I started to my feet, visions of sleepwalkers and lunatics thronging through my imagination, but was caught hold of by Nanny, who, shaking with suppressed laughter, whispered me, while the tears ran out and danced upon her long lashes for very fun, that it was only precious Aleck, "wham Jeanie had cled in her bit wyliecoat, since she dauredna wake the house to look for aught else;" then, laying her hand upon my shoulder (and the wet oozed from between her fingers), she proposed, with a maidenly mixture of kindliness and hesitation, that I should go and do so likewise. Who knows how I might have stood the temptation, had she not in time perceived my error, and, blushing deeply, explained, that as Aleck had done—undressed himself alone—so should I. Under these stipulations, I declined parting with more than my coat, for which she substituted a curiously quilted coverlet; then bringing me warm water, insisted on my bathing my feet. I gladly consented; but hardly had I pulled off the coarse stockings, and washed the black soil from my hands, when there began a grievous coughing and grumbling in the room from which the girls had come.

"Lord haud a grip o' us!" cried Aleck; "it's auld Peg hoastin'—De'il wauken her, the cankered rush! she'll breed a bonny splore gin she finds me here."

"Whisht, whisht," whispered Nanny, "she's as keen as colly i' the lugs; and glegger than baudrons i' the dark."

The libelled Mistress Margaret gave no further time for calumniation; slamming open the door, she came down upon us, gaunt, grim, and unescapable—"Ye menseless tawpies! ye bauld cutties! ye wanton limmers! ye—wha's this?" She snatched the light from Nannie's hand, and poked it close to my face—"Wha's this? I say, wha's this?"

"Hoots, woman!" cried Nanny, spiritedly, yet with an air of conciliation, "I'se bail ye mony a boy has come over the moss to crack wi' yoursell when ye were a lassie."

"When I was a lassie!"

I thought she would have choked; but her indignation at last made its way up in thunder upon my devoted head.

"Wha are ye? what are ye? what fetches ye sornin' here? ye——"

Nanny again interposed. "He's just a weaver lad, I tell ye, that Aleck Lowther fetched frae the Langslap Moss to keep him company."

"A weaver lad!" (I had raised my foot to the rim of the tub, and sat with my chin upon my hand, and my elbow on my knee, laughing, to the great aggravation of her anger). "A weaver lad!—there's ne'er a wabster o' the Langslap Moss wi' siccan a leg as that!—there's ne'er a ane o' a' the creeshy clan wha's shins arena bristled as red as a belly rasher!—there's ne'er a wabster o' the Langslap Moss wi' the track o' a ring upon his wee finger!—there's ne'er a wabster o' the Langslap Moss wi' aughteen hunner linen in his sark-frill!—Jamie, hoi! Jamie Steenson, here's a spy!"

So sudden and overpowering was her examination and judgment, and her voice had risen to such a pitch of clamour, that all my attempts at interruption and explanation were lost; while the screams which the girls could not control when they heard her call in assistance, prevented a reply. One after another, five ruffianly-looking fellows rushed in at her call; and ere I could free myself from the importunate exculpations of poor Nanny, they were crowding and cursing round me; while one, apparently their leader, held a lantern to my face, a pike to my throat, and demanded my name and business. That these were one unhappy remnant of the rebel party I could not doubt; if I declared my real name, I might expect all that exasperation could prompt and desperation execute against a disguised enemy in the camp (for the only one from whom I could expect protection was, as I had seen, beyond my appeal). Again, to give a fictitious name, and keep up the character of a country weaver, was revolting to my pride, and in all likelihood beyond my ability. Which horn of this dilemma I might have impaled myself on, I cannot tell; for a sudden interruption prevented my answer.

Aleck, who had with difficulty been hitherto restrained by the united exertions of the three women, here burst from their arms, tossed off his blanket, and leaped with a whoop into the middle of the floor;—except the short petticoat about his loins he was stark naked. "I'm twal stane wecht—my name's Aleck Lawther—I'll slap ony man o' ye for four-an'-twenty tens!" As he uttered this challenge, tossing his long arms about his head, bouncing upright, and cutting like a posture-master at the end of every clause, while the scanty kilt fluttered and flapped about his sinewy hams, the men fell back in a panic, as if from a spectre; but their astonishment soon gave place to indignation, and my questioner, clubbing his pike, stepped forward, and making the shaft rattle off the white array of ribs, which poor Aleck's flourish had left unprotected, reduced his proposals to practice in a trice. He, wisely making up for disparity of forces by superiority of weapon, started back, and adroitly unhooking the long iron chain and pot-hooks from the chimney, set them flying round his head like a slinger of old; and meeting his antagonist with a clash, shot him rocketwise into the corner: then giving another whirl to his stretcher, and leaping out with the full swing of his long body, he brought it to bear upon the next. There was another clattering crash, and the man went down; but pitching with his shoulder into the tub, upset it, and sent a flood of water into the fire. Smoke, steam, and white ashes, whirled up in clouds; the lantern was trampled out, and the battle became general: for one rascal, lifting his fallen comrade's pike (there was luckily but one among them), advanced upon me. I had just light to see the thrust and parry it. Another second, and we had closed in the midst of that strange atmosphere, striking and sneezing at each other across the pike shaft, as we each strove to wrest it to himself. My antagonist was a lusty fellow, and tugged me stoutly, while I kept him between me and the main fight, now raging through the water and the fire: this I could just distinguish among the vapour and smoke, dashed about in red showers of embers, as each new tramp and whirl of the combatants swept it from the hearthstone. How Aleck fought his two opponents I could not imagine; yet once, during a minute's relaxation on our parts, when, having got the pike jammed between a table and the wall, we were reduced to the by-play of kicking one another's shin-bones, I could hear, every now and again, above the medley of curses and screams (for the women were all busy) his lusty "Hah!" as he put in each successive blow; and then the bolt and thud of some one gone down, far away in the distance; or the rush of a capsize among the loose lumber at my feet. But I had no longer an opportunity of noting his prowess; for my antagonist, getting the weapon disentangled, hauled me after him into the open floor, and then began upon the swinging system. So away we went, sweeping down chairs and stools, and rolling fallen bodies over in our course; till tired and dizzy, I suddenly planted myself, let go both holds, and dashing in right and left together, sent him whirling like a comet, impetuous and hot, into the void beyond. But my own head here fell heavily upon my breast; and the whole scene, smoke, fire, and shifting shapes, with all their mingled hissing, and battering, oaths, shrieks, and imprecations, shut upon my senses.

A Babel of dull sound, chiming and sawing within my head, announced my returned consciousness. This is no dream, thought I; I have been hurt, but I am afraid to ask myself where. If my skull should be fractured now, and I should be an idiot all my life, or if my arm should be broken—farewell to the river! But can I be still doubled up among those pots and pans which I crushed beneath me in my fall? No,—dark as it is, I feel that I am laid straight and soft. I must be in bed, but where? where? It was some time before I had courage to confirm my doubts of my head's condition: it was carefully bandaged, and doubtless much shattered: I could feel that I was in a close-panelled bedstead, such as are usual in old houses; but had too much discretion to attempt the hazardous experiment of rising without knowing either my strength or situation. So I lay, fancying all sorts of means to account for my preservation: need I say that the main agent in all was the fair Madeline?

My curiosity was at length relieved; a rude folding-door opened opposite, and showed a low dim sitting-room beyond, from which there rose a few steps to the entrance of my chamber. On these appeared, not, alas! the fancied visitant who was to flit about my bedside, and mix her bright presence with my dreams, but stately and severe, with a pale cheek and compressed lip, her father—my aversion.

I lay silent, sick at the thoughts of my own meanness in his eyes; while he advanced, shading the light of the candle from my face, and in a low cold tone, asked if I desired anything?

I shall never forget him as he stood, the light thrown full upon his strong features and broad chest, and shining purple through the fingers of his large hand. "I asked, sir, did you require any assistance?" he repeated. "Are you in pain?" he went on. I now replied that my chief pain was caused by my own unworthy appearance; made a confused apology for my misconduct, and offered my acknowledgments for the protection I had received. "You have saved the life of my child," he said, turning slightly from me, "and protection is a debt which must be paid; for your follower, he must thank the same circumstance for what little life his own mad conduct has left him." Without another word, he took a phial from the table, and, pouring out a draught, handed it to me; I mechanically drunk it off; but ere I had taken it from my lips, he was gone. I heard the doors close and the bolts shoot after him with strange forebodings; and when the sound of his footsteps had died away in the long passage beyond, fell back in a wild maze of apprehension and self-censure, till I again sank into a heavy sleep.

When I awoke, there was a yellow twilight in my little cabin, from the scattering of a red ray of the sunset which streamed through a crevice in the door. I had therefore slept a whole day; my fever was abated; the gnawing pain had left my head, and I longed to eat. I knocked upon the boards, and the door was presently opened; but it was some time ere my eyes could endure the flood of light which then burst in. The figure which at length became visible amid it, was little worthy so goodly a birth. The lank, slack, ill-hinged anatomy of Peg, with a bottle in one hand, and a long horn spoon in the other, advanced, and in no gracious tone demanded what was my will. I turned and lay silent; for I never felt an awkward situation so embarrassing as then. My gorge rose at the malignant cause of all my disasters; but interest and discretion told me to be civil if I spoke at all. I gave no answer; she was in no humour to suffer such trifling with her time. "Hear till him, Jamie!" she exclaimed to some one behind her, "hear till him, the fashious scunner! he dunts folk frae their wark as if he was the laird o' the Lang Marches himsell, and then——" "Good Mistress Margaret——" "Mistress me nae mistresses! there's ne'er a wife i' the parish has a right to be mistressed, since she deeit wha's wean ye wad betray! Deil hae me gin I can keep my knieves aff ye, ye ill-faured bluid-seller!"—"Ill-faured what?" shouted I. "No just ill-faured neither, blest be the Maker, and mair's the pity; ye're a clean boy eneugh, as I weel may say, wha had the strippin' and streekin' o' ye; but I say that ye're just a bluid-seller, a reformer, a spy, gin ye like it better!" She backed down the steps, and holding a leaf of the door at each side, stretched in her neck, and went on, "Ay, spy, Willie Macdonnell, spy to your teeth.—Isna your name upon your sark breast? and arena the arms that ye disgrace upon your seal, and daur ye deny them? daur ye deny that ye're the swearer away o' the innocent bluid o' puir Hughy Morrison, wham ye hangit like a doug upon the lamp-posts o' Doonpatrick? Daur ye hae the face to deny that ye come here e'en noo to reform upon Square O'More and his bonny wean? Daur ye hae the impurence to deny it?" Here I was relieved by the entrance of Mr O'More himself. I addressed him in a tone as cool and conciliatory as I could command. "I am much relieved to find, sir, that any harshness I may have to complain of, has originated in a mistake. I am Mr Macdonnell of Redrigs. It was only last week that I returned from England. I have not been in this part of the country for many years; and can only say, that if any person bearing my name deserves the character you seem to impute to me, I detest him as cordially as you do." He eyed me with visibly increased disgust. "It will not pass, sir, it will not pass. I have had notice of your intentions. Mr Macdonnell of Redrigs is in Oxford."—"I tell you, sir, he is here!" I cried, starting up in bed. "Back, back!" he exclaimed to the servants who were pressing round; they fell back, and he came up to me. "Hark ye, sir, instead of assuming a name to which you have no right——" The passion which had been burning within me all along, blazed out in uncontrollable fury. I started with a sudden energy out into the floor; dashed backwards and forwards through the room, stamping with indignation, while I asserted my honour, and demanded satisfaction; but the fire which had for a minute animated me failed; my tongue became confused and feeble; the whole scene whirled and flickered round me, and I sank exhausted, and in a burning fever, on a seat.

