"Bucklaw," said Craigengelt, "I sometimes think you should have been a
stage-player yourself; all is fancy and frolic with you."

"I have often thought so myself," said Bucklaw. "I believe it would be
safer than acting with you in the Fatal Conspiracy. But away, play
your own part, and look after the horses like a groom as you are. A
play-actor--a stage-player!" he repeated to himself; "that would have
deserved a stab, but that Craigengelt's a coward. And yet I should like
the profession well enough. Stay, let me see; ay, I would come out in
Alexander:

     Thus from the grave I rise to save my love,
     Draw all your swords, and quick as lightning move.
     When I rush on, sure none will dare to stay:
     'Tis love commands, and glory leads the way."

As with a voice of thunder, and his hand upon his sword, Bucklaw
repeated the ranting couplets of poor Lee, Craigengelt re-entered with a
face of alarm.

"We are undone, Bucklaw! The Master's led horse has cast himself over
his halter in the stable, and is dead lame. His hackney will be set up
with the day's work, and now he has no fresh horse; he will never get
off."

"Egad, there will be no moving with the speed of lightning this bout,"
said Bucklaw, drily. "But stay, you can give him yours."

"What! and be taken myself? I thank you for the proposal," said
Craigengelt.

"Why," replied Bucklaw, "if the Lord Keeper should have met with a
mischance, which for my part I cannot suppose, for the Master is not
the lad to shoot an old and unarmed man--but IF there should have been
a fray at the Castle, you are neither art not part in it, you know, so
have nothing to fear."

"True, true," answered the other, with embarrassment; "but consider my
commission from Saint Germains."

"Which many men think is a commission of your own making, noble Captain.
Well, if you will not give him your horse, why, d----n it, he must have
mine."

"Yours?" said Craigengelt.

"Ay, mine," repeated Bucklaw; "it shall never be said that I agreed to
back a gentleman in a little affair of honour, and neither helped him on
with it nor off from it."

"You will give him your horse? and have you considered the loss?"

"Loss! why, Grey Gilbert cost me twenty Jacobuses, that's true; but then
his hackney is worth something, and his Black Moor is worth twice as
much were he sound, and I know how to handle him. Take a fat sucking
mastiff whelp, flay and bowel him, stuff the body full of black and
grey snails, roast a reasonable time, and baste with oil of spikenard,
saffron, cinnamon, and honey, anoint with the dripping, working it
in----"

"Yes, Bucklaw; but in the mean while, before the sprain is cured, nay,
before the whelp is roasted, you will be caught and hung. Depend on it,
the chase will be hard after Ravenswood. I wish we had made our place of
rendezvous nearer to the coast."

"On my faith, then," said Bucklaw, "I had best go off just now, and
leave my horse for him. Stay--stay, he comes: I hear a horse's feet."

"Are you sure there is only one?" said Craigengelt. "I fear there is a
chase; I think I hear three or four galloping together. I am sure I hear
more horses than one."

"Pooh, pooh, it is the wench of the house clattering to the well in her
pattens. By my faith, Captain, you should give up both your captainship
and your secret service, for you are as easily scared as a wild goose.
But here comes the Master alone, and looking as gloomy as a night in
November."

The Master of Ravenswood entered the room accordingly, his cloak muffled
around him, his arms folded, his looks stern, and at the same time
dejected. He flung his cloak from him as he entered, threw himself upon
a chair, and appeared sunk in a profound reverie.

"What has happened? What have you done?" was hastily demanded by
Craigengelt and Bucklaw in the same moment.

"Nothing!" was the short and sullen answer.

"Nothing! and left us, determined to call the old villain to account
for all the injuries that you, we, and the country have received at his
hand? Have you seen him?" "I have," replied the Master of Ravenswood.

"Seen him--and come away without settling scores which have been so long
due?" said Bucklaw; "I would not have expected that at the hand of the
Master of Ravenswood."

"No matter what you expected," replied Ravenswood; "it is not to you,
sir, that I shall be disposed to render any reason for my conduct."

"Patience, Bucklaw," said Craigengelt, interrupting his companion, who
seemed about to make an angry reply. "The Master has been interrupted in
his purpose by some accident; but he must excuse the anxious curiosity
of friends who are devoted to his cause like you and me."

"Friends, Captain Craigengelt!" retorted Ravenswood, haughtily; "I am
ignorant what familiarity passed betwixt us to entitle you to use that
expression. I think our friendship amounts to this, that we agreed to
leave Scotland together so soon as I should have visited the
alienated mansion of my fathers, and had an interview with its present
possessor--I will not call him proprietor."

