laced

cravat. It was now Miss Ashton's turn to sign the writings, and

she was guided by her watchful mother to the table for that

purpose. At her first attempt, she began to write with a dry

pen, and when the circumstance was pointed out, seemed unable,

after several attempts, to dip it in the massive silver ink-

standish, which stood full before her. Lady Ashton's vigilance

hastened to supply the deficiency. I have myself seen the fatal

deed, and in the distinct characters in which the name of Lucy

Ashton is traced on each page there is only a very slight

tremulous

irregularity, indicative of her state of mind at the time of the

subscription. But the last signature is incomplete, defaced, and

blotted; for, while her hand was employed in tracing it, the

hasty tramp of a horse was heard at the gate, succeeded by a step

in the outer gallery, and a voice which, in a commanding tone,

bore down the opposition of the menials. The pen dropped from

Lucy's fingers, as she exclaimed with a faint shriek: "He is

come--he is come!"

CHAPTER XXXIII.

This by his tongue should be a Montague!

Fetch me my rapier, boy;

Now, by the faith and honour of my kin,

To strike him dead I hold it not a sin.

Romeo and Juliet.

HARDLY had Miss Ashton dropped the pen, when the door of the

apartment flew open, and the Master of Ravenswood entered the

apartment.

Lockhard and another domestic, who had in vain attempted to

oppose his passage through the gallery or antechamber, were seen

standing on the threshold transfixed with surprise, which was

instantly communicated to the whole party in the staterroom.

That of Colonel Douglas Ashton was mingled with resentment; that

of Bucklaw with haughty and affected indifference; the rest, even

Lady Ashton herself, showed signs of fear; and Lucy seemed

stiffened to stone by this unexpected apparition. Apparition it

might well be termed, for Ravenswood had more the appearance of

one returned from the dead than of a living visitor.

He planted himself full in the middle of the apartment, opposite

to the table at which Lucy was seated, on whom, as if she had

been alone in the chamber, he bent his eyes with a mingled

expression of deep grief and deliberate indignation. His dark-

coloured riding cloak, displaced from one shoulder, hung around

one side of his person in the ample folds of the Spanish mantle.

The rest of his rich dress was travel-soiled, and

deranged by hard riding. He had a sword by his side, and pistols

in his belt. His slouched hat, which he had not removed at

entrance, gave an additional gloom to his dark features, which,

wasted by sorrow and marked by the ghastly look communicated by

long illness, added to a countenance naturally somewhat stern and

wild a fierce and even savage expression. The matted and

dishevelled locks of hair which escaped from under his hat,

together with his fixed and unmoved posture, made his head more

resemble that of a marble bust than that of a living man. He

said not a single word, and there was a deep silence in the

company for more than two minutes.

It was broken by Lady Ashton, who in that space partly recovered

her natural audacity. She demanded to know the cause of this

unauthorised intrusion.

"That is a question, madam," said her son, "which I have the

best right to ask; and I must request of the Master of Ravenswood

to follow me where he can answer it at leisure."

Bucklaw interposed, saying, "No man on earth should usurp his

previous right in demanding an explanation from the Master.

Craigengelt," he added, in an undertone, "d--n ye, why do you

stand staring as if you saw a ghost? fetch me my sword from the

gallery."

"I will relinquish to none," said Colonel Ashton, "my right of

calling to account the man who has offered this unparalleled

affront to my family."

"Be patient, gentlemen," said Ravenswood, turning sternly

towards them, and waving his hand as if to impose silence on

their altercation. "If you are as weary of your lives as I am,

I will find time and place to pledge mine against one or both;

at present, I have no leisure for the disputes of triflers."

"Triflers!" echoed Colonel Ashton, half unsheathing his sword,

while Bucklaw laid his hand on the hilt of that which

Craigengelt had just reached him.

Sir William Ashton, alarmed for his son's safety, rushed between

the young men and Ravenswood, exclaiming: "My son, I command you-

-Bucklaw, I entreat you--keep the peace, in the name of the Queen

and of the law!"

"In the name of the law of God," said Bide-the-Bent,

advancing also with uplifted hands between Bucklaw, the Colonel,

and the object of their resentment--"in the name of Him who

brought peace on earth and good-will to mankind, I implore--I

beseech--I command you to forbear violence towards each other!

God hateth the bloodthirsty man; he who striketh with the sword

shall perish with the sword."

"Do you take me for a dog, sir" said Colonel Ashton, turning

fiercely upon him, "or something more brutally stupid, to endure

this insult in my father's house? Let me go, Bucklaw! He shall

account to me, or, by Heavens, I will stab him where he stands!"

"You shall not touch him here," said Bucklaw; "he once gave me

my life, and were he the devil come to fly away with the whole

house and generation, he shall have nothing but fair play."

The passions of the two young men thus counteracting each other

gave Ravenswood leisure to exclaim, in a stern and steady voice:

"Silence!--let him who really seeks danger take the fitting time

when it is to be found; my mission here will be shortly

accomplished. Is THAT your handwriting, madam?" he added in a

softer tone, extending towards Miss Ashton her last letter.

A faltering "Yes" seemed rather to escape from her lips than to

be uttered as a voluntary answer.

"And is THIS also your handwriting?" extending towards her the

mutual engagement.

Lucy remained silent. Terror, and a yet stronger and more

confused feeling, so utterly disturbed her understanding that she

probably scarcely comprehended the question that was put to her.

"If you design," said Sir William Ashton, "to found any legal

claim on that paper, sir, do not expect to receive any answer to

an extrajudicial question."

"Sir William Ashton," said Ravenswood, "I pray you, and all who

hear me, that you will not mistake my purpose. If this young

lady, of her own free will, desires the restoration of this

contract, as her letter would seem to imply, there is not a

withered leaf which this autumn wind strews on the heath that is

more valueless in my eyes. But I must and will hear the truth

from her own mouth; without this satisfaction I will not leave

this spot. Murder me by numbers you possibly may; but I am an

armed man--I am a desperate man, and I will nto die without ample

vengeance. This is my resolution, take it as you may. I WILL

hear her determination from her own mouth; from her own mouth,

alone, and without witnesses, will I hear it. Now, choose," he

said, drawing his sword with the right hand, and, with the left,

by the same motion taking a pistol from his belt and cocking it,

but turning the point of one weapon and the muzzle of the other

to the ground--"choose if you will have this hall floated with

blood, or if you will grant me the decisive interview with my

affianced bride which the laws of God and the country alike

entitle me to demand."