Every one who has suffered fever knows what a fiery trance it is. How long mine had continued I could not guess; when the crisis came, it was favourable, and I awoke, cool and delighted, from a long sweet sleep. That scene I had already witnessed, of sunset through the room beyond, was again before me; the same grey and purple haze hung over the mountain, and the same rich sky from above lit up the river-reaches; the dim old room was warm in the mellow light; the folding-doors stood wide open, but on the steps where the marrer of the whole had stood before, lo! the radiance revelling through her hair; the rich light flushing warm through the outline of her face and neck; the sweet repose of satisfaction and conscious care beaming over her whole countenance; benign and beautiful stood Madeline O'More, her finger on her lips. "She, too, thinks me a spy," I muttered, in the bitterness of my heart, and hid my face upon the pillow. But who can describe my delight when I heard her well-remembered accents murmur beside me, "Oh no, believe me, indeed I do not!" I looked up. She was covered with blushes—I felt them reflected on my own cheek—there was a conscious pause. "Then you do believe that I am what I have told you?" I said at last. "O yes! but indeed you must forgive the error," she replied; and readily did I admit its justifiableness, when she went on to tell me that a friend had ridden a long journey to warn them against a person bearing my name, and answering to my appearance—an apostate from their own cause, and a noted spy, who, upon some vague information of their retreat, had set out with the intention of discovering and betraying them; and that their friend (in whom I at once recognised the priest I had seen her father conduct from the house) had left them but a few minutes before I arrived.

It was now my turn to apologise and explain. She listened, with many pleas of palliation for the indignities I had endured, to my account of my business in Ireland, and the circumstances which had led me to Glen——; but when I came to account for my appearance at Moyabel, her confusion satisfied me that the motive was already known. I felt suddenly conscious of having been dreaming about her; and I knew that a fevered man's dream is his nurse's perquisite: dissimulation, after what I knew and suspected to have passed, would have been as impossible as repugnant. So then and there, among that mellow sunset in the sick chamber, I confessed to her how my whole thoughts had been haunted by her image, since the time when her father had hurried her from the scene of our meeting; how I could not rest while any scheme, how wild soever, promised me even a chance of again beholding her; how this had induced me to snatch at the first opportunity of discovering her, and had brought on that disastrous adventure which had ended in my wound; but that I still endured another, which I feared would prove incurable, if I might not live upon the hope (and I took her hand) of gaining her to be my heart's physician constantly.

Footsteps suddenly sounded in the passage. I released her hand, and she hid her confusion, in a hasty escape through a side-door, just before her father made his appearance at that of the hall. He advanced with a frank expression of pleasure and concern; took his seat by my bedside; congratulated me on the favourable issue of my illness, and repeated those apologies and explanations which his daughter had already made; adding that his first intention had been to detain me prisoner, so that I could have no opportunity of betraying them until their departure for France; but that the moment he had heard my undisguised ravings, he perceived the injustice of which he had been guilty; that Aleck's speech having returned soon after, (for the poor fellow was so beaten that he could not say a word for three days—but I have taken good care of him), another evidence, however unnecessary, was afforded by his declaration; and that, therefore, a messenger was immediately despatched to Knowehead, with private letters, explaining our situation and its causes, and resting on the honour of my friend for the security of all. The trust had been well reposed: Aleck, who was able to go home in a few days, had come the night before (although returned that morning) with the intelligence of the real spy having applied for information to the old gentleman; but that, loyal subject and zealous Protestant as he was, he had given him no more than a civil indication of his door. All this he told with a gratified and grateful air, and left me to a night of happy dreams.

Next morning, however, he came to me, and in a serious, nay severe manner, told me, that as I had divulged the motive which brought me thither in my ravings, he felt it a duty to himself and to me, now that I was established in my recovery, to inform me that, while he forgave my intrusion on a privacy he had already begged me not to break, he must desire that there should be no recurrence of attentions to his daughter, which might distract a heart destined either for the service of a free Catholic in regenerated Ireland, or for that of Heaven in a nunnery.

He had laid his hand upon the table, and it unconsciously rested upon the seals of my watch. "Look," said I, "at these trinkets; I shall tell you what they are, and let them be my answer. That rude silver seal, with the arms and initials, was dug from my father's orchard, along with the bones of his ancestor, who fell there beneath the knives of free Catholics in —41, a greyhaired man, among the seven bodies of his murdered wife and children. Look again at that curious ring; it was worn by his son, the sole survivor of all that ancient family who escaped, a maimed and famished spectre, out of Derry, after the same party had driven him to eat his sword-belt for hunger. Look once again at this more antique locket; it contains the hair of a maternal ancestor, who perished for the faith among the fagots of Smithfield; and look, here, at my own arm—that wound I received when a child, from the chief of a 'Heart of Steel' banditti, who, under the same banner, lighted our family's escape from rape and massacre, by the flames of their own burning roof-tree; and yet I—I, every drop of whose blood might well cry out for vengeance, when I see these remembrancers of my wrongs in the hands of my wrongs' defender, do yet take that hand, and long to call him father."

I was here interrupted by the sudden entrance of a splashed and wearied messenger: advancing with a military salute, he presented a letter to Mr O'More. "Pardon me," he said, hastily tearing it open, "this is on a matter of life and death." He read it in great agitation; led the messenger aside; gave some hurried orders; took down his arms from the mantelpiece; and drawing his belt, and fixing in his pistols while he spoke, addressed me:—"Notwithstanding what you have urged, my determination remains unaltered. I must leave Moyabel, for I cannot now say how long: you shall be taken care of in my absence: farewell, sir, farewell." He shook me by the hand, and hurried away. I heard confusion in the house, and thought I could distinguish the sweet voice of Madeline, broken by sobs at his departure. A considerable party seemed to leave the house; for there was a great trampling of horses in the courtyard, and two or three mounted men passed by the windows. At length they were out of hearing, and I determined not to lose another minute of the precious opportunity. My clothes had been brought from Knowehead, and I was so much recovered that I found myself able to rise, and set about dressing immediately. My continental visions of beard were more than realised; and if I failed to produce a shapely moustache, 'twas not for lack of material. With fluttering expectation, I selected the most graceful of the pantaloons; drew on my rings; arrayed myself in the purple velvet slippers, cap, and brocade dressing-gown; took one lingering last look at the little mirror, and descended into the parlour. I drew a writing-table to me, and penned a long letter to Knowehead, another to Redrigs, and had half-finished a sonnet to Madeline. The day was nearly past, and she had not yet made her appearance.

For the first time the thought struck me, and that with a pang which made me leap to my feet, that she had accompanied her father, and was gone! gone, perhaps, to a nunnery in France! gone, and lost to me for ever! "Hilloa, Peg!" and I thumped the floor with the poker, "Peg, I say! as you would not have me in another fever, come here!" She came to the door: the poor old creature's eyes were swollen and blood-shot: she made a frightened curtsy to me as I stood, the papers crumpled up in one hand, and the poker in the other.—"Peggy; oh, Peggy! where is your young mistress?"

"Save us, your honour! Ye are na weel; sall I fetch you a drap cordial?"

"Your mistress? your mistress? where is your young mistress?"

"Oh, sir, dear! take anither posset, and gang to your bed."

"To the devil I pitch your posset! where is your young mistress? where is Madeline O'More?"

She turned to escape: I leaped forward, and caught her by the shoulder—"Since ye maun ken, then," she screamed, "by God's providence, she's on the saut water wi' the Square, her father"—I sank back upon the sofa—"wha," she continued in a soothing strain, "has left me to take charge o' your honour's head till ye can gang your lane: A' the ithers are awa, but wee Jeanie and mysell; and ye wadna, surely your honour wadna gang to frichten twa lane weemen, by dwamin' awa that gait, and deein' amang their hands? But save us, if there's no auld Knowehead himsell, wi' that bauld sorner, Aleck Lawther, on a sheltie at his heels, trottin' doon the causey!—Jeanie, hoi, Jeanie, rin and open the yett."

I lay back—sick—sick—sick. The old man, booted and spurred, strode in—

"I'm thinkin', Willie, ye hae catched a cloured head?"

"If I do not catch a strait-waistcoat, sir, it will be the less matter."

"Willie, man," said he, without noticing my comment, "she's weel awa, and you are weel redd—but toss off thae wylie-coats and nightcaps, and lap yoursell up in mensefu' braid-claith; for, donsie as you are, you maun come alang wi' me to Knowehead—there's a troop o' dragoons e'en now on Skyboe side, wi' your creditable namesake at their head, and they'll herry Moyabel frae hearthstane to riggin' before sax hours are gane—best keep frae under a lowin' king-post, and on the outside o' the four wa's o' a prevost.—You're no fit to ride, man; and you couldna thole the jolting o' a wheel-car—but never fear, we'll slip you hame upon a feather-bed.—Nae denial, Willie—here, draw on your coat: now, that's something purpose-like—cram thae flim-flams into a poke, my bonny Jean, and fetch me a handkerchief to tie about his head: Come, Willie, take my arm—come awa, come awa."