"Very true, Master," answered Bucklaw; "and as we thought you had in
mind to do something to put your neck in jeopardy, Craigie and I very
courteously agreed to tarry for you, although ours might run some risk
in consequence. As to Craigie, indeed, it does not very much signify: he
had gallows written on his brow in the hour of his birth; but I should
not like to discredit my parentage by coming to such an end in another
man's cause."

"Gentlemen," said the Master of Ravenswood, "I am sorry if I have
occasioned you any inconvenience, but I must claim the right of judging
what is best for my own affairs, without rendering explanations to any
one. I have altered my mind, and do not design to leave the country this
season."

"Not to leave the country, Master!" exclaimed Craigengelt. "Not to go
over, after all the trouble and expense I have incurred--after all the
risk of discovery, and the expense of freight and demurrage!"

"Sir," replied the Master of Ravenswood, "when I designed to leave this
country in this haste, I made use of your obliging offer to procure me
means of conveyance; but I do not recollect that I pledged myself to
go off, if I found occasion to alter my mind. For your trouble on my
account, I am sorry, and I thank you; your expense," he added, putting
his hand into his pocket, "admits a more solid compensation: freight and
demurrage are matters with which I am unacquainted, Captain Craigengelt,
but take my purse and pay yourself according to your own conscience."
And accordingly he tendered a purse with some gold in it to the
soi-disant captain.

But here Bucklaw interposed in his turn. "Your fingers, Craigie, seem to
itch for that same piece of green network," said he; "but I make my vow
to God, that if they offer to close upon it, I will chop them off with
my whinger. Since the Master has changed his mind, I suppose we need
stay here no longer; but in the first place I beg leave to tell him----"

"Tell him anything you will," said Craigengelt, "if you will first
allow me to state the inconveniences to which he will expose himself by
quitting our society, to remind him of the obstacles to his remaining
here, and of the difficulties attending his proper introduction at
Versailles and Saint Germains without the countenance of those who have
established useful connexions."

"Besides forfeiting the friendship," said Bucklaw, "of at least one man
of spirit and honour."

"Gentlemen," said Ravenswood, "permit me once more to assure you
that you have been pleased to attach to our temporary connexion more
importance than I ever meant that it should have. When I repair to
foreign courts, I shall not need the introduction of an intriguing
adventurer, nor is it necessary for me to set value on the friendship
of a hot-headed bully." With these words, and without waiting for an
answer, he left the apartment, remounted his horse, and was heard to
ride off.

"Mortbleu!" said Captain Craigengelt, "my recruit is lost!"

"Ay, Captain," said Bucklaw, "the salmon is off with hook and all. But
I will after him, for I have had more of his insolence than I can well
digest."

Craigengelt offered to accompany him; but Bucklaw replied: "No, no,
Captain, keep you the check of the chimney-nook till I come back; it's
good sleeping in a haill skin.

     Little kens the auld wife that sits by the fire,
     How cauld the wind blaws in hurle-burle swire."

And singing as he went, he left the apartment.




CHAPTER VII.

     Now, Billy Berwick, keep good heart,
     And of they talking let me be;
     But if thou art a man, as I am sure thou art,
     Come over the dike and fight with me.

     Old Ballad.

THE Master of Ravenswood had mounted the ambling hackney which he before
rode, on finding the accident which had happened to his led horse, and,
for the animal's ease, was proceeding at a slow pace from the Tod's Den
towards his old tower of Wolf's Crag, when he heard the galloping of a
horse behind him, and, looking back, perceived that he was pursued by
young Bucklaw, who had been delayed a few minutes in the pursuit by
the irresistable temptation of giving the hostler at the Tod's Den some
recipe for treating the lame horse. This brief delay he had made up by
hard galloping, and now overtook the Master where the road traversed
a waste moor. "Halt, sir," cried Bucklaw; "I am no political agent--no
Captain Craigengelt, whose life is too important to be hazarded in
defence of his honour. I am Frank Hayston of Bucklaw, and no man injures
me by word, deed, sign, or look, but he must render me an account of
it."

"This is all very well, Mr. Hayston of Bucklaw," replied the Master
of Ravenswood, in a tone the most calm and indifferent; "but I have no
quarrel with you, and desire to have none. Our roads homeward, as well
as our roads through life, lie in different directions; there is no
occasion for us crossing each other."