All recoiled at the sound of his voice and the determined action

by which it was accompanied; for the ecstasy of real desperation

seldom fails to overpower the less energetic

passions by which it may be opposed. The clergyman was the first

to speak. "In the name of God," he said, "receive an overture of

peace from the meanest of His servants. What this honourable

person demands, albeit it is urged with over violence, hath yet

in it something of reason. Let him hear from Miss Lucy's own

lips that she hath dutifully acceded to the will of her parents,

and repenteth her of her covenant with him; and when he is

assured of this he will depart in peace unto his own dwelling,

and cumber us no more. Alas! the workings of the ancient Adam

are strong even in the regenerate; surely we should have long-

suffering with those who, being yet in the gall of bitterness and

bond of iniquity, are swept forward by the uncontrollable current

of worldly passion. Let, then, the Master of Ravenswood have the

interview on which he insisteth; it can but be as a passing pang

to this honourable maiden, since her faith is now irrevocably

pledged to the choice of her parents. Let it, I say, be this: it

belongeth to my functions to entreat your honours' compliance

with this headling overture."

"Never!" answered Lady Ashton, whose rage had now overcome her

first surprise and terror--"never shall this man speak in

private with my daughter, the affianced bride of another! pass

from this room who will, I remain here. I fear neither his

violence nor his weapons, though some, " she said, glancing a

look towards Colonel Ashton, "who bear my name appear more moved

by them."

"For God's sake, madam," answered the worthy divine, "add not

fuel to firebrands. The Master of Ravenswood cannot, I am sure,

object to your presence, the young lady's state of health being

considered, and your maternal duty. I myself will also tarry;

peradventure my grey hairs may turn away wrath."

"You are welcome to do so, sir," said Ravenswood; "and Lady

Ashton is also welcome to remain, if she shall think proper; but

let all others depart."

"Ravenswood," said Colonel Ashton, crossing him as he went out,

"you shall account for this ere long."

"When you please," replied Ravenswood.

"But I," said Bucklaw, with a half smile, "have a prior demand

on your leisure, a claim of some standing."

"Arrange it as you will," said Ravenswood; "leave me but this

day in peace, and I will have no dearer employment on earth to-

morrow than to give you all the satisfaction you can desire."

The other gentlemen left the apartment; but Sir William Ashton

lingered.

"Master of Ravenswood," he said, in a conciliating tone, "I

think I have not deserved that you should make this scandal and

outrage in my family. If you will sheathe your sword, and retire

with me into my study, I will prove to you, by the most

satisfactory arguments, the inutility of your present irregular

procedure----"

"To-morrow, sir--to-morrow--to-morrow, I will hear you at

length," reiterated Ravenswood, interrupting him; "this day hath

its own sacred and indispensable business."

He pointed to the door, and Sir William left the apartment.

Ravenswood sheathed his sword, uncocked and returned his pistol

to his belt; walked deliberately to the door of the apartment,

which he bolted; returned, raised his hat from his forehead, and

gazing upon Lucy with eyes in which an expression of sorrow

overcame their late fierceness, spread his dishevelled locks back

from his face, and said, "Do you know me, Miss

Ashton? I am still Edgar Ravenswood." She was silent, and he

went on with increasing vehemence: "I am still that Edgar

Ravenswood who, for your affection, renounced the dear ties by

which injured honour bound him to seek vengeance. I am that

Ravenswood who, for your sake, forgave, nay, clasped hands in

friendship with, the oppressor and pillager of his house, the

traducer and murderer of his father."

"My daughter," answered Lady Ashton, interrupting him, "has no

occasion to dispute the identity of your person; the venom of

your present language is sufficient to remind her that she

speaks with the moral enemy of her father."

"I pray you to be patient, madam," answered Ravenswood; "my

answer must come from her own lips. Once more, Miss Lucy Ashton,

I am that Ravenswood to whom you granted the solemn engagement

which you now desire to retract and cancel."

Lucy's bloodless lips could only falter out the words, "It was

my mother."

"She speaks truly," said Lady Ashton, "it WAS I who,

authorised alike by the laws of God and man, advised her, and

concurred with her, to set aside an unhappy and precipitate

engagement, and to annul it by the authority of Scripture

itself."

"Scripture!" said Ravenswood, scornfully.

"Let him hear the text," said Lady Ashton, appealing to the

divine, "on which you yourself, with cautious reluctance,

declared the nullity of the pretended engagement insisted upon by

this violent man."

The clergyman took his clasped Bible from his pocket, and read

the following words: "If a woman vow a vow unto the Lord, and

bind herself by a bond, being in her father's house in her

youth, and her father hear her vow, and her bond wherewith she

hath bound her soul, and her father shall hold his peace at her;

then all her vows shall stand, and every vow wherewith she hath

bound her soul shall stand."

"And was it not even so with us?" interrrupted Ravenswood.

"Control thy impatience, young man," answered the divine, "and

hear what follows in the sacred text: 'But if her father

disallow her in the day that he heareth, not any of her vows, or

of her bonds wherewith she hath bound her soul, shall stand; and

the Lord shall forgive her, because her father disallowed her."

"And was not," said Lady Ashton, fiercely and triumphantly

breaking in--"was not ours the case stated in the Holy Writ?

Will this person deny, that the instant her parents heard of the

vow, or bond, by which our daughter had bound her soul, we

disallowed the same in the most express terms, and informed him

by writing of our determination?"

"And is this all?" said Ravenswood, looking at Lucy. "Are you

willing to barter sworn faith, the exercise of free will, and

the feelings of mutual affection to this wretched hypocritical

sophistry?"

"Hear him!" said Lady Ashton, looking to the clergyman--"hear

the blasphemer!"

"May God forgive him," said Bide-the-Bent, "and enlighten his

ignorance!"

"Hear what I have sacrificed for you," said Ravenswood, still

addressing Lucy, "ere you sanction what has been done in your

name. The honour of an ancient family, the urgent advice of my

best friends, have been in vain used to sway my resolution;

neither the arguments of reason nor the portents of superstition

have shaken my fidelity. The very dead have arisen to warn me,

and their warning has been despised. Are you

prepared to pierce my heart for its fidelity with the very weapon

which my rash confidence entrusted to your grasp?"

"Master of Ravenswood," said Lady Ashton, "you have asked what

questions you thought fit. You see the total incapacity of my

daughter to answer you. But I will reply for her, and in a

manner which you cannot dispute. You desire to know whether Lucy

Ashton, of her own free will, desires to annual the engagement

into which she has been trepanned. You have her letter under her

own hand, demanding the surrender of it; and, in yet more full

evidence of her purpose, here is the contract which she has this

morning subscribed, in presence of this reverence gentleman, with

Mr. Hayston of Bucklaw."