I was passive in his hands, for I felt as weak as an infant. They wrapped me up in greatcoats and blankets, and supported me to the courtyard. I had hardly strength to speak to Aleck, whom I now saw for the first time since the night of his disaster; the poor fellow's face still bore the livid marks of his punishment, but he was active and assiduous as ever. A slide car or slipe—a vehicle something like a Lapland sledge—was covered with bedding in the middle of the square: a cart was just being hurried off, full of loose furniture, with Peggy and Jenny in front. I was placed upon my hurdle, apparently as little for this world as if Tyburn had been its destination: Knowehead and Aleck mounted their horses, took the reins of that which drew me at either side, and hauled me off at a smart trot along the smooth turf of the grass-grown causeway. The motion was sliding and agreeable, except on one occasion, when we had to take a few perches of the highway in crossing the river; but when we struck off into the green horse-track again, and began to rise and sink upon the ridges of the broad lea, I could have compared my humble litter to the knight's horses, which felt like proud seas under them. From the sample I had had of that part of the country on the night of the flood, I had anticipated a "confused march forlorn, through bogs, caves, fens, lakes, dens, and shades of death," but was agreeably surprised to see the Longslap Moss a simple stripe along the water's edge, lying dark in the deepening twilight, a full furlong from our path, which, instead of weltering through the soaked and spungy flats that I had expected, wound dry and mossy up the gentle slope of a smooth green hill; so that, although the night closed in upon us ere half our journey was completed, we arrived at Knowehead without farther accident than one capsize (the beauty of slipping consists in the impossibility of breaks down), and so far from being the worse of my "sail," I felt actually stronger than on leaving the Grange; nevertheless I was put to bed, where I continued for a week.

Next day brought intelligence of the wrecking of Moyabel in the search for the rebel general and the sick Frenchman: our measures had been so well taken, however, that no suspicion attached itself to Knowehead. I learned from Peggy, so soon as her lamentations subsided, that Mr O'More was a south country gentleman, who had married her master's sister, and that Madeline was his only child; that this had been his first visit to the north since the death of his lady, which had taken place at her brother's house, but that Moyabel had long been the resort of his friends and emissaries. The old woman left Knowehead that night, and I learned no more; for Jenny (who remained with Miss Janet) had been so busy with her care of Aleck during his illness, and afterwards so unwell herself, that she knew nothing more than I.

Another week completely re-established me in my strength; but the craving that had never left me since the last sight of Madeline, kept me still restless and impatient. Meanwhile Aleck's courtship had ripened in the golden sun of matrimony, and the wedding took place on the next Monday morning. He was a favourite with all at Knowehead, and the event was celebrated by a dance of all the young neighbours. After witnessing the leaping and flinging in the barn for half an hour, I retired to Miss Janet's parlour, where I was lolling away the evening on her high-backed sofa, along with the old gentleman, who, driven from his capitol in the kitchen by the bustle of the day, had installed himself in the unwonted state of an embroidered arm-chair beside me. We were projecting a grand coursing campaign before I should leave the country, and listening to the frequent bursts of merriment from the barn and kitchen, when little Davie came in to tell his master that "Paul Ingram was speerin' gain he wad need ony tey, or brendy, or prime pigtail, or Virginney leaf."

"I do not just approve of Paul's line of trade," observed the old man, turning to me; "for I'm thinking his commodities come oftener frae the smuggler's cave than the king's store; but he's a merry deevil, Paul, and has picked up a braw hantle o' mad ballads ae place and another; some frae Glen—— here, some frae Galloway, some frae the Isle o' Man, and some queer lingos he can sing, that he says he learned frae the Frenchmen."

A sudden thought struck me. "I will go out and get him to sing some to me, sir."—"Is Rab Halliday there, Davie?" inquired he.

"Oh aye, sir," said Davie; "it's rantin' Rab that ye hear roarin' e'en noo."

"Weel, tell him, Davie, that here's Mr William, wha has learned to speel Parnassus by a step-ladder, has come to hear the sang he made about my grandmither's wooin'."

Accordingly Davie ushered me to the kitchen. I could distinguish through the reaming fumes of liquor and tobacco about half a dozen of carousers; they were chorusing at the full stretch of their lungs the song of a jolly fellow in one corner, who, nodding, winking, and flourishing his palms, in that state of perfect bliss "that good ale brings men to," was lilting up

"Till the house be rinnin' round about, It's time enough to flit; When we fell, we aye gat up again, And sae will we yet!"

This was ranting Rab Halliday—they all rose at my entrance; but being able to make myself at home in all companies, I had little difficulty in soon restoring them to their seats and jollity; while Davie signified what was to him intelligible of his master's wishes to the tuneful ranter. Rab, after praying law for any lack of skill that might be detected by my learning, sang with great humour the following verses, which he entitled

THE CANNY COURTSHIP.

Young Redrigs walks where the sunbeams fa'; He sees his shadow slant up the wa'— Wi' shouthers sae braid, and wi' waist sae sma', Guid faith he's a proper man! He cocks his cap, and he streeks out his briest; And he steps a step like a lord at least; And he cries like the deevil to saddle his beast, And aff to court he's gaun.

The Laird o' Largy is far frae hame, But his dochter sits at the quiltin' frame, Kamin' her hair wi' a siller kame, In mony a gowden ban': Bauld Redrigs loups frae his blawin' horse, He prees her mou' wi' a freesome force— "Come take me, Nelly, for better for worse, To be your ain guidman."

"I'll no be harried like bumbee's byke— I'll no be handled unleddy like— I winna hae ye, ye worryin' tyke, The road ye came gae 'lang!" He loupit on wi' an awsome snort, He bang'd the fire frae the flinty court; He's aff and awa' in a snorin' sturt, As hard as he can whang.

It's doon she sat when she saw him gae, And a' that she could do or say, Was—"O! and alack! and a well-a-day! I've lost the best guidman!" But if she was wae, it's he was wud; He garr'd them a' frae his road to scud; But Glowerin' Sam gied thud for thud, And then to the big house ran.

The Glowerer ran for the kitchen-door; Bauld Redrigs hard at his heels, be sure, He's wallop'd him roun' and roun' the floor, As wha but Redrigs can? Then Sam he loups to the dresser-shelf— "I daur ye wallop my leddy's delf; I daur ye break but a single skelf Frae her cheeny bowl, my man!"

But Redrigs' bluid wi' his hand was up; He'd lay them neither for crock nor cup, He play'd awa' wi' his cuttin' whup, And doon the dishes dang; He clatter'd them doon, sir, raw by raw; The big anes foremost, and syne the sma'; He came to the cheeny cups last o' a'— They glanced wi' goud sae thrang!

Then bonny Nelly came skirlin' butt; Her twa white arms roun' his neck she put— "O Redrigs, dear, hae ye tint your wut? Are ye quite and clean gane wrang? O spare my teapot! O spare my jug! O spare, O spare my posset-mug! And I'll let ye kiss, and I'll let ye hug, Dear Redrigs, a' day lang."

"Forgie, forgie me, my beauty bright Ye are my Nelly, my heart's delight; I'll kiss and I'll hug ye day and night, If alang wi' me you'll gang." "Fetch out my pillion, fetch out my cloak, You'll heal my heart if my bowl you broke." These words, whilk she to her bridegroom spoke, Are the endin' o' my sang.

I got this copy of his song since, else I could not have recollected it from that hearing; for I was too impatient to put the plan into execution for which I had come out, to attend even to this immortalising of an ancestor.

I knew Ingram at once by his blue jacket, and the corkscrews which bobbed over each temple as he nodded and swayed his head to the flourishes of "the gaberlunzie man" (the measure which Halliday had chosen for his words); so when the song was finished, and I had drank a health to Robin's muse, I stepped across to where he sat, and said I wished to speak with him alone. He put down his jug of punch, and followed me into my own room. I closed the door and told him, that as I understood him to be in the Channel trade, I applied to know if he could put me on any expeditious conveyance to the coast of France. "Why, sir," said he, "I could give you a cast myself in our own tight thing, the Saucy Sally, as far as Douglas or the Calf; and for the rest of the trip, why there's our consort, the Little Sweep, that will be thereabouts this week, would run you up, if it would lie in your way, as far as Guernsey, or, if need be, to Belle Isle." "Belle Isle!" repeated I, with a start; for the words of O'More to the priest came suddenly upon my recollection, "Has any boat left this coast or that of Man for Belle Isle within the last fortnight?" "Not a keel, sir; there's ne'er a boat just now in the Channel that could do it but herself—they call her the Deil-sweep, sir, among the revenue sharks; for that's all that they could ever make of her. She is the only boat, sir, as I have said, and if so be you are a gentleman in distress, you will not be the only one that will have cause to trust to her—but, d—n it (he muttered), those women—well, what of that?—Mayn't I lend a hand to save a fine fellow for all that?—but harkye, brother, this is all in confidence."

"Your confidence shall not be abused," whispered I, hardly able to breathe for eager hope—the female passengers—the desire for exclusion—the only boat that fortnight, all confirmed me. "Mr O'More and I are friends; fear neither for him nor yourself; let me only get first on board, and I can rough it all night on deck, as many a time I've done before: his daughter and her woman can have your cabin to themselves." It was a bold guess, but all right; he gaped at me for a minute in dumb astonishment; then closing one hand upon the earnest which I here slipped into it, drew the other across his eyes, as if to satisfy himself that he was not dreaming, and in a respectful tone informed me that they intended sailing on the next night from Cairn Castle shore. "We take the squire up off Island Magee, sir; he has been lying to on the look-out for us there for the last ten days; so that if you want to bear a hand in getting the young lady aboard, it will be all arranged to your liking."

During this conversation, my whole being underwent a wonderful change; from the collapsing sickness of bereavement, I felt my heart and limbs expand themselves under the delightful enlargement of this new spring of hope: I shook Ingram by the hand, led him back to the kitchen, and returned turned to the old man with a step so elated, and with such a kindling of animation over my whole appearance, that he exclaimed, in high glee, "Heard ye ever sic verses at Oxford, Willie? Odd! man, Rab Halliday is as good as a dozen o' Janet's possets for ye; I'll hae him here again to sing to ye the morn's e'en."

"He is a very pleasant fellow—a very pleasant fellow indeed, sir; but I fear I shall not be able to enjoy his company to-morrow night, as I purpose taking my passage for the Isle of Man in Ingram's boat."—"Nonsense, Willy, nonsense; ye wadna make yoursell 'hail, billy, weel met,' wi' gallows-birds and vagabonds—though, as for Paul himsell"——"My dear sir, you know I have my passport, and need not care for the reputation of my hired servants; besides, sir, you know how fond I am of excitement of all sorts, and the rogue really sings so well"——

"That he does, Willy. Weel, weel—he that will to Cupar maun to Cupar!" and so saying, he lifted up his candle and marched off the field without another blow.