"Is there not?" said Bucklaw, impetuously. "By Heaven! but I say that
there is, though: you called us intriguing adventurers."

"Be correct in your recollection, Mr. Hayston; it was to your companion
only I applied that epithet, and you know him to be no better."

"And what then? He was my companion for the time, and no man shall
insult my companion, right or wrong, while he is in my company."

"Then, Mr. Hayston," replied Ravenswood, with the same composure, "you
should choose your society better, or you are like to have much work
in your capacity of their champion. Go home, sir; sleep, and have more
reason in your wrath to-morrow."

"Not so, Master, you have mistaken your man; high airs and wise saws
shall not carry it off thus. Besides, you termed me bully, and you shall
retract the word before we part."

"Faith, scarcely," said Ravenswood, "unless you show me better reason
for thinking myself mistaken than you are now producing."

"Then, Master," said Bucklaw, "though I should be sorry to offer it to a
man of your quality, if you will not justify your incivility, or retract
it, or name a place of meeting, you must here undergo the hard word and
the hard blow."

"Neither will be necessary," said Ravenswood; "I am satisfied with what
I have done to avoid an affair with you. If you are serious, this place
will serve as well as another."

"Dismount then, and draw," said Bucklaw, setting him an example. "I
always thought and said you were a pretty man; I should be sorry to
report you otherwise."

"You shall have no reason, sir," said Ravenswood, alighting, and putting
himself into a posture of defence.

Their swords crossed, and the combat commenced with great spirit on the
part of Bucklaw, who was well accustomed to affairs of the kind, and
distinguished by address and dexterity at his weapon. In the present
case, however, he did not use his skill to advantage; for, having
lost temper at the cool and contemptuous manner in which the Master of
Ravenswood had long refused, and at length granted, him satisfaction,
and urged by his impatience, he adopted the part of an assailant with
inconsiderate eagerness. The Master, with equal skill, and much greater
composure, remained chiefly on the defensive, and even declined to avail
himself of one or two advantages afforded him by the eagerness of his
adversary. At length, in a desperate lunge, which he followed with
an attempt to close, Bucklaw's foot slipped, and he fell on the short
grassy turf on which they were fighting. "Take your life, sir," said the
Master of Ravenswood, "and mend it if you can."

"It would be but a cobbled piece of work, I fear," said Bucklaw, rising
slowly and gathering up his sword, much less disconcerted with the issue
of the combat than could have been expected from the impetuosity of
his temper. "I thank you for my life, Master," he pursued. "There is my
hand; I bear no ill-will to you, either for my bad luck or your better
swordsmanship."

The Master looked steadily at him for an instant, then extended his hand
to him. "Bucklaw," he said, "you are a generous fellow, and I have done
you wrong. I heartily ask your pardon for the expression which offended
you; it was hastily and incautiously uttered, and I am convinced it is
totally misapplied."

"Are you indeed, Master?" said Bucklaw, his face resuming at once its
natural expression of light-hearted carelessness and audacity; "that is
more than I expected of you; for, Master, men say you are not ready to
retract your opinion and your language."

"Not when I have well considered them," said the Master.

"Then you are a little wiser than I am, for I always give my friend
satisfaction first, and explanation afterwards. If one of us falls, all
accounts are settled; if not, men are never so ready for peace as after
war. But what does that bawling brat of a boy want?" said Bucklaw. "I
wish to Heaven he had come a few minutes sooner! and yet it must have
been ended some time, and perhaps this way is as well as any other."

As he spoke, the boy he mentioned came up, cudgelling an ass, on which
he was mounted, to the top of its speed, and sending, like one of
Ossian's heroes, his voice before him: "Gentlemen--gentlemen, save
yourselves! for the gudewife bade us tell ye there were folk in her
house had taen Captain Craigengelt, and were seeking for Bucklaw, and
that ye behoved to ride for it." "By my faith, and that's very true, my
man" said Bucklaw; "and there's a silver sixpence for your news, and I
would give any man twice as much would tell me which way I should ride."

"That will I, Bucklaw," said Ravenswood; "ride home to Wolf's Crag with
me. There are places in the old tower where you might lie hid, were a
thousand men to seek you."

"But that will bring you into trouble yourself, Master; and unless you
be in the Jacobite scrape already, it is quite needless for me to drag
you in."

"Not a whit; I have nothing to fear."

"Then I will ride with you blythely, for, to say the truth, I do not
know the rendezvous that Craigie was to guide us to this night; and I am
sure that, if he is taken, he will tell all the truth of me, and twenty
lies of you, in order to save himself from the withie."