Ravenswood gazed upon the deed as if petrified. "And it was

without fraud or compulsion," said he, looking towards the

clergyman, "that Miss Ashton subscribed this parchment?"

"I couch it upon my sacred character."

"This is indeed, madam, an undeniable piece of evidence," said

Ravenswood, sternly; "and it will be equally unnecessary and

dishonourable to waste another word in useless remonstrance or

reproach. There, madam," he said, laying down before Lucy the

signed paper and the broken piece of gold--"there are the

evidences of your first engagement; may you be more faithful to

that which you have just formed. I will trouble you to return

the corresponding tokens of my ill-placed confidence; I ought

rather to say, of my egregious folly."

Lucy returned the scornful glance of her lover with a gaze from

which perception seemed to have been banisshed; yet she seemed

partly to have understood his meaning, for she raised her hands

as if to undo a blue ribbon which she wore around her neck. She

was unable to accomplish her purpose, but Lady Ashton cut the

ribbon asunder, and detached the broken piece of gold, which Miss

Ashton had till then worn concealed in her bosom; the written

counterpart of the lovers' engagement she for some time had had

in her own possession. With a haughty courtesy, she delivered

both to Ravenswood, who was much

softened when he took the piece of gold.

"And she could wear it thus," he said, speaking to himself--

"could wear it in her very bosom--could wear it next to her

heart--even when---- But complain avails not," he said, dashing

from his eye the tear which had gathered in it, and resuming the

stern composure of his manner. He strode to the chimney, and

threw into the fire the paper and piece of gold, stamping upon

the coals with the heel of his boot, as if to ensure their

destruction. "I will be no longer," he then said, "an intruder

here. Your evil wishes, and your worse offices, Lady Ashton, I

will only return by hoping these will be your last machinations

against your daughter's honour and happiness. And to you,

madam," he said, addressing Lucy, "I have nothing farther to say,

except to pray to God that you may not become a world's wonder

for this act of wilful and deliberate perjury." Having uttered

these words, he turned on his heel and left the apartment.

Sir William Ashton, by entreaty and authority, had detained his

son and Bucklaw in a distant part of the castle, in order to

prevent their again meeting with Ravenswood; but as the Master

descended the great staircase, Lockhard delivered him a billet,

signed "Sholto Douglas Ashton," requesting to know where the

Master of Ravenswood would be heard of four or five days from

hence, as the writer had business of weight to settle with him,

so soon as an important family event had taken place.

"Tell Colonel Ashton," said Ravenswood, composedly, "I shall be

found at Wolf's Crag when his leisure serves him."

As he descended the outward stair which led from the

terrace, he was a second time interrupted by Craigengelt, who, on

the part of his principal, the Laird of Bucklaw, expressed a

hope that Ravenswood would not leave Scotland within ten days at

least, as he had both former and recent civilities for which to

express his gratitude.

"Tell your master," said Ravenswood, fiercely, "to choose his own

time. He will find me at Wolf's Crag, if his purpose is not

forestalled."

"MY master!" replied Craigengelt, encouraged by seeing Colonel

Ashton and Bucklaw at the bottom of the terrace. "Give me leave

to say I know of no such person upon earth, nor will I permit

such language to be used to me!"

"Seek your master, then, in hell!" exclaimed Ravenswood, giving

way to the passion he had hitherto restrained, and

throwing Craigengelt from him with such violence that he rolled

down the steps and lay senseless at the foot of them. "I am a

fool," he instantly added, "to vent my passion upon a caitiff so

worthless."

He then mounted his horse, which at his arrival he had secured

to a balustrade in front of the castle, rode very slowly past

Bucklaw and Colonel Ashton, raising his hat as he passed each,

and looking in their faces steadily while he offered this mute

salutation, which was returned by both with the same stern

gravity. Ravenswood walked on with equal deliberation until he

reached the head of the avenue, as if to show that he rather

courted than avoided interruption. When he had passed the upper

gate, he turned his horse, and looked at the castle with a fixed

eye; then set spurs to his good steed, and departed with the

speed of a demon dismissed by the exorcist.

CHAPTER XXXIV.

Who comes from the bridal chamber?

It is Azrael, the angel of death.

Thalaba.

AFTER the dreadful scene that had taken place at the castle,

Lucy was transported to her own chamber, where she remained for

some time in a state of absolute stupor. Yet afterwards, in the

course of the ensuing day, she seemed to have recovered, not

merely her spirits and resolution, but a sort of flighty levity,

that was foreign to her character and situation, and which was at

times chequered by fits of deep silence and melancholy and of

capricious pettishness. Lady Ashton became much alarmed and

consulted the family physicians. But as her pulse indicated no

change, they could only say that the disease was on the spirits,

and recommended gentle exercise and

amusement. Miss Ashton never alluded to what had passed in the

state-room. It seemed doubtful even if she was conscious of it,

for she was often observed to raise her hands to her neck, as if

in search of the ribbon that had been taken from it, and mutter,

in surprise and discontent, when she could not find it, "It was

the link that bound me to life."

Notwithstanding all these remarkable symptoms, Lady Ashton was

too deeply pledged to delay her daughter's marriage even in her

present state of health. It cost her much trouble to keep up the

fair side of appearances towards Bucklaw. She was well aware,

that if he once saw any reluctance on her daughter's part, he

would break off the treaty, to her great personal shame and

dishonour. She therefore resolved that, if Lucy continued

passive, the marriage should take place upon the day that had

been previously fixed, trusting that a change of place, of

situation, and of character would operate a more speedy and

effectual cure upon the unsettled spirits of her daughter than

could be attained by the slow measures which the medical men

recommended. Sir William Ashton's views of family

aggrandisement, and his desire to strengthen himself against the

measures of the Marquis of A----, readily induced him to

acquiesce in what he could not have perhaps resisted if willing

to do so. As for the young men, Bucklaw and Colonel Ashton, they

protested that, after what had happened, it would be most

dishonourable to postpone for a single hour the time appointed

for the marriage, as it would be generally ascribed to their

being intimidated by the intrusive visit and threats of

Ravenswood.

Bucklaw would indeed have been incapable of such

precipitation, had he been aware of the state of Miss Ashton's

health, or rather of her mind. But custom, upon these occasions,

permitted only brief and sparing intercourse between the

bridegroom and the betrothed; a circumstance so well improved by

Lady Ashton, that Bucklaw neither saw nor suspected the real

state of the health and feelings of his unhappy bride.

On the eve of the bridal day, Lucy appeared to have one of her

fits of levity, and surveyed with a degree of girlish

interest the various preparations of dress, etc., etc., which the

different members of the family had prepared for the occasion.