Ingram and I started next evening about four o'clock, attended by little Davie, who was to bring back the horse I rode next day; Ingram, whose occupation lay as much on land as sea, was quite at home on his rough sheltie, which carried also a couple of little panniers at either side of the pommel, well-primed with samples of his contraband commodities. We arrived a little after nightfall in Larne, where we left Davie with the horses, while Ingram, having disposed of his pony, joined me on foot, and we set off by the now bright light of the moon along the hills for Cairn Castle.

During the first three or four miles of our walk, he entertained me with abundance of songs echoed loud and long across the open mountain; but when we descended from it towards the sea, we both kept silence and a sharp look-out over the unequal and bleak country between. We now got among low clumpy hills and furzy gullies, and had to pick our steps through loose scattered lumps of rock, which were lying all round us white in the clear moonshine, like flocks of sheep upon the hill-side. The wind was off the shore, and we did not hear the noise of the water till, at the end of one ravine, we turned the angular jut of a low promontory, and beheld the image of the moon swinging in its still swell at our feet.

Ingram whistled, and was answered from the shore a little farther on; he stepped out a few paces in advance, and led forward; presently I saw a light figure glide out of the shadow in front and approach us.

"Vell, mine Apostele Paul, vat news of the Ephesiens?"

"All right, Munsher Martin, and here is another passenger."

He whispered something, and the little Frenchman touched his hat with an air, and expressed, in a compound of Norman-French, Manx, and English, the great pleasure he had in doing a service to the illustrious cavalier, the friend of liberty. Hearing a noise in front, I looked up and discerned the light spar of a mast peeping over an intervening barrier of rock; we wound round it, and on the other side found a cutter-rigged boat of about eighteen tons hauled close to the natural quay, with her mainsail set and flapping heavily in the night wind. Here we met another seaman. In ten minutes we were under way; the smooth groundswell running free and silent from our quarter, and the boat laying herself out with an easy speed, as she caught the breeze freshening over the lower coast. The Saucy Sally was a half-decked cutter (built for a pleasure-boat in Guernsey), and a tight thing, as Ingram had said. I did not go into the cabin, which occupied all the forecastle, but wrapping myself in my cloak, lay down along the stern-sheets, and feigned to be asleep, for I was so excited by the prospect of meeting Madeline, that I could no longer join in the conversation of the crew. In about half an hour I heard them say that we were in sight of Island Magee, and rising, beheld it dark over our weather-bows. I went forward and continued on the forecastle in feverish impatience as we neared it. The breeze stiffened as we opened Larne Lough, and the Saucy Sally tossed two or three sprinklings of cold spray over my shoulders, but I shook the water from my cloak and resumed my look-out. At last we were within a quarter of a mile of the coast, and a light appeared right opposite; we showed another and lay to. With a fluttering heart I awaited the approach of a boat. Twice I fancied I saw it distinguish itself from the darkness of the coast, and twice I felt the blank recoil of disappointment. At last it did appear, dipping distinct from among the rocks, and full of people. They neared us; my heart leapt at every jog of their oars in the loose thewels; for I could now plainly discern two female figures, two boatmen, and a muffled man in the stern. All was now certain; they shot alongside, laid hold of the gunnel, and I heard O'More's voice call on Ingram to receive the lady. I could hardly conceal my agitation as she was lifted on deck, but had no power to advance; Nancy followed, and O'More himself leaped third on deck—the boat shoved off, the helmsman let the cutter's head away, the mainsail filled, and we stood out to sea.

Here I was then, and would be for four-and-twenty hours at the least, by the side of her whom a little time before I would have given years of my life to have been near but for a minute; yet, with an unaccountable irresolution, I still delayed, nay, shrunk from, the long-sought interview. It was not till her father had gone into the little cabin to arrange it for her reception, and had closed the door between us, that I ventured from my hiding-place behind the foresail, and approached her where she stood gazing mournfully over the boat's side at the fast passing shores of her country. I whispered her name; she knew my voice at the first syllable, and turned in amazed delight; but the flush of pleasure which lit up her beautiful features as I clasped her hand, had hardly dawned ere it was chased by the rising paleness of alarm. I comforted her by assurances of eternal love, and vowed to follow her to the ends of the earth in despite of every human power. We stood alone; for two sailors were with O'More and the girl in the cabin, and the third, having lashed the tiller to, was fixing something forward. We stood alone I cannot guess how long—time is short, but the joy of those moments has been everlasting. We exchanged vows of mutual affection and constancy, and I had sealed our blessed compact with a kiss, witnessed only by the moon and stars, when the cabin-door opened, and her father stood before me. I held out my hand, and accosted him with the free confidence of a joyful heart. The severe light of the moon sharpened his strong features into startling expression, as he regarded me for a second with mingled astonishment and vexation. He did not seem to notice my offered hand; but, saying something in a low cold tone about the unexpected pleasure, turned to the steersman, and demanded fiercely why he had not abided by his agreement? The sailor, quailing before the authoritative tone and aspect of his really noble-looking questioner, began an exculpatory account of my having been brought thither by Ingram, to whom he referred.

Bold Paul was beginning with "Lookee, Squire, I'm master of this same craft," when I interrupted him by requesting that he would take his messmates to the bows, and leave the helm with me, as I wished to explain the matter myself in private. He consigned his soul, in set terms, to the devil, if any other man than myself should be allowed to make a priest's palaver-box of the Saucy Sally, and sulkily retired, rolling his quid with indefatigable energy, and squirting jets of spittle half-mast high.

O'More almost pushed the reluctant Madeline into the cabin, closed the door, and addressed me.—"To what motive am I to attribute your presence here, Mr Macdonnell?"

"To one which I am proud to avow, the desire of being near the object of my sole affections—your lovely daughter; as well, sir, as from a hope that I may still be able to overcome those objections which you once expressed."

He pointed over the boat's side to the black piled precipices of the shore, as they stood like an iron wall looming along the weather-beam.—"Look there, sir; look at the Bloody Gobbins, and hear me—When a setting moon shall cease to fling the mourning of their shadows over the graves of my butchered ancestors, and when a rising sun shall cease to bare before abhorring Christendom"——

"Luff, sir, luff," cried Ingram, from the forecastle.

"Come aft yourself, Paul," I replied in despair and disgust.

O'More retired to the cabin bulkhead, and leaned against the door, without completing his broken vow. Ingram took the helm, and I sat down in silence. Paul saw our unpleasant situation, and ceasing to remember his own cause for ill-humour, strove to make us forget ours. He talked with a good deal of tact, but with little success, for the next half hour. O'More remained stern and black as the Gobbins themselves, now rapidly sinking astern, while the coast of Island Magee receded into the broad Lough of Belfast upon our quarter. The moon was still shining with unabated lustre, and we could plainly discern the bold outline of the hills beyond; while the coast of Down and the two Copelands lay glistening in grey obscure over our starboard bow. No sail was within sight; we had a stiff breeze with a swinging swell from the open bay; and as the cutter lay down and showed the glimmer of the water's edge above her gunnel, the glee of the glorying sailor burst out in song:—

Haul away, haul away, down helm, I say; Slacken sheets, let the good boat go.— Give her room, give her room for a spanking boom; For the wind comes on to blow— (Haul away!) For the wind comes on to blow, And the weather-beam is gathering gloom, And the scud flies high and low.

Lay her out, lay her out, till her timbers stout, Like a wrestler's ribs, reply To the glee, to the glee of the bending tree, And the crowded canvass high— (Lay her out!) And the crowded canvass high; Contending, to the water's shout, With the champion of the sky.

Carry on, carry on; reef none, boy, none; Hang her out on a stretching sail: Gunnel in, gunnel in! for the race we'll win, While the land-lubbers so pale— (Carry on!) While the land-lubbers so pale Are fumbling at their points, my son, For fear of the coming gale!

All but O'More joined in the chorus of the last stanza, and the bold burst of harmony was swept across the water like a defiance to the eastern gale. Our challenge was accepted. "Howsomever," said Ingram, after a pause, and running his glistening eye along the horizon, "as we are not running a race, there will be no harm in taking in a handful or two of our cloth this morning; for the wind is chopping round to the north, and I wouldn't wonder to hear Sculmarten's breakers under our lee before sunrise."

"And a black spell we will have till then, for when the moon goes down you may stop your fingers in your eyes for starlight," observed the other sailor, as he began to slacken down the peak halliards; while they brought the boat up and took in one reef in the mainsail; but the word was still "helm a-larboard," and the boat's head had followed the wind round a whole quarter of the compass within the next ten minutes. We went off before the breeze, but it continued veering round for the next hour; so that when we got fairly into the Channel, the predictions of the seamen were completely fulfilled; for the moon had set, the wind was from the east, and a hurrying drift had covered all the sky.

We stood for the north of Man; but the cross sea, produced by the shifting of the wind, which was fast rising to a gale, buffeted us with such contrary shocks, that after beating through it almost till the break of day, we gave up the hope of making Nesshead, and, altering our course, took in another reef, and ran for the Calf.

But the gale continued to increase; we pitched and plunged to no purpose; the boat was going bows in at every dip, and the straining of her timbers as she stooped out to every stretch, told plainly that we must either have started planks or an altered course again. The sailors, after some consultation, agreed on putting about; and, for reasons best known to themselves, pitched upon Strangford Lough as their harbour of refuge. Accordingly, we altered our course once more, and went off before the wind. Day broke as we were still toiling ten miles from the coast of Down. The grey dawn showed a black pile of clouds overhead, gathering bulk from rugged masses which were driving close and rapid from the east. By degrees the coast became distinct from the lowering sky; and at last the sun rose lurid and large above the weltering waters. It was ebb tide, and I represented that Strangford bar at such a time was peculiarly dangerous in an eastern gale; nevertheless the old sailor who was now at the helm insisted on standing for it. When we were yet a mile distant, I could distinguish the white horses running high through the black trembling strait, and hear the tumult of the breakers over the dashing of our own bows. Escape was impossible; we could never beat to sea in the teeth of such a gale; over the bar we must go, or founder. We took in the last reef, hauled down our jib, and, with ominous faces, saw ourselves in ten minutes more among the cross seas and breakers.