They mounted and rode off in company accordingly, striking off the
ordinary road, and holding their way by wild moorish unfrequented paths,
with which the gentlemen were well acquainted from the exercise of
the chase, but through which others would have had much difficulty in
tracing their course. They rode for some time in silence, making such
haste as the condition of Ravenswood's horse permitted, until night
having gradually closed around them, they discontinued their speed, both
from the difficulty of discovering their path, and from the hope that
they were beyond the reach of pursuit or observation.

"And now that we have drawn bridle a bit," said Bucklaw, "I would fain
ask you a question, Master."

"Ask and welcome," said Ravenswood, "but forgive not answering it,
unless I think proper."

"Well, it is simply this," answered his late antagonist "What, in
the name of old Sathan, could make you, who stand so highly on your
reputation, think for a moment of drawing up with such a rogue as
Craigengelt, and such a scapegrace as folk call Bucklaw?"

"Simply, because I was desperate, and sought desperate associates."

"And what made you break off from us at the nearest?" again demanded
Bucklaw.

"Because I had changed my mind," said the Master, "and renounced my
enterprise, at least for the present. And now that I have answered your
questions fairly and frankly, tell me what makes you associate with
Craigengelt, so much beneath you both in birth and in spirit?"

"In plain terms," answered Bucklaw, "because I am a fool, who have
gambled away my land in thse times. My grand-aunt, Lady Girnington, has
taen a new tack of life, I think, and I could only hope to get something
by a change of government. Craigie was a sort of gambling acquaintance;
he saw my condition, and, as the devil is always at one's elbow, told
me fifty lies about his credentials from Versailles, and his interest at
Saint Germains, promised me a captain's commission at Paris, and I have
been ass enough to put my thumb under his belt. I dare say, by this
time, he has told a dozen pretty stories of me to the government. And
this is what I have got by wine, women, and dice, cocks, dogs, and
horses."

"Yes, Bucklaw," said the Master, "you have indeed nourished in your
bosom the snakes that are now stinging you."

"That's home as well as true, Master," replied his companion; "but, by
your leave, you have nursed in your bosom one great goodly snake
that has swallowed all the rest, and is as sure to devour you as my
half-dozen are to make a meal on all that's left of Bucklaw, which is
but what lies between bonnet and boot-heel."

"I must not," answered the Master of Ravenswood, "challenge the
freedom of speech in which I have set example. What, to speak without
a metaphor, do you call this monstrous passion which you charge me with
fostering?"

"Revenge, my good sir--revenge; which, if it be as gentle manlike a sin
as wine and wassail, with their et coeteras, is equally unchristian, and
not so bloodless. It is better breaking a park-pale to watch a doe or
damsel than to shoot an old man."

"I deny the purpose," said the Master of Ravenswood. "On my soul, I had
no such intention; I meant but to confront the oppressor ere I left my
native land, and upbraid him with his tyranny and its consequences.
I would have stated my wrongs so that they would have shaken his soul
within him."

"Yes," answered Bucklaw, "and he would have collared you, and cried
'help,' and then you would have shaken the soul OUT of him, I suppose.
Your very look and manner would have frightened the old man to death."

"Consider the provocation," answered Ravenswood--"consider the ruin and
death procured and caused by his hard-hearted cruelty--an ancient house
destroyed, an affectionate father murdered! Why, in our old Scottish
days, he that sat quiet under such wrongs would have been held neither
fit to back a friend nor face a foe."

"Well, Master, I am glad to see that the devil deals as cunningly with
other folk as he deals with me; for whenever I am about to commit any
folly, he persuades me it is the most necessary, gallant, gentlemanlike
thing on earth, and I am up to saddlegirths in the bog before I see that
the ground is soft. And you, Master, might have turned out a murd----a
homicide, just out of pure respect for your father's memory."

"There is more sense in your language, Bucklaw," replied the Master,
"than might have been expected from your conduct. It is too true, our
vices steal upon us in forms outwardly as fair as those of the demons
whom the superstitious represent as intriguing with the human race, and
are not discovered in their native hideousness until we have clasped
them in our arms."

"But we may throw them from us, though," said Bucklaw, "and that is
what I shall think of doing one of these days--that is, when old Lady
Girnington dies."

"Did you ever hear the expression of the English divine?" said
Ravenswood--"'Hell is paved with good intentions,'--as much as to say,
they are more often formed than executed."