The morning dawned bright and cheerily. The bridal guests

assembled in gallant troops from distant quarters. Not only the

relations of Sir William Ashton, and the still more dignified

connexions of his lady, together with the numerous kinsmen and

allies of the bridegroom, were present upon this joyful ceremony,

gallantly mounted, arrayed, and caparisoned, but almost every

Presbyterian family of distinction within fifty miles made a

point of attendance upon an occasion which was considered as

giving a sort of triumph over the Marquis of A----, in the person

of his kinsman. Splendid refreshments awaited the guests on

their arrival, and after these were finished, the cray was "To

horse." The bride was led forth betwixt her brother Henry and

her mother. Her gaiety of the preceding day had given rise

[place] to a deep shade of melancholy, which, however, did not

misbecome an occasion so momentous. There was a light in her

eyes and a colour in her cheek which had not been kindled for

many a day, and which, joined to her great beauty, and the

splendour of her dress, occasioned her entrance to be greeted

with an universal murmur of applause, in which even the ladies

could not refrain from joining. While the cavalcade were

getting to horse, Sir William Ashton, a man of peace and of form,

censured his son Henry for having begirt himself with a military

sword of preposterous length, belonging to his brother, Colonel

Ashton.

"If you must have a weapon," he said, "upon such a peaceful

occasion, why did you not use the short poniard sent from

Edinburgh on purpose?"

The boy vindicated himself by saying it was lost.

"You put it out of the way yourself, I suppose," said his

father, "out of ambition to wear that preposterous thing, which

might have served Sir William Wallace. But never mind, get to

horse now, and take care of your sister."

The boy did so, and was placed in the centre of the gallant

train. At the time, he was too full of his own appearance, his

sword, his laced cloak, his feathered hat, and his managed horse,

to pay much regard to anything else; but he afterwards remembered

to the hour of his death, that when the hand of his sister, by

which she supported hersel on the pillion behind him, touched his

own, it felt as wet and cold as sepulchral marble.

Glancing wide over hill and dale, the fair bridal procession at

last reached the parish church, which they nearly filled; for,

besides domestics, above a hundred gentlemen and ladies were

present upon the occasion. The marriage ceremony was performed

according to the rites of the Presbyterian persuasion, to which

Bucklaw of late had judged it proper to conform.

On the outside of the church, a liberal dole was distributed to

the poor of the neighbouring parishes, under the direction of

Johnie Mortheuch [Mortsheugh], who had lately been promoted from

his desolate quarters at the Hermitage to fill the more eligible

situation of sexton at the parish church of Ravenswood. Dame

Gourlay, with two of her contemporaries, the same who assisted at

Alice's late-wake, seated apart upon a flat monument, or

"through-stane," sate enviously comparing the shares which had

been allotted to them in dividing the dole.

"Johnie Mortheuch," said Annie Winnie, "might hae minded auld

lang syne, and thought of his auld kimmers, for as braw as he is

with his new black coat. I hae gotten but five herring instead

o' sax, and this disna look like a gude saxpennys, and I dare say

this bit morsel o' beef is an unce lighter than ony that's been

dealt round; and it's a bit o' the tenony hough, mair by token

that yours, Maggie, is out o' the back-sey."

"Mine, quo' she!" mumbled the paralytic hag--"mine is half

banes, I trow. If grit folk gie poor bodies ony thing for coming

to their weddings and burials, it suld be something that wad do

them gude, I think."

"Their gifts," said Ailsie Gourlay, "are dealt for nae love of

us, nor out of respect for whether we feed or starve. They wad

gie us whinstanes for loaves, if it would serve their ain vanity,

and yet they expect us to be as gratefu', as they ca' it, as if

they served us for true love and liking."

"And that's truly said," answered her companion.

"But, Aislie Gourlay, ye're the auldest o' us three--did ye ever

see a mair grand bridal?"

"I winna say that I have," answered the hag; "but I think soon

to see as braw a burial."

"And that wad please me as weel," said Annie Winnie; "for

there's as large a dole, and folk are no obliged to girn and

laugh, and mak murgeons, and wish joy to these hellicat quality,

that lord it ower us like brute beasts. I like to pack the dead-

dole in my lap and rin ower my auld rhyme--

My loaf in my lap, my penny in my purse,

Thou art ne'er the better, and I'm ne'er the worse."

"That's right, Annie," said the paralytic woman; "God send us a

green Yule and a fat kirkyard!"

"But I wad like to ken, Luckie Gourlay, for ye're the auldest

and wisest amang us, whilk o' these revellers' turn it will be to

be streikit first?"

"D'ye see yon dandilly maiden," said Dame Gourlay, "a'

glistenin' wi' gowd and jewels, that they are lifting up on the

white horse behind that hare-brained callant in scarlet, wi' the

lang sword at his side?"

"But that's the bride!" said her companion, her cold heart

touched with some sort of compassion--"that's the very bride

hersell! Eh, whow! sae young, sae braw, and sae bonny--and is

her time sae short?"

"I tell ye," said the sibyl, "her winding sheet is up as high as

her throat already, believe it wha list. Her sand has but few

grains to rin out; and nae wonder--they've been weel shaken. The

leaves are withering fast on the trees, but she'll never see the

Martinmas wind gar them dance in swirls like the fairy rings."

"Ye waited on her for a quarter," said the paralytic woman, "and

got twa red pieces, or I am far beguiled?"

"Ay, ay," answered Ailsie, with a bitter grin; "and Sir William

Ashton promised me a bonny red gown to the boot o' that--a stake,

and a chain, and a tar-barrel, lass! what think ye o' that for a

propine?--for being up early and doun late for

fourscore nights and mair wi' his dwining daughter. But he may

keep it for his ain leddy, cummers."

"I hae heard a sough," said Annie Winnie, "as if Leddy Ashton

was nae canny body."

"D'ye see her yonder," said Dame Gourlay, "as she prances on her

grey gelding out at the kirkyard? There's mair o' utter

deevilry in that woman, as brave and fair-fashioned as she rides

yonder, than in a' the Scotch withces that ever flew by moonlight

ower North Berwick Law."

"What's that ye say about witches, ye damned hags?" said Johnie

Mortheuch [Mortsheugh]; "are ye casting yer cantrips in the very

kirkyard, to mischieve the bride and bridegroom? Get awa' hame,

for if I tak my souple t'ye, I'll gar ye find the road faster

than ye wad like."