The waters of a wide estuary running six miles an hour, and meeting the long roll of the Channel, might well have been expected to produce a dangerous swell; but a spring-tide, combining with a gale of wind, had raised them at flood to an extraordinary height, and the violence of their discharge exceeded our anticipations accordingly. We had hardly encountered the first two or three breakers, when Ingram was staggered from the forecastle by the buffet of a counter sea, which struck us forward just as the regular swell caught us astern; the boat heeled almost on her beam ends, and he fell over the cabin door into the hold; the man at the helm was preparing for the tack as he saw his messmate's danger, and started forward to save him: he was too late; the poor fellow pitched upon his head and shoulders among the ballast; at the same instant the mainsail caught the wind, the boom swung across, and striking the helmsman on the back of the neck, swept him half overboard, where he lay doubled across the gunnel, with his arms and head dragging through the water, till I hauled him in. He was stunned and nearly scalped by the blow. Ingram lay moaning and motionless; the boat was at the mercy of the elements, while I stretched the poor fellows side by side at our feet. I had now to take the helm, for the little Frenchman was totally ignorant of the coast; he continued to hand the main-sheet; and O'More, who all night long had been sitting in silence against the cabin bulkhead, leaped manfully upon the forecastle and stood by the tackle there. We had now to put the boat upon the other tack, for the tide made it impossible to run before the wind. O'More belayed his sheet, and, as the cutter lay down again, folded his arms and leaned back on the weather-bulwark, balancing himself with his feet against the skylight.

The jabble around us was like the seething of a caldron; for the waves boiled up all at once, and ran in all directions. I was distracted by their universal assault, and did not observe the heaviest and most formidable of all, till it was almost down upon our broadside. I put the helm hard down, and shouted with all my might to O'More—"Stand by for a sea, sir—lay hold, lay hold." It was too late. I could just prevent our being swamped by withdrawing our quarter from the shock, when it struck us on the weather-bows, where he stood: it did not break. Our hull was too small an obstacle: it swept over the forecastle as the stream leaps a pebble, stove in the bulwark, lifted him right up, and launched him on his back, with his feet against the foresail. The foresail stood the shock a moment, and he grappled to it, while we were swept on in the rush, like a sparrow in the clutches of a hawk; but the weight of water bore all before it—the sheets were torn from the deck, the sail flapped up above the water, and I saw him tossed from its edge over the lee-bow. The mainsail hid him for a moment; he reappeared, sweeping astern at the rate of fifteen knots an hour. He was striking out, and crying for a rope; there was no rope at hand, and all the loose spars had been stowed away. He could not be saved. I have said that the sun had just risen: between us and the east his rays shone through the tops of the higher waves with a pale and livid light; as O'More drifted into these, his whole agonised figure rose for a moment dusk in the transparent water, then disappeared in the hollow beyond; but at our next plunge I saw him heaved up again, struggling dim amid the green gloom of an overwhelming sea. An agonising cry behind me made me turn my head. "O save him, save him! turn the boat, and save him! O William, as you love me, save my father!" It was Madeline, frantic for grief, stumbling over, and unconsciously treading on the wounded men, as she rushed from the cabin, and cast herself upon her knees before me. I raised my eyes to heaven, praying for support; and though the clouds rolled, and the gale swept between, strength was surely sent me from above; for what save heavenly help could have subdued that fierce despair, which, at the first sight of the complicated agonies around, had prompted me to abandon hope, blaspheme, and die? I raised her gently but firmly in my arms; drew her, still struggling and screaming wild entreaties, to my breast, and not daring to trust myself with a single look at her imploring eyes, fixed my own upon the course we had to run, and never swerved from my severe determination, till the convulsive sobs had ceased to shake her breast upon mine, and I had felt the warm gush of her relieving tears instead; then my stern purpose melted, and, bending over the desolate girl, I murmured, "Weep no more, my Madeline, for, by the blessing of God, I will be a father and a brother to you yet!" Blessed be he who heard my holy vow!—when I looked up again we were in the smooth water.

Drenched, numbed, and dripping all with the cold spray, one borne senseless and bloody in his messmate's arms, we climbed the quay of Strangford. The threatened tempest was bursting in rain and thunder; but our miserable plight had attracted a sympathising crowd. No question was asked of who? or whence? by a generous people, to wounded and wearied men and helpless women; till there pressed through the ring of bystanders a tall fellow, with a strong expression of debasement and desperate impudence upon his face, that seemed to say, "Infamy, you have done your worst." He demanded our names and passports, and arrested us all in the king's name, almost in the same breath. I struck him in the face with my fist, and kicked him into the kennel. No one attempted to lift him; but he scrambled to his feet, with denunciations of horrible revenge. He was hustled about by the crowd till he lost temper, and struck one of them. He had now rather too much work upon his hands to admit of a too close attention to us; three or four persons stepped forward and offered us protection.

Ingram and the other wounded sailor were taken off, along with the Frenchman, by some of their own associates; while a respectable and benevolent looking man addressed me, "I am a Protestant, sir, and an Orangeman; but put these ladies under my protection, and you will not repent your confidence; for, next to the Pope, I love to defeat an informer;" and he pointed with a smile to our arrester, who was just measuring his length upon the pavement.

"Is his name Macdonnell?" asked I.

"The same, sir," he replied; "but come away with me before he gets out of my Thomas's hands, and I will put your friends out of the reach of his."

I shall never be able to repay the obligation I owe to this good man, who received Miss O'More, with her attendant, into the bosom of his family, till I had arranged her journey to the house of a female relative, whence, after a decent period of mourning, our marriage permitted me to bear her to my own.



BEN-NA-GROICH.

[MAGA. MARCH 1839.]

A plain dark-coloured chariot, whose dusty wheels gave evidence of a journey, stopped to change horses at Fushie Bridge, on the 7th of August 1838. The travellers seemed listless and weary, and remained, each ensconced in a corner of the carriage. The elder was a lady of from forty to fifty years of age—thin, and somewhat prim in her expression, which was perhaps occasioned by a long upper lip, rigidly stretched over a chasm in her upper gum, caused by the want of a front tooth. Her companion had taken off her bonnet, and hung it to the cross strings of the roof. The heat and fatigue of the journey seemed to have almost overcome her, and she had placed her head against the side, and was either asleep or very nearly so. It is impossible to say what her appearance might be when her eyes were open; all that we can say under present circumstances is, that the rest of her features were beautifully regular—that what appeared of her form was unimpeachable—that her hair was disengaged from combs and other entanglement, and floated at its own sweet will over cheek, and neck, and shoulders. In the rumble were seated two servants, who seemed to have a much better idea of the art of enjoying a journey than the party within. A blue cloak, thrown loosely over the gentleman's shoulders, succeeded (as was evidently his object) in concealing a certain ornamental strip of scarlet cloth that formed the collar of his coat; but revealed, at the same time, in spite of all the efforts he could make to draw up the apron, the upper portion of a pair of velvet integuments, which, according to Lord Byron's description of them, were "deeply, darkly, beautifully blue." The lady, reclining on his arm, which was gallantly extended, so as to save her from bumping against the iron, requires no particular description. She was dressed in very gay-coloured clothes—had a vast quantity of different-hued ribbons floating like meteors on the troubled air—from the top and both sides of her bonnet; while a glistening pink silk cloak was in correct keeping with a pair of expansive cheeks, where the roses had very much the upperhand of the lilies. While Mistress Wilson, the respectable landlady of the posting-house, was busy giving orders about the horses, a carriage was heard coming down the hill at a prodigious rate, and, with a sort of prophetic spirit, the old woman knew in an instant that four horses more would be required; and then she recollected as instantaneously that there would only be one pair in the stable. Under these circumstances, she went directly to the door of the plain chariot, whose inmates still showed no signs of animation, and tried to set their minds at rest as to the further prosecution of their journey—though, as they had no knowledge of the possibility of any difficulty arising, they had never entertained any anxiety on the subject.

"Dinna be fleyed, my bonny burdy," she said, addressing the unbonnetted young lady, who was still apparently dozing in the corner. "Ye sal hae the twa best greys in Fussie stables; they'll trot ye in in little mair than an hour; an' the ither folk maun just be doin' wi' a pair, as their betters hae dune afore them."

The young lady started up in surprise, and looked on the shrewd intelligent features of the well-known Meg Dods, without understanding a syllable of her address.

"Haena ye got a tongue i' yer head, for a' ye're sae bonny?" continued the rather uncomplimentary landlady—"maybe the auld wife i' the corner'll hae mair sense. Hear ye what I said? ye sall hae the twa greys—and Jock Brown to drive them; steady brutes a' the three, an' very quick on the road."

The elder lady gazed with lack-lustre eyes upon the announcer of these glad tidings.

"Greys, did you say?" she asked, catching at the only words she had understood in the address.

"Yes, did I. An' ye dinna seem over thankful for the same. I tell ye, if ye hadna a woman o' her word to deal wi', ye wad likely hae nae horses ava';—for here comes ane o' the things thae English idewuts ca's a dug-cart that they come doon wi', filled inside an' out wi' men, and dugs, an' guns—a' hurryin' aff to the muirs, an' neither to haud nor bind if they haena four horses the minute they clap their hands. They'll mak' a grand fecht, ye'll see, to get your twa greys; but bide a wee—the twa greys ye sall hae, if it was the laird o' Dalhousie himsell."

And in fact in a very few seconds after the venerable hostess had uttered these sybilline vaticinations, they received an exact fulfiment—

"Four horses on!" exclaimed a voice from the last arrived vehicle, which sorely puzzled the knowing ones of Fushie Brig to determine to what genus or species it belonged. It was a long high carriage, fitted for the conveyance both of men and luggage; and its capabilities in both these respects were, on this occasion, very severely tried. On the high driving-seat were perched two gentlemen, counterbalanced on the dicky-seat behind by two sporting-looking servants. Inside, four other gentlemen found ample room; while a sort of second body swinging below, seemed to carry as many packages, trunks, and portmanteaus, as the hold of a Leith smack. "Four horses on!" repeated the voice, which proceeded from one of the sporting-looking servants on the seat behind.

"Blaw awa', my man," murmured Mrs Wilson; "it'll be a gey while or the second pair comes out, for a' yer blawin'. Did ye want onything, sirs?" she inquired, going up to the equipage.

"To be sure," answered one of the gentlemen; "four horses immediately—we're pushed for time."

"Hech, sirs, so are we a', but time'll hae the best o't," replied the hostess. "Ye maun just hae patience, sirs, for ye canna get on this three hours."

"Three hours!" exclaimed the gentleman; "why, what's the matter? Why the deuce don't they get out the horses?"

"Just for the same raison the Hielanman couldna' get out the bawbee," replied the imperturbable Meg Dods; "the deil a plack was in his pouch, puir body—an' sae, ye see, ye maun just stay still."

"My lord," interposed one of the servants, touching his hat, "there's a pair of very natty greys just coming out of the stable, and a pair of bays with the harness on. I have seen them in stall"—

"Then let us have them, Charles, by all means," replied his lordship.