"Well," replied Bucklaw, "but I will begin this blessed night, and have
determined not to drink above one quart of wine, unless your claret be
of extraordinary quality."

"You will find little to tempt you at Wolf's Crag," said the Master. "I
know not that I can promise you more than the shelter of my roof; all,
and more than all, our stock of wine and provisions was exhausted at the
late occasion."

"Long may it be ere provision is needed for the like purpose," answered
Bucklaw; "but you should not drink up the last flask at a dirge; there
is ill luck in that."

"There is ill luck, I think, in whatever belongs to me," said
Ravenswood. "But yonder is Wolf's Crag, and whatever it still contains
is at your service."

The roar of the sea had long announced their approach to the cliffs, on
the summit of which, like the nest of some sea-eagle, the founder of the
fortalice had perched his eyrie. The pale moon, which had hitherto been
contending with flitting clouds, now shone out, and gave them a view
of the solitary and naked tower, situated on a projecting cliff that
beetled on the German Ocean. On three sides the rock was precipitous;
on the fourth, which was that towards the land, it had been originally
fenced by an artificial ditch and drawbridge, but the latter was broken
down and ruinous, and the former had been in part filled up, so as to
allow passage for a horseman into the narrow courtyard, encircled on two
sides with low offices and stables, partly ruinous, and closed on the
landward front by a low embattled wall, while the remaining side of the
quadrangle was occupied by the tower itself, which, tall and narrow, and
built of a greyish stone, stood glimmering in the moonlight, like
the sheeted spectre of some huge giant. A wilder or more disconsolate
dwelling it was perhaps difficult to conceive. The sombrous and heavy
sound of the billows, successively dashing against the rocky beach at a
profound distance beneath, was to the ear what the landscape was to the
eye--a symbol of unvaried and monotonous melancholy, not unmingled with
horror.

Although the night was not far advanced, there was no sign of living
inhabitant about this forlorn abode, excepting that one, and only
one, of the narrow and stanchelled windows which appeared at irregular
heights and distances in the walls of the building showed a small
glimmer of light.

"There," said Ravenswood, "sits the only male domestic that remains to
the house of Ravenswood; and it is well that he does remain there, since
otherwise we had little hope to find either light or fire. But follow me
cautiously; the road is narrow, and admits only one horse in front."

In effect, the path led along a kind of isthmus, at the peninsular
extremity of which the tower was situated, with that exclusive attention
to strength and security, in preference to every circumstances of
convenience, which dictated to the Scottish barons the choice of their
situations, as well as their style of building.

By adopting the cautious mode of approach recommended by the proprietor
of this wild hold, they entered the courtyard in safety. But it was long
ere the efforts of Ravenswood, though loudly exerted by knocking at the
low-browed entrance, and repeated shouts to Caleb to open the gate and
admit them, received any answer.

"The old man must be departed," he began to say, "or fallen into some
fit; for the noise I have made would have waked the seven sleepers."

At length a timid and hesitating voice replied: "Master--Master of
Ravenswood, is it you?"

"Yes, it is I, Caleb; open the door quickly."

"But it is you in very blood and body? For I would sooner face fifty
deevils as my master's ghaist, or even his wraith; wherefore, aroint ye,
if ye were ten times my master, unless ye come in bodily shape, lith and
limb." "It is I, you old fool," answered Ravenswood, "in bodily shape
and alive, save that I am half dead with cold."

The light at the upper window disappeared, and glancing from loophole to
loophole in slow succession, gave intimation that the bearer was in
the act of descending, with great deliberation, a winding staircase
occupying one of the turrets which graced the angles of the old tower.
The tardiness of his descent extracted some exclamations of impatience
from Ravenswood, and several oaths from his less patient and more
mecurial companion. Caleb again paused ere he unbolted the door, and
once more asked if they were men of mould that demanded entrance at this
time of night.

"Were I near you, you old fool," said Bucklaw, "I would give you
sufficient proofs of MY bodily condition."

"Open the gate, Caleb," said his master, in a more soothing tone, partly
from his regard to the ancient and faithful seneschal, partly perhaps
because he thought that angry words would be thrown away, so long as
Caleb had a stout iron-clenched oaken door betwixt his person and the
speakers.