"Hegh, sirs!" answered Ailsie Gourlay; "how bra' are we wi' our

new black coat and our weel-pouthered head, as if we had never

kenn'd hunger nor thirst oursells! and we'll be screwing up our

bit fiddle, doubtless, in the ha' the night, amang a' the other

elbo'-jiggers for miles round. Let's see if the pins haud,

Johnie--that's a', lad."

"I take ye a' to witness, gude people," said Morheuch, "that she

threatens me wi' mischief, and forespeaks me. If ony thing but

gude happens to me or my fiddle this night, I'll make it the

blackest night's job she ever stirred in. I'll hae her before

presbytery and synod: I'm half a minister mysell, now that I'm a

bedral in an inhabited parish."

Although the mutual hatred betwixt these hags and the rest of

mankind had steeled their hearts against all impressions of

festivity, this was by no means the case with the multitude at

large. The splendour of the bridal retinue, the gay dresses, the

spirited horses, the blythesome appearance of the handsome women

and gallant gentlemen assembled upon the occasion, had the usual

effect upon the minds of the populace. The repeated shouts of

"Ashton and Bucklaw for ever!" the discharge of pistols, guns,

and musketoons, to give what was called the bridal shot, evinced

the interest the people took in the occasion of the cavalcade, as

they accompanied it upon their return to the castle. If there

was here and there an elder peasant or his wife who sneered at

the pomp of the upstart family, and remembered the days of the

long-descended Ravenswoods, even they, attracted by the plentiful

cheer which the castle that day afforded to rich and poor, held

their way thither, and acknowledged, notwithstanding their

prejudices, the influence of l'Amphitrion ou l'on dine.

Thus accompanied with the attendance both of rich and poor, Lucy

returned to her father's house. Bucklaw used his privilege of

riding next to the bride, but, new to such a situation, rather

endeavoured to attract attention by the display of his person and

horsemanship, than by any attempt to address her in private.

They reached the castle in safety, amid a thousand joyous

acclamations.

It is well known that the weddings of ancient days were

celebrated with a festive publicity rejected by the delicacy of

modern times. The marriage guests, on the present occasion, were

regaled with a banquet of unbounded profusion, the relics of

which, after the domestics had feasted in their turn, were

distributed among the shouting crowd, with as many barrels of ale

as made the hilarity without correspond to that within the

castle. The gentlemen, according to the fashion of the times,

indulged, for the most part, in deep draughts of the richest

wines, while the ladies, prepared for the ball which always

closed a bridal entertainment, impatiently expected their

arrival in the state gallery. At length the social party broke

up at a late hour, and the gentlemen crowded into the saloon,

where, enlivened by wine and the joyful occasion, they laid aside

their swords and handed their impatient partners to the floor.

The music already rung from the gallery, along the fretted roof

of the ancient state apartment. According to strict etiquette,

the bride ought to have opened the ball; but Lady Ashton, making

an apology on account of her daughter's health, offered her own

hand to Bucklaw as substitute for her daughter's.

But as Lady Ashton raised her head gracefully, expecting the

strain at which she was to begin the dance, she was so much

struck by an unexpected alteration in the ornaments of the

apartment that she was surprised into an exclamation, "Who has

dared to change the pictures?"

All looked up, and those who knew the usual state of the

apartment observed, with surprise, that the picture of Sir

William Ashton's father was removed from its place, and in its

stead that of old Sir Malise Ravenswood seemed to frown wrath and

vengeance upon the party assembled below. The exchange must have

been made while the apartments were empty, but had not been

observed until the torches and lights in the sconces were kindled

for the ball. The haughty and heated spirits of the gentlemen

led them to demand an immediate inquiry into the cause of what

they deemed an affront to their host and to themselves; but Lady

Ashton, recovering herself, passed it over as the freak of a

crazy wench who was maintained about the castle, and whose

susceptible imagination had been observed to be much affected by

the stories which Dame Gourlay delighted to tell concerning "the

former family," so Lady Ashton named the Ravenswoods. The

obnoxious picture was immediately removed, and the ball was

opened by Lady Ashton, with a grace and dignity which supplied

the charms of youth, and almost verified the extravagant

encomiums of the elder part of the company, who extolled her

performance as far exceeding the dancing of the rising

generation.

When Lady Ashton sat down, she was not surprised to find that

her daughter had left the apartment, and she herself

followed, eager to obviate any impression which might have been

made upon her nerves by an incident so likely to affect them as

the mysterious transposition of the portraits. Apparently she

found her apprehensions groundless, for she returned in about an

hour, and whispered the bridegroom, who extricated himself from

the dancers, and vanished from the apartment. The instrumets now

played their loudest strains; the dancers pursued their exercise

with all the enthusiasm inspired by youth, mirth, and high

spirits, when a cry was heard so shrill and piercing as at once

to arrest the dance and the music. All stood motionless; but

when the yell was again repeated, Colonel Ashton snatched a torch

from the sconce, and demanding the key of the bridal-chamber from

Henry, to whom, as bride's-man, it had been entrusted, rushed

thither, followed by Sir William Ashton and Lady Ashton, and one

or two others, near relations of the family. The bridal guests

waited their return in stupified amazement.

Arrived at the door of the apartment, Colonel Ashton knocked and

called, but received no answer except stifled groans. He

hesitated no longer to open the door of the apartment, in which

he found opposition from something which lay against it. When he

had succeeded in opening it, the body of the bridegroom was found

lying on the threshold of the bridal chamber, and all around was

flooded with blood. A cry of surprise and horror was raised by

all present; and the company, excited by this new alarm, began to

rush tumultuously towards the sleeping apartment. Colonel

Ashton, first whispering to his mother, "Search for her; she has

murdered him!" drew his sword, planted himself in the passage,

and declared he would suffer no man to pass excepting the

clergyman and a medical person present. By their assistance,

Bucklaw, who still breathed, was raised from the ground, and

transported to another apartment, where his friends, full of

suspicion and murmuring, assembled round him to learn the opinion

of the surgeon.

In the mean while, Lady Ashton, her husband, and their

assistants in vain sought Lucy in the bridal bed and in the

chamber. There was no private passage from the room, and they

began to think that she must have thrown herself from the window,

when one of the company, holding his torch lower than the rest,

discovered something white in the corner of the great old-

fashioned chimney of the apartment. Here they found the

unfortunate girl seated, or rather couched like a hare upon its

form--her head-gear dishevelled, her night-clothes torn and

dabbled with blood, her eyes glazed, and her features convulsed

into a wild paroxysm of insanity. When she saw herself

discovered, she gibbered, made mouths, and pointed at them with

her bloody fingers, with the frantic gestures of an exulting

demoniac.