"Yes, my lord."

In a very short time high words were heard, from which it was evident that by no means a complimentary opinion was entertained of the gentlemanly conduct of the nobleman's dependant by the guard and ornament of the plain chariot.

"I say, my fine chap, you leave them there grey 'osses alone, will ye? they ain't none o' yourn."

"Quite a mistake, Johnny," replied the noble retainer, with a supercilious glance at our friend, who was still perched high in air.

"Oh! if ye come to go to be a-leaving off of names, old Timothy, you'll find I've a way of writing my card with my five fingers here in a text hand as no gentleman can mistake."

While boasting of his literary acquirements, our Hector in livery slewed himself down from the side of the red-cheeked Andromache, and presented an appearance which apparently induced the gentleman in the cockade to believe that the mistake might possibly be on his own side.

"My lord is in a great hurry."

"So is my ladies."

"He must have four horses."

"They must have two."

"Lauds!" exclaimed the voice of the hostess, addressing three or four stable-men who had been gaping spectators of this altercation, "bring yer grapes and pitchin' forks here, an' lift this birkie wi' the cockaud in his head back till his seat again. Tell Jock Brown to get his boots on wi' a' his micht, and drive thir ladies to Douglas's Hotel. An' I'm sayin', if ony o' thae English bit craturs, wi' their clippy tongues, lays hand on bit or bridle o' ony o' my horses, dinna spare the pitchin' fork—pit it through them as ye wad a lock strae; I'll hae nae rubbery in my stable-yaird—I'm braw freens wi' the Justice-Clerk."

As affairs now appeared to grow serious, the Noah's Ark disembogued the whole of its living contents, and a minute inspection of the stables was commenced by the whole party. The ladies, in the mean time, who had some confused idea that all was not right, were looking anxiously from the windows; and if the elder lady had been an attentive observer of her companion's looks, she would have seen a flush of surprise suffuse her whole countenance as her eyes for an instant rested on one of the gentlemen, who stood apparently an uninterested spectator of the proceedings of his friends. A similar feeling of amazement seemed to take possession of the champion of the ladies, as he recognised the same individual. He left his antagonist in the very middle of a philippic that ought to have sunk that gentleman in his own estimation for ever, and walking hurriedly up to the gentleman, who was still in what is called a reverie, said—

"Mr Harry!—hope ye're quite well, sir?"

"What?—Copus?" replied the gentleman. "I'm delighted to see you again. Who are you with just now?"

"Family, sir—great family—equal to a duke, master says;—lady's-maid uncommon pleasant, and all things quite agreeable."

"Do you mean you are with a duke, Copus?"

"Bless ye! no, sir, only equal to it. Master has bought a Scotch chiefship, and we're all a-going down to take possession. Master made all the tartans himself afore we left off trade."

"I don't understand you—what is he?"

"Smith, Hobbins, and Huxtable, they called us at Manchester,—great way of business—but master, old Smith, has retired, and bought this here Scotch estate, and makes us all call him Ben-na-Groich."

"And his family, Copus?"

"Only his old sister, and our young lady."

"Well,—her name?"

"Miss Jane. She's a niece, they say, of old Smith—Ben-na-Groich, I means; but I don't b'lieve it. She's a real lady, and no mistake; and, they say, will have a prodigious fortin. By dad, our old 'ooman takes prodigious care of her, and is always a snubbing."

"My dear Copus, say not a word of having seen me; you can be the greatest friend I ever had in my life—you'll help me?"

"Won't I?—that's all;—'clect all about Oriel, Mr Harry, and Brussels? Ah! them was glorious days!"

"We shall have better days yet, Copus, never fear."

After a few minutes' conversation, the face of affairs entirely changed. An apology was made by his lordship in person for the mistake of his servant; that individual was severely reprimanded, greatly to the satisfaction of Mr Copus; the two greys were peaceably yoked to the plain chariot, and Jock Brown cracked his whip and trotted off at a pace that set loose the tongues of all the dogs in the village.

"What a barbarous set of people these Lowlanders are!" exclaimed the senior lady—"so different from the brave and noble mountaineers. My brother, the chieftain, is lucky in having such a splendid set of retainers, and the tartan he invented is very becoming."

"Vell, only to think of picking up my old master in a inn-yard!" murmured Mr Copus, resuming his old position, and fixing his guarding arm once more inside of the rumble-rail; "after all the rum goes we had together at Oxford and Brussels. Nothing couldn't be luckier than meeting a old friend among them Scotch savages. Do ye know, Mariar, they haven't no breeches?"

"For shame, Mr Copus!"

CHAPTER II.

It must be evident to the most unpractised eye that the young gentleman recognised by his old servant, and the pretty young lady in the plain chariot, are the hero and heroine of this true story. And a very fitting hero and heroine they would have been for a tale of far higher pretensions than the plain unvarnished one which it is now our duty to deliver. At present, all we can afford to tell the reader is the fact of their being consumedly in love—that their love proved its truth by not running very smoothly—and that, at the moment at which we have brought them on the stage, they had had no communication for several months before. The delight, therefore, of Henry Raymond on recognising Jane Somers at Meg Dods's door, was equalled by his surprise. He formed one of a party going down for the twelfth of August to the moors of his friend, Lord Teysham; but the interview he had had with his former domestic, Bill Copus, who had attended him through his career at Oxford, and afterwards for a short time to the Continent, somewhat cooled his zeal as a sportsman, by adding to his hopes as a lover. The forced embargo laid on them by the hostess of Fushie Bridge—for she was resolute in refusing to take them on with a pair, and the cattle of the last stage were miserably tired—gave him time to lay so much of his plans before his friends as he saw fit; and, long before the second pair, which had been with a party to Leith, had been refreshed, and were ready to start, his companions had unanimously passed a resolution, "that it was incumbent on the members of this excursion, collectively and individually, to give all possible aid and assistance to Henry Raymond, in overthrowing the plans of all persons of the name of Smith, or of any other name or denomination whatever, and marrying a certain young lady of the name of Jane Somers."

But Lord Teysham, who united a great deal of good plain sense with his buoyancy of spirits, took him quietly aside, and asked him—

"Why, in heaven's name, if he liked the girl, he didn't propose for her in form?"

"I have, my dear fellow," replied Harry, "and been refused."

"By whom?"

"The uncle. He wrote me a letter, saying my favour of 3d ult. had come duly to hand, and he declined the offer as expressed therein,—and he remains, sir, for self and niece, my obedient servant, Thomas Smith."

"But had he a right to send you this letter?"

"As guardian and uncle, I suppose he has; but as empowered by Jane herself, none whatever."

"But what's his objection?"

"I've an elder brother."

"Well, but your governor is a close old boy. He has metal enough for a frigate besides his First-rate."

"Yes; but he has told me a hundred times that tit for tat is the only game he plays at—whatever fortune I bring he will pay me over the same; if I marry for love, I must live on it. I could give you a score or two more of his wise sayings."

"Oh! thank ye—I've a good stock of my own; but why, in the name of wonder, is he so distrustful? Can't he give you credit for being able to choose, without bribing you, as it were, to look out for a fortune?"

"My father won't give credit to any one, especially to me; besides, he has some little cause to be suspicious, for I've cleaned him out of a trifle once or twice, in a way that makes him slow to bite now. I have been on the point of marriage twice—once to old Crocky, and once to Stulz."

"How?"

"Why, you see, last year I was dipt a little to the fishmonger, and wrote a matrimonial letter home hinting at trousseaus and other expenses, but mentioning no names. Nothing could please the old gentleman so much, and it was on that occasion he sent me up the paper, properly signed and attested, binding himself to give me guinea for guinea whatever fortune I might get with my wife. A thousand he sent me to do the needful in the way of jewels and other presents, set me square with all the world."

"And your progenitor was indignant at the disappointment?"

"Oh! horribly; and unless it had been for a four-year bill of Stulz, I shouldn't have troubled him so soon. But, as I was aware that Walter knew of the obligation about my future fortune, I gave him to understand that I was devoted to Miss Coutts, and that I had no reason to despair. The very thought of such a thing was death both to the old Jack Daw and the young. The squire and his eldest hope would have been both in the poor-house if I had succeeded in carrying off the heiress, and had kept them to their bond. So, after a week or two, I let them off for their alarm, and a moderate tip. But all these things, my dear Teysham, are over now. I am resolved to marry Jane Somers, and cut both Stulz and Crocky."

"If you can get her; but this old monster, with the uncommon name, has her in his power. We must concert measures calmly, and we need not despair. Will she herself help us?"

"To be sure she will. Her new home must be misery to her. She is the daughter of a sister of this old Smith, who, by some chance or other, married a gentleman. She had a large fortune, which now belongs to this only child. Colonel Somers has long been dead; the widow died a few years ago. Jane was then educated in the house of another guardian, a cousin of Colonel Somers, who lived near Bath; and, on his lately being sent to India on a high command, she was claimed by this Manchester hobgoblin, and torn from all her old friends."

"Yourself among the rest?"

"Just so—and now you know the whole story."

In which respect, as we conclude, the reader is by this time on a par with Lord Teysham, we quit the conclave at Fushie Bridge, and proceed to the more splendid apartments in Douglas's Hotel.

In the little drawing-room that looks to St Andrew Square, the evening seemed to have passed stupidly enough. Aunt Alice, after yawning till tea time, and scolding the greater part of that excellent time-killer, had at last, at about nine o'clock, betaken herself to her bedroom, to bring down the Scottish Chiefs—a book of manners and statistics from which all her notions of the Scottish nation of an early period were derived. Waverley, and the other northern stories of the enchanter, supplied her with all her modern information; and not very bad sources they would have been, if Miss Alice had been able to understand the language in which they were written. But our noble vernacular was to her a more impenetrable mystery than any revealed at Eleusis, and it was, perhaps, on this account that she entertained so decided a preference for the performance of Miss Porter.

Jane Somers, whom we have hitherto represented as either listless or sleeping, was sitting busily engaged in the somewhat unusual occupation of thinking. And, as her thoughts were wandering about Lansdowne, and a vast apartment, nobly lighted and filled with the sounds of revelry by night, we need not be surprised if they occasionally made a detour to the stables of Fushie Bridge, and the sight that met her there. While musing deeply on these very interesting subjects, our friend Copus entered the room and said—

"Please, mum, one of the vaiters here knows all about them there places as master talks so much on; p'raps Miss Alice would like to hear about 'em?"

"I will tell my aunt, William," said the young lady, and returned to her former musings.