At length Caleb, with a trembling hand, undid the bars, opened the
heavy door, and stood before them, exhibiting his thin grey hairs, bald
forehead, and sharp high features, illuminated by a quivering lamp which
he held in one hand, while he shaded and protected its flame with the
other. The timorous, courteous glance which he threw around him, the
effect of the partial light upon his white hair and illumined features,
might have made a good painting; but our travellers were too impatient
for security against the rising storm to permit them to indulge
themselves in studying the picturesque. "Is it you, my dear master?--is
it you yourself, indeed?" exclaimed the old domestic. "I am wae ye suld
hae stude waiting at your ain gate; but wha wad hae thought o' seeing ye
sae sune, and a strange gentleman with a--(Here he exclaimed apart, as
it were, and to some inmate of the tower, in a voice not meant to be
heard by those in the court)--Mysie--Mysie, woman! stir for dear life,
and get the fire mended; take the auld three-legged stool, or ony
thing that's readiest that will make a lowe. I doubt we are but puirly
provided, no expecting ye this some months, when doubtless ye was
hae been received conform till your rank, as gude right is; but
natheless----"

"Natheless, Caleb," said the Master, "we must have our horses put up,
and ourselves too, the best way we can. I hope you are not sorry to see
me sooner than you expected?"

"Sorry, my lord! I am sure ye sall aye be my lord wi' honest folk, as
your noble ancestors hae been these three hundred years, and never asked
a Whig's leave. Sorry to see the Lord of Ravenswood at ane o' his ain
castles! (Then again apart to his unseen associate behind the screen)
Mysie, kill the brood-hen without thinking twice on it; let them care
that come ahint. No to say it's our best dwelling," he added, turning
to Bucklaw; "but just a strength for the Lord of Ravenswood to flee
until--that is, no to FLEE, but to retreat until in troublous times,
like the present, when it was ill convenient for him to live farther in
the country in ony of his better and mair principal manors; but, for its
antiquity, maist folk think that the outside of Wolf's Crag is worthy of
a large perusal."

"And you are determined we shall have time to make it," said Ravenswood,
somewhat amused with the shifts the old man used to detain them without
doors until his confederate Mysie had made her preparations within.

"Oh, never mind the outside of the house, my good friend," said Bucklaw;
"let's see the inside, and let our horses see the stable, that's all."
"Oh yes, sir--ay, sir--unquestionably, sir--my lord and ony of his
honourable companions----"

"But our horses, my friend--our horses; they will be dead-founded by
standing here in the cold after riding hard, and mine is too good to be
spoiled; therefore, once more, our horses!" exclaimed Bucklaw.

"True--ay--your horses--yes--I will call the grooms"; and sturdily did
Caleb roar till the old tower rang again: "John--William--Saunders!
The lads are gane out, or sleeping," he observed, after pausing for an
answer, which he knew that he had no human chance of receiving. "A'
gaes wrang when the Master's out-bye; but I'll take care o' your cattle
mysell."

"I think you had better," said Ravenswood, "otherwise I see little
chance of their being attended to at all."

"Whisht, my lord--whisht, for God's sake," said Caleb, in an imploring
tone, and apart to his master; "if ye dinna regard your ain credit,
think on mine; we'll hae hard eneugh wark to make a decent night o't,
wi' a' the lees I can tell."

"Well, well, never mind," said his master; "go to the stable. There is
hay and corn, I trust?"

"Ou ay, plenty of hay and corn"; this was uttered boldly and aloud, and,
in a lower tone, "there was some half fous o' aits, and some taits o'
meadow-hay, left after the burial."

"Very well," said Ravenswood, taking the lamp from his domestic's
unwilling hand, "I will show the stranger upstairs myself."

"I canna think o' that, my lord; if ye wad but have five minutes, or ten
minutes, or, at maist, a quarter of an hour's patience, and look at the
fine moonlight prospect of the Bass and North Berwick Law till I sort
the horses, I would marshal ye up, as reason is ye suld be marshalled,
your lordship and your honourable visitor. And I hae lockit up the
siller candlesticks, and the lamp is not fit----"

"It will do very well in the mean time," said Ravenswood, "and you will
have no difficulty for want of light in the stable, for, if I recollect,
half the roof is off."

"Very true, my lord," replied the trusty adherent, and with ready wit
instantly added, "and the lazy sclater loons have never come to put it
on a' this while, your lordship."

"If I were disposed to jest at the calamities of my house," said
Ravenswood, as he led the way upstairs, "poor old Caleb would furnish me
with ample means. His passion consists in representing things about our
miserable menage, not as they are, but as, in his opinion, they ought
to be; and, to say the truth, I have been often diverted with the poor
wretch's expedients to supply what he though was essential for the credit
of the family, and his still more generous apologies for the want of
those articles for which his ingenuity could discover no substitute.
But though the tower is none of the largest, I shall have some trouble
without him to find the apartment in which there is a fire."