Female assistance was now hastily summoned; the unhappy bride

was overpowered, not without the use of some force. As they

carried her over the threshold, she looked down, and

uttered the only articulate words that she had yet spoken,

saying, with a sort of grinning exultation, "So, you have ta'en

up your bonny bridegroom?" She was, by the shuddering

assistants, conveyed to another and more retired apartment, where

she was secured as her situation required, and closely watched.

The unutterable agony of the parents, the horror and confusion of

all who were in the castle, the fury of contending passions

between the friends of the different parties--passions augmented

by previous intemperance--surpass description.

The surgeon was the first who obtained something like a patient

hearing; he pronounced that the wound of Bucklaw, though severe

and dangerous, was by no means fatal, but might readily be

rendered so by disturbance and hasty removal. This silenced the

numerous party of Bucklaw's friends, who had previously insisted

that he should, at all rates, be transported from the castle to

the nearest of their houses. They still demanded, however, that,

in consideration of what had happened, four of their number

should remain to watch over the sick-bed of their friend, and

that a suitable number of their domestics, well armed, should

also remain in the castle. This condition being acceded to on

the part of Colonel Ashton and his father, the rest of the

bridegroom's friends left the castle, notwithstanding the hour

and the darkness of the night. The cares of the medical man

were next employed in behalf of Miss Ashton, whom he pronounced

to be in a very dangerous state. Farther medical assistance was

immediately summoned. All night she remained delirious. On the

morning, she fell into a state of absolute insensibility. The

next evening, the physicians said, would be the crisis of her

malady. It proved so; for although she awoke from her trance

with some appearance of calmness, and suffered her night-

clothes to be changed, or put in order, yet so soon as she put

her hand to her neck, as if to search for the for the fatal flue

ribbon, a tide of recollections seemed to rush upon her, which

her mind and body were alike incapable of bearing. Convulsion

followed convulsion, till they closed in death, without her being

able to utter a word explanatory of the fatal scene.

The provincial judge of the district arrived the day after the

young lady had expired, and executed, though with all

possible delicacy to the afflicted family, the painful duty of

inquiring into this fatal transaction. But there occurred

nothing to explain the general hypothesis that the bride, in a

sudden fit of insanity, had stabbed the bridegroom at the

threshold of the apartment. The fatal weapon was found in the

chamber smeared with blood. It was the same piniard which Henry

should have worn on the widding-day, and the unhappy sister had

probably contrived to secrete on the preceding evening, when it

had been shown to her among other articles of preparation for the

wedding.

The friends of Bucklaw expected that on his recovery he would

throw some light upon this dark story, and eagerly pressed him

with inquiries, which for some time he evaded under pretext of

weakness. When, however, he had been transported to his own

house, and was considered in a state of convalescence, he

assembled those persons, both male and female, who had considered

themselves as entitled to press him on this subject, and returned

them thanks for the interest they had exhibited in his behalf,

and their offers of adherence and support. "I wish you all," he

said, "my friends, to understand, however, that I have neither

story to tell nor injuries to avenge. If a lady shall question

me henceforward upon the incident of that unhappy night, I shall

remain silent, and in future consider her as one who has shown

herself desirous to break of her friendship with me; in a word, I

will never speak to her again. But if a gentleman shall ask me

the same question, I shall regard the incivility as equivalent to

an invitation to meet him in the Duke's Walk, and I expect that

he will rule himself accordingly."

A declaration so decisive admitted no commentary; and it was

soon after seen that Bucklaw had arisen from the bed of sickness

a sadder and a wiser man than he had hitherto shown himself. He

dismissed Craigengelt from his society, but not without such a

provision as, if well employed, might secure him against

indigence and against temptation.

Bucklaw afterwards went abroad, and never returned to Scotland;

nor was he known ever to hint at the circumstances attending his

fatal marriage. By many readers this may be deemed overstrained,

romantic, and composed by the wild imagination of an author

desirous of gratifying the popular appetite for the horrible; but

those who are read in the private family history of Scotland

during the period in which the scene is laid, will readily

discover, through the disguise of borrowed names and added

incidents, the leading particulars of AN OWER TRUE TALE.

CHAPTER XXXV.

Whose mind's so marbled, and his heart so hard,

That would not, when this huge mishap was heard,

To th' utmost note of sorrow set their song,

To see a gallant, with so great a grace,

So suddenly unthought on, so o'erthrown,

And so to perish, in so poor a place,

By too rash riding in a ground unknown!

POEM, IN NISBET'S Heraldry, vol. ii.

WE have anticipated the course of time to mention Bucklaw's

recovery and fate, that we might not interrupt the detail of

events which succeeded the funeral of the unfortunate Lucy

Ashton. This melancholy ceremony was performed in the misty dawn

of an autumnal morning, with such moderate attendance and

ceremony as could not possibly be dispensed with. A very few of

the nearest relations attended her body to the same churchyard to

which she had so lately been led as a bride, with as little free

will, perhaps, as could be now testified by her lifeless and

passive remains. An aisle adjacent to the church had been fitted

up by Sir William Ashton as a family cemetery; and here, in a

coffin bearing neither name nor date, were consigned to dust the

remains of what was once lovely, beautiful, and innocent, though

exasperated to frenzy by a long tract of unremitting persecution.

While the mourners were busy in the vault, the three village

hags, who, notwithstanding the unwonted earliness of the hour,

had snuffed the carrion like vultures, were seated on the

"through-stane," and engaged in their wonted unhallowed

conference.

"Did not I say," said Dame Gourlay, "that the braw bridal would

be followed by as braw a funeral?"

"I think," answered Dame Winnie, "there's little bravery at it:

neither meat nor drink, and just a wheen silver tippences to the

poor folk; it was little worth while to come sae far a road for

sae sma' profit, and us sae frail."

"Out, wretch!" replied Dame Gourlay, "can a' the dainties they

could gie us be half sae sweet as this hour's vengeance? There

they are that were capering on their prancing nags four days

since, and they are now ganging as dreigh and sober as oursells

the day. They were a' glistening wi' gowd and silver; they're

now as black as the crook. And Miss Lucy Ashton, that grudged

when an honest woman came near her--a taid may sit on her coffin

that day, and she can never scunner when he croaks. And Lady

Ashton has hell-fire burning in her breast by this time; and Sir

William, wi' his gibbets, and his faggots, and his chains, how

likes he the witcheries of his ain dwelling-house?"

"And is it true, then," mumbled the paralytic wretch, "that the

bride was trailed out of her bed and up the chimly by evil

spirits, and that the bridegroom's face was wrung round ahint

him?"