Copus retired and shut the door.

A low voice at her ear as she again rested her head upon the arm of the sofa, whispered "Jane!"

On looking up she saw a tall man dressed in the usual waiter's costume, with a large white cloth spread over his left arm.

"Harry Raymond!" she said, but by some unaccountable instinct speaking, even in the extremity of her surprise, in a tone of voice that scarcely reached beyond the person she addressed,—"In Heaven's name, what do you here?—in this disguise? Aunt Alice will detect you, and then my situation will be made doubly miserable."

"Then it is miserable, Jane? Why do you submit to it? Ah, Jane, you have forgotten, surely, the promises you gave me."

"Forgetfulness seems to have existed on more sides than one. I have been four months in Lancashire, and am indebted, at last, to a chance meeting in Scotland for being recalled to your recollection."

"Recollection!" echoed the young man, in the liveliness of his emotion flinging the white cloth upon the floor. "Good heavens! what can have put such a notion into your head? I have written letter upon letter, both to you and your guardian—that is, after I found out where you had gone to. My letters to you have not been answered; my letter to him was answered by a refusal."

"Harry, Harry, he never consulted me—I never"——but here she checked herself, as perhaps she considered that the vehemence of her denial might be construed into something very like an anxiety to retract it; and whether this was the construction put on it or not, all we have to say is, that on Miss Alice Smith slipping quietly into the room, with a volume of the Scottish Chiefs in her hand, she almost screamed, as she saw a stranger seated on the sofa beside her niece, and holding her very earnestly by the hand.

"How! what's all this?" exclaimed Miss Alice. "Them Scotch is the oddest people!"

"Young lady nearly fainted, ma'am, at some accounts I was giving her of the Highlands, ma'am. I'm waiter here, ma'am; and it's part of my business, ma'am, to give all sorts of information to the English families as they pass through the city, ma'am."

"And what were you a-telling of to this young lady?"

"Only a few incidents that occasionally happen in such wild scenes as Fash-na-Cairn or Ben-na-Groich. They say the new Ben-na-Groich is an English nobleman, with a very handsome sister;—I was merely telling this young lady here what would probably be the fate of the beautiful English-woman."

"Gracious me!" exclaimed Miss Alice: "no wonder she fainted, poor thing. What was it? for mercy's sake—what will they do to her?"

"Fash-na-Cairn and all his clan have been at war for hundreds of years with Ben-na-Groich. He will probably lead a foray upon the new chief and carry off his sister."

"Gracious! how old is this Fash-na-Cairn?"

"About five-and-twenty. He has buried his fifteenth wife. They seldom live more than three months."

"Oh, Jane! Jane! we're lost—ruined—murdered! Waiter, I'm the sister of Ben-na-Groich, the victim of Fash-na-Cairn!"

"Sorry, ma'am, I've alarmed you; but, perhaps, the friends of the clan may gather round Ben-na-Groich, and succeed in capturing Fash-na-Cairn."

"And what then?" inquired Miss Alice, with a glimpse of hope.

"Oh, then, it is the universal custom for the next in blood of the chieftain, if she be unmarried, to cut off a finger of the prisoner every day with an old hereditary hatchet kept for that purpose, till he relents, and offers to make her his bride. If he does so before he has lost the fingers of both hands, the feud is at an end."

Miss Alice shuddered at the thoughts of cutting off a young man's fingers.

"Oh, waiter, this is dreadful news! I'm certain my poor brother knew nothing of this when he purchased that horrible property. And what will they do to him if the furry succeeds?"

"Tie him up in a wolf's skin, and hunt him to death with bloodhounds."

"My poor brother, my poor brother! And he so fat, and subject to the gout! But it's quite true—it's exactly what they did to the Bohemian in Quentin Durward."

"The present Fash-na-Cairn is a descendant of Le Balafre."

"Oh, the monster! Have they no police at Ben-na-Groich, nor even special constables?—no justice of peace?"

"The only justice there is the dirk and claymore. But the young lady seems revived now. Do you take supper? I'll send the chambermaid directly, ma'am."

When the historical and veracious waiter left the room, the long and stately figure of Miss Alice sank slowly down upon the sofa. Jane Somers's face was buried in her hands, and, by the tremors that ran through her whole frame, and the redness of what was visible of her cheeks and neck, it was evident that she was nearly in convulsions with some powerfully suppressed feeling. The aunt, of course, considered it to be the result of terror, whatever sager guess the reader may make upon the subject, and gave way to a fit of dolorous lamentation, that did not much contribute to her niece's recovery.

"This comes of pride, and being one of the Scottish chiefs! To be eaten up by bloodhounds, and have his sister carried off by Fash-na-Cairn! Blue-Beard was a joke to him; fifteen wives, and only five-and-twenty!—more than three per annum since he came of age! I will put my brother on his guard the moment we arrive. This is truly a barbarous country, and inhabited by nobody but murderers and cannibals. Hobbins and Huxtable will be amazed to hear of their partner's fate—and my brother never was partial to dogs!"

CHAPTER III.

The castle of Ben-na-Groich was an old square building, situated in a wild ravine of the North Highlands. It consisted of little more than a high tower, of the rough stone of the country, at one corner of a low mass of building, in many parts fallen into decay, and presenting an appearance of strength and massiveness, on which any attempt at beauty would have been thrown away. One side of the square had something more of a habitable look than the remaining portions, from the circumstance of its chimneys being newly rebuilt and tastefully whitewashed; the roof also was repaired, and the windows fitted with glass—a luxury which was considered useless by the inhabitants of the remaining three sides—the said inhabitants consisting of two or three cows, half a score of dogs, and one or two old representatives of Fingal, who clung to their ancient habitation with a local attachment that would have done honour to a cat.

On the evening of the 10th of August, the parlour (for it was nothing more, though bearing the nobler designation of the hall) was occupied by a solitary gentleman of somewhat solid dimensions, who cheered his loneliness by an occasional stir of the fire, and a frequent sip at a tumbler of whisky-toddy. From time to time he went to the window and listened. The cataract that rushed down the ravine would have drowned any other external sound, even if such had existed; and with an expression of increased ill humour after every visit to the window, the gentleman renewed his former occupation of sipping the toddy and stirring the fire.

"Some folly or other of sister Alice," at last he grunted, "putting off her time in Edinburgh. They ought to have been here by two o'clock, and here it is eight, and not a sound of their wheels. That cursed rivulet, to be sure, drowns everything else; 'tis worse than our hundred-horse engine. I wish they were here, for being a Highland chieftain is lonely work after all—no coffee-house—no club—no newspaper. Hobbins was right enough in saying, 'I should soon tire;' but tire or not, I am too proud to go back—no! Young Charles Hobbins shall marry Jane Somers. I will settle them here for three or four months in the summer, and we can all go back to his house for the rest of the year. A real chieftain will be something to look at there, though, in this cursed country, it does not seem to create much admiration. What can be keeping sister Alice?"

The gentleman walked to the window once more, and, opening it a little way, shouted "Angus Mohr! Angus Mohr!" A feeble voice in a short time answered from the dilapidated end of the building.

"Her's comin'—fat ta teil does ta fat havril want?" Uncertain steps not long after sounded along the creaking passage; the door was opened, and presented to the impatient glance of the new proprietor the visage of the grumbling Gael. He was an old decrepit man, with bright ferocious eyes gleaming through his elf-locks. If he had succeeded in making a "swap" of his habiliments with any scarecrow south of the Tay, he would have had by far the best of the bargain, for his whole toilet consisted in a coarse blue kilt or petticoat (for it had none of the checkers that give a showy appearance to the kilt); his stocking—for he only rejoiced in one—was wrinkled down almost over his shoe; his coat was tattered and torn in every variety of raggedness; and the filth, which was almost thick enough to cover the glaring redness of his fortnight's beard, showed that Angus Mohr took very little interest in the great question about the soap duties. "Fat d'ye want, auld man?" inquired the visitor—"bringin' a poddy a' this way to hear yer havers."

"I merely wish to know, Angus, if there is any lad here you can send to the side of the hill to see if a carriage is coming this way."

"Tere's a laud oot in the byre," replied Angus; "but he's four score year auld, an' has been teaf and blind since they took him to Inferness jail for dirking the packman—teil tak their sowls for pittin an honest man in ony such places—ye can pid him gang, if ye like."

"Why, if he's deaf and blind, Angus, he will be no great help."

"Ten gang yersell; petter that than sitting filling yer pig wame wi' whisky."

"You shall have a glass, Angus, when I have tea brought in."

"An' little thanks for it too. It's a small reward for comin' a' this way through the cauld."

"You may go now," said our fat friend, who was now more anxious to get quit of his visitor than he had been for his appearance.

"Teil a pit, teil a pit; no without the glass ye promised."

"Be off, sir—be more respectful to your superiors. I am chief of this clan."

"He's ta chief!" cried old Angus, with a laugh that shot a chill into the gallant chieftain's heart—"he's ta chief, is he? Hu! hu! hu!"

"For goodness' sake, old man, go back to your own room. You shall have a whole bottle; I'll send it to you directly."

"Mak it a gallon, an' I'll gang. Mak it a gallon—it will do for twa days."

"Well, well, you shall have a gallon—only go," urged the now alarmed proprietor; for Angus, perceiving his advantage, went on increasing in his demands, and the self-elected chief began to perceive that his subjects were not so obedient as he had expected; and vague ideas of dirks and drownings occurred hurriedly to his mind.

Angus, however, seemed for this time satisfied with his prize, and resumed his way to the lower regions, muttering and growling as he went, as if he had been a highly injured individual, and leaving the fat gentleman in a very uncomfortable frame of mind.

"Savages!" he murmured to himself; "by dad, we shall all be murdered to a certainty. However, when all my own servants arrive, we shall turn Angus and the blind old man out of the castle, and have things a little better managed than this. But it certainly is very strange my sister does not come! Our new man, Copus, is a stout fellow, and would keep this old rascal Angus in order."

"Fat, in the teil's name, are ye skirlin' there for?" said the sharp voice of that uncourteous seneschal, as he put his shaggy head out of the glassless orifice that served as a window; "are we a' teaf, think ye?"

"Hallo, old feller!" shouted the voice of Copus in reply, "leave off your hinfernal jabber, and open the door, will ye?"

"Open't yersell, and be t—d till ye," screamed the old man; "her's no servant o' your's, I'm thinking."

"William, isn't there never a bell?" inquired Miss Alice.

