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
sign in the Scottish villages; and, in tracing his progress, it
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.