"Ye needna care wha did it, or how it was done," said Aislie

Gourlay; "but I'll uphaud it for nae stickit job, and that the

lairds and leddies ken weel this day."

"And was it true," said Annie Winnie, "sin ye ken sae muckle

about it, that the picture of auld Sir Malise Ravenswood came

down on the ha' floor, and led out the brawl before them a'?"

"Na," said Ailsie; "but into the ha' came the picture--and I ken

weel how it came there--to gie them a warning that pride wad get

a fa'. But there's as queer a ploy, cummers, as ony o' thae,

that's gaun on even now in the burial vault yonder: ye saw twall

mourners, wi' crape and cloak, gang down the steps pair and

pair!"

"What should ail us to see them?" said the one old woman.

"I counted them," said the other, with the eagerness of a person

to whom the spectacle had afforded too much interest to be

viewed with indifference.

"But ye did not see," said Ailsie, exulting in her superior

observation, "that there's a thirteenth amang them that they ken

naething about; and, if auld freits say true, there's ane o' that

company that'll no be lang for this warld. But come awa'

cummers; if we bide here, I'se warrant we get the wyte o'

whatever ill comes of it, and that gude will come of it nane o'

them need ever think to see."

And thus, croaking like the ravens when they anticipate

pestilence, the ill-boding sibyls withdrew from the churchyard.

In fact, the mourners, when the service of interment was ended,

discovered that there was among them one more than the invited

number, and the remark was communicated in whispers to each

other. The suspicion fell upon a figure which, muffled in the

same deep mourning with the others, was reclined, almost in a

state of insensibility, against one of the pillars of the

sepulchral vault. The relatives of the Ashton family were

expressing in whispers their surprise and displeasure at the

intrusion, when they were interrupted by Colonel Ashton, who, in

his father's absence, acted as principal mourner. "I know," he

said in a whisper, "who this person is, he has, or shall soon

have, as deep cause of mourning as ourselves; leave me to deal

with him, and do not disturb the ceremony by unnecessary

exposure." So saying, he separated himself from the group of his

relations, and taking the unknown mourner by the cloak, he said

to him, in a tone of suppressed emotion, "Follow me."

The stranger, as if starting from a trance at the sound of his

voice, mechanically obeyed, and they ascended the broken ruinous

stair which led from the sepulchre into the churchyard. The

other mourners followed, but remained grouped together at the

door of the vault, watching with anxiety the motions of Colonel

Ashton and the stranger, who now appeared to be in close

conference beneath the shade of a yew-tree, in the most remote

part of the burial-ground.

To this sequestered spot Colonel Ashton had guided the stranger,

and then turning round, addressed him in a stern and composed

tone.--"I cannot doubt that I speak to the Master of

Ravenswood?" No answer was returned. "I cannot doubt," resumed

the Colonel, trembling with rising passion, "that I speak to the

murderer of my sister!"

"You have named me but too truly," said Ravenswood, in a hollow

and tremulous voice.

"If you repent what you have done," said the Colonel, "may your

penitence avail you before God; with me it shall serve you

nothing. Here," he said, giving a paper, "is the measure of my

sword, and a memorandum of the time and place of meeting.

Sunrise to-morrow morning, on the links to the east of Wolf's

Hope."

The Master of Ravenswood held the paper in his hand, and seemed

irresolute. At length he spoke--"Do not," he said, "urge to

farther desperation a wretch who is already desperate. Enjoy

your life while you can, and let me seek my death from another."

"That you never, never shall!" said Douglas Ashton. "You shall

die by my hand, or you shall complete the ruin of my family by

taking my life. If you refuse my open challenge, there is no

advantage I will not take of you, no indignity with which I will

not load you, until the very name of Ravenswood shall be the sign

of everything that is dishonourable, as it is already of all

that is villainous."

"That it shall never be," said Ravenswood, fiercely; "if I am

the last who must bear it, I owe it to those who once owned it

that the name shall be extinguished without infamy. I accept

your challenge, time, and place of meeting. We meet, I presume,

alone?"

"Alone we meet," said Colonel Ashton, "and alone will the

survivor of us return from that place of rendezvous."

"Then God have mercy on the soul of him who falls!" said

Ravenswood.

"So be it!" said Colonel Ashton; "so far can my charity reach

even for the man I hate most deadly, and with the deepest

reason. Now, break off, for we shall be interrupted. The links

by the sea-shore to the east of Wolf's Hope; the hour, sunrise;

our swords our only weapons."

"Enough," said the Master, "I will not fail you."

They separated; Colonel Ashton joining the rest of the mourners,

and the Master of Ravenswood taking his horse, which was tied to

a tree behind the church. Colonel Ashton returned to the castle

with the funeral guests, but found a pretext for detaching

himself from them in the evening, when, changing his dress to a

riding-habit, he rode to Wolf's Hope, that night, and took up his

abode in the little inn, in order that he might be ready for his

rendezvous in the morning.

It is not known how the Master of Ravenswood disposed of the

rest of that unhappy day. Late at night, however, he arrived at

Wolf's Crag, and aroused his old domestic, Caleb Balderstone, who

had ceased to expect his return. Confused and flying rumours of

the late tragical death of Miss Ashton, and of its mysterious

cause, had already reached the old man, who was filled with the

utmost anxiety, on account of the probable effect these events

might produce upon the mind of his master.

The conduct of Ravenswood did not alleviate his

apprehensions. To the butler's trembling entreaties that he

would take some refreshment, he at first returned no answer, and

then suddenly and fiercely demanding wine, he drank, contrary to

his habits, a very large draught. Seeing that his master would

eat nothing, the old man affectionately entreated that he would

permit him to light him to his chamber. It was not until the

request was three or four times repeated that Ravenswood made a

mute sign of compliance. But when Balderstone conducted him to

an apartment which had been comfortably fitted up, and which,

since his return, he had usually occupied, Ravenswood stopped

short on the threshold.

"Not here," said he, sternly; "show me the room in which my

father died; the room in which SHE slept the night the were at

the castle."

"Who, sir?" said Caleb, too terrified to preserve his presence

of mind.

"SHE, Lucy Ashton! Would you kill me, old man, by forcing me to

repeat her name?"