"Bell!" re-echoed Mr Copus; "no, nor nothing else that a gentleman is acquainted with; so here I thinks, ma'am, we must stay all night, for that 'ere waterfall wont let nobody hear, and the old lunatic, as peeps out of the hole in the wall, don't seem inclined to be civil."

"Oh, for heaven's sake, William, try again—shout as loud as you are able."

"Hillo! hillo! hillo!"

"What's the matter?" exclaimed the voice of the new proprietor himself, at the same moment that his head appeared at the window.

"Here we are, sir," replied Copus, "half-dead with fear and hunger, and yet can't get into our own house for love or money."

"I'll open the door myself," said the chieftain, and putting for the nonce his newly acquired dignity into his pocket, he waddled through the blustering passages, and turned the key with his own hand.

"And this, then, is Ben-na-Groich Castle," sighed Miss Alice, as at length she entered the parlour, leaning on the arm of her niece, and looking round with a dolorous expression that would have furnished a study for a picture of despair.

"Even so," replied her brother, with an attempt at a joyous chuckle that died off into a groan.

"Oh, brother Ben—since Ben-na-Groich you insist on being called—oh, brother Ben, what tempted you to buy such a place as this?—in such a country?—among such hideous people?"

"Partly a bad debt that the late owner was on our books—partly a desire to be a regular chief, and astonish the Huxtables; but cheer up, sister, things will be better in a day or two. We shall all put on our tartans—cheer up you too, niece Jane, Charles Hobbins will be here ere long; I've got some clothes ready for him too, and intend to give him a black feather, and make him as good a downy-whistle as you can desire."

"Ah, brother!" interposed Miss Alice, "that would have been all very well a short time ago, and it would have been delightful to see you with your henchman, and jellies, and downy-whistles—but 'tis too late now. Oh, brother! we are doomed to destruction. Copus will tell you what he has seen this very day."

"Why, what has he seen?—a ghost? they are wery superstitious, and believe in the second sight."

"Oh, first sight is quite enough for us. I saw them myself, though they were at such a distance, I confess, I took them for a flock of sheep."

"Who?—what was it you saw?—speak, Copus." Thus adjured, our travelled friend, with a face from which the expression of alarm had not yet entirely subsided, commenced his narrative.

"This morning, sir, when we first changed 'osses, I gets off the rumble, sir, and leaves Mariar by herself. I goes into the small house while the cattle was a-coming—a lonely place, sir, in the midst of a moor, sir—and says I to the landlady, says I, 'here's a fine day,' says I.'

"'Make the most of it,' says she, 'you bid fair never to see another.'

"'You're wery purlite,' says I; 'I don't think I'm in a dying condition.'

"'You carry your death-sentence at your breast,' says she, in a hollow voice, like a drum with a hoarseness.

"'What do you elude to,' says I?—and looking at my breast, sir, I seed nothing in life but this here watch-ribbon as you gived me, of your own tartan, you know, sir.

"'Why wear ye the badge of the doomed Ben-na-Groich?' says she; 'know you not that his web is spun?'

"'There you're misinformed,' says I, 'ma'am; they're all done by machinery.'

"'Fool,' says she, quite in a passion, 'you've put yourself under a ruined wall, and will be crushed to the dust by the tumble.'

"'Wrong again,' says I, 'for master has had the whole building repaired.'

"'Blind mole, you will take no warning; perhaps because you don't believe—see there!' And when I looked in to where she pointed, sure enough I sees ten or a dozen stout chaps all a-sharping of their swords upon great grinding-stones, at the other end of the house.

"'What's all them fellows arter?' says I.

"'Blood,' says she.

"'Blood and wounds!' says I, 'I never heared such a woman. 'Clect, at Oxford, hearing of an old Roman Catholic lady they called the Civil, as spoke in that 'ere fashion, and was a dealer in books and stationery, but, cuss me, if you doesn't beat her hollow. Whose blood do you mean, ma'am?'

"'His who calls himself Ben-na-Groich.'"

"Oh, brother Thomas, did you ever hear of the like?" shuddered Miss Alice.

"A witch," said the gentleman thus appealed to, with a very unsuccessful effort to appear disdainful. "What more, Copus?—did she say anything else?"

"Lots more, but I've nearly forgotten it."

"How long did this detain you?"

"Oh, he kept us waiting three or four hours," interposed Miss Alice; "and when he came out, he couldn't have been more unsteady if he had been a-drinking."

"Yes, indeed, sir," added Maria, "his manners has been wery extraordinary ever since; he has been either singing songs or sleeping the whole way here."

"The interview was a very strange one. Did any one else see the ten or twelve men?" inquired the chief.

"I seed one of them, sir," replied Maria—"a tall, handsome gentleman, in a green frock coat. He went towards a horse that was tied near a stack of fuel, just at the moment Copus came out."

"Indeed? Did you see him, Copus?"

"Oh yes. I saw a figure something as she describes it. He is the surest sign, the wild woman said, of something awful; they calls him Kickan-drubb."

"How strange!" repeated the chieftain, for the hundredth time—"a regular conspiracy, and nobody here to defend us. The old tiger down-stairs, Angus Mohr, would be the first to kill us if he could, and what is to become of us, Heaven only knows."

"Better let the horses stay at the door, sir; the carriage may be useful," suggested Copus.

"There's no time to be lost, indeed," replied the master; "but yet what would be the use of flying? We are safer here than on the road."

"No, no; let us go, brother Ben—brother Thomas, I mean—for do you know that Fash-na-Cairn has vowed he'll have your life?"

"Who the devil is Fash-na-Cairn? I never did him any harm."

"But his clan has been opposed to Ben-na-Groich for hundreds of years. He'll murder you—and me!—oh dear! oh dear! he'll force me to be Mrs Fash-na-Cairn!" Here Miss Alice, overcome by her horrible imaginings, covered her face with her hands; but whether she wept or not history does not record.

"Will ye no let a poddy sleep, and be d—d till ye?" again screamed the shrill voice of Angus Mohr; "hoo mony mair o' ye southron prutes is coming yammering to the door?"

No answer, apparently, was given to this inquiry, for it was renewed with bitterer tones than before.

"Fat's a' this o't?—wi' swords and targets, an' the Stuart stripe in yer plaids. Are ye come to harry ta auld fat man? huigh! hurra! Cot, an Angus had a dirk himsell, he'd pit it up to the handle in ta fat cairl's wame."

While these words of encouragement or inquiry were issuing from the wrathful native, a hurry of steps was heard upon the stairs—the clank of steel, as if of the crossing of swords, sounded in the passage, and with a shout, Fash-na-Cairn! Fash-na-Cairn! the parlour door was burst open, and six wild figures in the full Highland costume rushed in upon the deliberations of the new chieftain and his household. One of the party seized the arm of Aunt Alice; another, with a flat-sided blow of his claymore, laid our heroic friend Copus quietly on the floor; a third took Jane Somers by the hand as she sat retired in a corner of the room, and kept guard over her during the whole of the scene; while the others placed themselves opposite the astonished Ben-na-Groich himself, and pointed their weapons at his throat without saying a word.

"What do you want, gentlemen?" said that individual, with a tremor in his voice that revealed the conflict within. "I'll give you a cheque for as much as you require—fix your own price! What shall it be?"

"Revenge!" said a hollow voice, proceeding from the chief of the party. "I have you now in my power—the first time after a search of eight hundred years."

"What have I done? I never did you a mischief; if I did, I'm willing to pay damages, assessed by your own surveyor."

"Your ancestor, Fin of the crooked finger, stabbed my ancestor, Kenneth of the flat nose, as he dined with him in this hall in the reign of Fergus the First—give me back his blood."

"Can't, indeed—haven't a drop of it, or any one else's blood; but I will pay the worth of it—only spare my life."

"Fash-na-Cairn may spare, but on one condition—you have a sister."

"Oh no, indeed he hasn't, sir," said Miss Alice, "she died when she was quite a baby."

"Speak, dog," said the ruthless Fash-na-Cairn, kicking Copus as he lay on the carpet; "who is the sister of Ben-na-Groich?"

"That 'ere middle-aged lady with the red nose. That's our Miss Alice."

"She must be Fash-na-Cairn's bride, or the wolf's skin must cover Ben-na-Groich."

"Oh dear, oh dear," sighed the disconsolate lady, "will nothing do but that?"

"Even that won't save him—I see another maiden."

"Oh, I'm sure you are quite welcome to Jane Somers," said Miss Alice; "my brother will give his consent directly—won't you, Thomas?"

"Say the word, and I give you the hand of friendship."

"What word?" asked the sorely puzzled Ben-na-Groich; "I will say whatever is needful."

"Does the maiden herself consent?—Bring hither the fair one of the hill."

Jane Somers was brought forward by her guard.

"Now, Jane," began the Chieftain, "this here gentleman, Mr Fash-na-Cairn, is anxious to marry some one of my family—are you disposed to save me from murder and robbery by giving him your hand?"

"To save you, my dear uncle, from anything unpleasant, there is no sacrifice I would not make."

"There's a dear, good girl," cried the Chieftain, delighted. "Take her; you are very welcome; and when I get home, which will be in three days from this time, I will send you some marriage presents. If you have any fancy for this estate, you shall have it a bargain; in the mean time let the rest of us get into the carriage, and be off as fast as we can. Come, Copus, get up, you lazy hound—we must be off."

"Off or not off, sir, I doesn't budge a foot. I stays with my young missus."

"Very well, only let us out of the house." While preparations were making for a rapid retreat, one of the brigands went up to Jane Somers and whispered, "my carriage is waiting on the bridge. Lady Teysham, and the other ladies at my shooting-box, expect us every moment; so be under no alarm."

Jane bowed her head and yielded to her destiny, and since that time has been as happy a specimen of the married life as is often to be met with. Ben-na-Groich, on finding out the hoax, was too much afraid of the ridicule of his friends to make it public; and to this hour, Aunt Alice tells the most wondrous tales of the lawlessness of the Highlands, and the blood-thirstiness and revenge characteristic of a Scottish Chieftain. "Only to think of people cherishing a resentment for nearly a thousand years, and only satisfying it at last by marriage or murder. Oh, Mrs Hobbins, never believe what people says when they talk to you about the foodle system—the starvation system would be a much better name for it, for the whole country is made of nothing but heath, and the gentlemen's clothes is no covering from the cold; and besides all that, they are indelicate to a degree!"——

* * * * *

PRINTED BY WILLIAM BLACKWOOD AND SONS, EDINBURGH.



TRANSCRIBER'S NOTE:

Minor corrections have been made to correct obvious typesetters' errors; otherwise, every effort has been made to remain true to the author's word and intent.

THE END