As he spoke thus, he opened the door of the hall. "Here, at least," he
said, "there is neither hearth nor harbour."

It was indeed a scene of desolation. A large vaulted room, the beams of
which, combined like those of Westminster Hall, were rudely carved at
the extremities, remained nearly in the situation in which it had been
left after the entertainment at at Allan Lord Ravenswood's funeral.
Overturned pitchers, and black-jacks, and pewter stoups, and flagons
still cumbered the large oaken table; glasses, those more perishable
implements of conviviality, many of which had been voluntarily
sacrificed by the guests in their enthusiastic pledges to favourite
toasts, strewed the stone floor with their fragments. As for the
articles of plate, lent for the purpose by friends and kinsfolk, those
had been carefully withdrawn so soon as the ostentatious display of
festivity, equally unnecessary and strangely timed, had been made and
ended. Nothing, in short, remained that indicated wealth; all the signs
were those of recent wastefulness and present desolation. The black
cloth hangings, which, on the late mournful occasion, replaced the
tattered moth-eaten tapestries, had been partly pulled down, and,
dangling from the wall in irregular festoons, disclosed the rough
stonework of the building, unsmoothed either by plaster or the chisel.
The seats thrown down, or left in disorder, intimated the careless
confusion which had concluded the mournful revel. "This room," said
Ravenswood, holding up the lamp--"this room, Mr. Hayston, was riotous
when it should have been sad; it is a just retribution that it should
now be sad when it ought to be cheerful."

They left this disconsolate apartment, and went upstairs, where, after
opening one or two doors in vain, Ravenswood led the way into a little
matted ante-room, in which, to their great joy, they found a tolerably
good fire, which Mysie, by some such expedient as Caleb had suggested,
had supplied with a reasonable quantity of fuel. Glad at the heart to see
more of comfort than the castle had yet seemed to offer, Bucklaw rubbed
his hands heartily over the fire, and now listened with more complacency
to the apologies which the Master of Ravenswood offered. "Comfort," he
said, "I cannot provide for you, for I have it not for myself; it
is long since these walls have known it, if, indeed, they were ever
acquainted with it. Shelter and safety, I think, I can promise you."

"Excellent matters, Master," replied Bucklaw, "and, with a mouthful of
food and wine, positively all I can require tonight."

"I fear," said the Master, "your supper will be a poor one; I hear
the matter in discussion betwixt Caleb and Mysie. Poor Balderstone is
something deaf, amongst his other accomplishments, so that much of what
he means should be spoken aside is overheard by the whole audience, and
especially by those from whom he is most anxious to conceal his private
manoeuvres. Hark!"

They listened, and heard the old domestic's voice in conversation with
Mysie to the following effect:

"Just mak the best o't--make the besto't, woman; it's easy to put a fair
face on ony thing."

"But the auld brood-hen? She'll be as teugh as bow-strings and
bend-leather!"

"Say ye made a mistake--say ye made a mistake, Mysie," replied the
faithful seneschal, in a soothing and undertoned voice; "tak it a' on
yoursell; never let the credit o' the house suffer."

"But the brood-hen," remonstrated Mysie--"ou, she's sitting some gate
aneath the dais in the hall, and I am feared to gae in in the dark for
the dogle; and if I didna see the bogle, I could as ill see the hen, for
it's pit-mirk, and there's no another light in the house, save that very
blessed lamp whilk the Master has in his ain hand. And if I had the hen,
she's to pu', and to draw, and to dress; how can I do that, and them
sitting by the only fire we have?"

"Weel, weel, Mysie," said the butler, "bide ye there a wee, and I'll try
to get the lamp wiled away frae them."

Accordingly, Caleb Balderstone entered the apartment, little aware that
so much of his by-play had been audible there. "Well, Caleb, my old
friend, is there any chance of supper?" said the Master of Ravenswood.

"CHANCE of supper, your lordship?" said Caleb, with an emphasis of
strong scorn at the implied doubt. "How should there be ony question
of that, and us in your lordship's house? Chance of supper, indeed! But
ye'll no be for butcher-meat? There's walth o' fat poultry, ready either
for spit or brander. The fat capon, Mysie!" he added, calling out as
boldly as if such a thing had been in existence.

"Quite unnecessary," said Bucklaw, who deemed himself bound in courtesy
to relieve some part of the anxious butler's perplexity, "if you have
anything cold, or a morsel of bread."