Caleb would have said something of the disrepair of the chamber,

but was silenced by the irritable impatience which was expressed

in his master's countenance; he lighted the way

trembling and in silence, placed the lamp on the table of the

deserted room, and was about to attempt some arrangement of the

bed, when his master big him begone in a tone that admitted of

no delay. The old man retired, not to rest, but to prayer; and

from time to time crept to the door of the apartment, in order to

find out whether Ravenswood had gone to repose. His measured

heavy step upon the floor was only interrupted by deep groans;

and the repeated stamps of the heel of his heavy boot intimated

too clearly that the wretched inmate was abandoning himself at

such moments to paroxysms of uncontrolled agony. The old man

thought that the mroning, for which he longed, would never have

dawned; but time, whose course rolls on with equal current,

however it may seem more rapid or more slow to mortal

apprehension, brought the dawn at last, and spread a ruddy light

on the broad verge of the glistening ocean. It was early in

November, and the weather was serene for the season of the year.

But an easterly wind had prevailed during the night, and the

advancing tide rolled nearer than usual to the foot of the crags

on which the castle was founded.

With the first peep of light, Caleb Balderstone again resorted

to the door of Ravenswood's sleeping apartment, through a chink

of which he observed him engaged in measuring the length of two

or three swords which lay in a closet adjoining to the apartment.

He muttered to himself, as he selected one of these weapons: "It

is shorter: let him have this advantage, as he has every other."

Caleb Balderstone knew too well, from what he witnessed, upon

what enterprise his master was bound, and how vain all

interference on his part must necessarily prove. He had but

time to retreat from the door, so nearly was he surprised by his

master suddenly coming out and descending to the stables. The

faithful domestic followed; and from the dishevelled appearance

of his master's dress, and his ghastly looks, was confirmed in

his conjecture that he had passed the night without sleep or

repose. He found him busily engaged in saddling his horse, a

service from which Caleb, though with faltering voice and

trembling hands, offered to relieve him. Ravenswood rejected his

assistance by a mute sign, and having led the animal into the

court, was just about to mount him, when the old domestic's fear

giving way to the strong attachment which was the principal

passion of his mind, he flung himself suddenly at Ravenswood's

feet, and clasped his knees, while he exclaimed: "Oh, sir! oh,

master! kill me if you will, but do not go out on this dreadful

errand! Oh! my dear master, wait but this day; the Marquis of A-

--- comes to-morrow, and a' will be remedied."

"You have no longer a master, Caleb," said Ravenswood,

endeavouring to extricate himself; "why, old man, would you cling

to a falling tower?"

"But I HAVE a master," cried Caleb, still holding him fast,

"while the heir of Ravenswood breathes. I am but a

servant; but I was born your father's--your grandfather's

servant. I was born for the family--I have lived for them--I

would die for them! Stay but at home, and all will be well!"

"Well, fool! well!" said Ravenswood. "Vain old man, nothing

hereafter in life will be well with me, and happiest is the hour

that shall soonest close it!"

So saying, he extricated himself from the old man's hold, threw

himself on his horse, and rode out the gate; but instantly

turning back, he threw towards Caleb, who hastened to meet him, a

heavy purse of gold.

"Caleb!" he said, with a ghastly smile, "I make you my

executor"; and again turning his bridle, he resumed his course

down the hill.

The gold fell unheeded on the pavement, for the old man ran to

observe the course which was taken by his master, who turned to

the left down a small and broken path, which gained the sea-

shore through a cleft in the rock, and led to a sort of cove

where, in former times, the boats of the castle were wont to be

moored. Observing him take this course, Caleb hastened to the

eastern battlement, which commanded the prospect of the whole

sands, very near as far as the village of Wolf's Hope. He could

easily see his master riding in that direction, as fast as the

horse could carry him. The prophecy at once rushed on

Balderstone's mind, that the Lord of Ravenswood should perish on

the Kelpie's flow, which lay half-way betwixt the Tower and the

links, or sand knolls, to the northward of Wolf's Hope. He saw

him according reach the fatal spot; but he never saw him pass

further.

Colonel Ashton, frantic for revenge, was already in the field,

pacing the turf with eagerness, and looking with

impatience towards the Tower for the arrival of his antagonist.

The sun had now risen, and showed its broad disk above the

eastern sea, so that he could easily discern the horseman who

rode towards him with speed which argued impatience equal to his

own. At once the figure became invisible, as if it had melted

into the air. He rubbed his eyes, as if he had witnessed an

apparition, and then hastened to the spot, near which he was met

by Balderstone, who came from the opposite direction. No trace

whatever o horse or rider could be discerned; it only appeared

that the late winds and high tides had greatly extended the usual

bounds of the quicksand, and that the unfortunate horseman, as

appeared from the hoof-tracks, in his precipitate haste, had not

attended to keep on the firm sands on the foot of the rock, but

had taken the shortest and most dangerous course. One only

vestige of his fate appeared. A large sable feather had been

detached from his hat, and the rippling waves of the rising tide

wafted it to Caleb's feet. The old man took it up, dried it, and

placed it in his bosom.

The inhabitants of Wolf's Hope were now alarmed, and crowded to

the place, some on shore, and some in boats, but their search

availed nothing. The tenacious depths of the quicksand, as is

usual in such cases, retained its prey.

Our tale draws to a conclusion. The Marquis of A----, alarmed

at the frightful reports that were current, and anxious for his

kinsman's safety, arrived on the subsequent day to mourn his

loss; and, after renewing in vain a search for the body,

returned, to forget what had happened amid the bustle of politics

and state affairs.

Not so Caleb Balderstone. If wordly profit could have consoled

the old man, his age was better provided for than his earlier

years had ever been; but life had lost to him its salt and its

savour. His whole course of ideas, his feelings, whether of

pride or of apprehension, of pleasure or of pain, had all arisen

from its close connexion with the family which was now

extinguished. He held up his head no longer, forsook all his

usual haunts and occupations, and seemed only to find pleasure in

moping about those apartments in the old castle which the Master

of Ravenswood had last inhabited. He ate without refreshment,

and slumbered without repose; and, with a fidelity sometimes

displayed by the canine race, but seldom by human beings, he

pined and died within a year after the catastrophe which we have

narrated.

The family of Ashton did not long survive that of

Ravenswood. Sir William Ashton outlived his eldest son, the

Colonel, who was slain in a duel in Flanders; and Henry, by whom

he was succeeded, died unmarried. Lady Ashton lived to the verge

of extreme old age, the only survivor of the group of unhappy

persons whose misfortunes were owing to her implacability. That

she might internally feel compunction, and reconcile herself with

Heaven, whom she had offended, we will not, and we dare not,

deny; but to those around her she did not evince the slightest

symptom either of repentance or remorse. In all external

appearance she bore the same bold, haughty, unbending character

which she had displayed before these unhappy events. A splendid

marble monument records her name, titles, and virtues, while her

victims remain undistinguished by tomb or epitath.

END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG ETEXT OF THE BRIDE OF LAMMERMOOR

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