"The best of bannocks!" exclaimed Caleb, much relieve; "and, for cauld
meat, a' that we hae is cauld eneugh,--how-beit, maist of the cauld meat
and pastry was gien to the poor folk after the ceremony of interment, as
gude reason was; nevertheless----"

"Come, Caleb," said the Master of Ravenswood, "I must cut this matter
short. This is the young Laird of Bucklaw; he is under hiding, and
therefore, you know----"

"He'll be nae nicer than your lordship's honour, I'se warrant," answered
Caleb, cheerfully, with a nod of intelligence; "I am sorry that the
gentleman is under distress, but I am blythe that he canna say muckle
agane our housekeeping, for I believe his ain pinches may matach ours;
no that we are pinched, thank God," he added, retracting the admission
which he had made in his first burst of joy, "but nae doubt we are waur
aff than we hae been, or suld be. And for eating--what signifies telling
a lee? there's just the hinder end of the mutton-ham that has been but
three times on the table, and the nearer the bane the sweeter, as your
honours weel ken; and--there's the heel of the ewe-milk kebbuck, wi' a
bit of nice butter, and--and--that's a' that's to trust to." And with
great alacrity he produced his slender stock of provisions, and placed
them with much formality upon a small round table betwixt the two
gentlemen, who were not deterred either by the homely quality or limited
quantity of the repast from doing it full justice. Caleb in the mean
while waited on them with grave officiousness, as if anxious to make up,
by his own respectful assiduity, for the want of all other attendance.

But, alas! how little on such occasions can form, however anxiously and
scrupulously observed, supply the lack of substantial fare! Bucklaw,
who had eagerly eaten a considerable portion of the thrice-sacked
mutton-ham, now began to demand ale.

"I wadna just presume to recommend our ale," said Caleb; "the maut was
ill made, and there was awfu' thunner last week; but siccan water as the
Tower well has ye'll seldome see, Bucklaw, and that I'se engage for."

"But if your ale is bad, you can let us have some wine," said Bucklaw,
making a grimace at the mention of the pure element which Caleb so
earnestly recommended.

"Wine!" answered Caleb, undauntedly, "eneugh of wine! It was but twa
days syne--wae's me for the cause--there was as much wine drunk in this
house as would have floated a pinnace. There never was lack of wine at
Wolf's Crag."

"Do fetch us some then," said the master, "instead of talking about it."
And Caleb boldly departed.

Every expended butt in the old cellar did he set a-tilt, and shake with
the desperate expectation of collecting enough of the grounds of claret
to fill the large pewter measure which he carred in his hand. Alas!
each had been too devoutly drained; and, with all the squeezing and
manoeuvring which his craft as a butler suggested, he could only collect
about half a quart that seemed presentable. Still, however, Caleb was
too good a general to renounce the field without a strategem to cover
his retreat. He undauntedly threw down an empty flagon, as if he had
stumbled at the entrance of the apartment, called upon Mysie to wipe up
the wine that had never been spilt, and placing the other vessel on the
table, hoped there was still enough left for their honours. There
was indeed; for even Bucklaw, a sworn friend to the grape, found no
encouragement to renew his first attack upon the vintage of Wolf's
Crag, but contented himself, however reluctantly, with a draught of
fair water. Arrangements were now made for his repose; and as the
secret chamber was assigned for this purpose, it furnished Caleb with a
first-rate and most plausible apology for all deficiencies of furniture,
bedding, etc.

"For wha," said he, "would have thought of the secret chaumer being
needed? It has not been used since the time of the Gowrie Conspiracy,
and I durst never let a woman ken of the entrance to it, or your honour
will allow that it wad not hae been a secret chaumer lang."





CHAPTER VIII.

     The hearth in hall was black and dead,
     No board was dight in bower within,
     Nor merry bowl nor welcome bed;
     "Here's sorry cheer," quoth the Heir of Linne.

     Old Ballad

THE feelings of the prodigal Heir of Linne, as expressed in that
excellent old song, when, after dissipating his whole fortune, he found
himself the deserted inhabitant of "the lonely lodge," might perhaps
have some resemblance to those of the Master of Ravenswood in his
deserted mansion of Wolf's Crag. The Master, however, had this advantage
over the spendthrift in the legend, that, if he was in similar distress,
he could not impute it to his own imprudence. His misery had been
bequeathed to him by his father, and, joined to his high blood, and to
a title which the courteous might give or the churlish withhold at their
pleasure, it was the whole inheritance he had derived from his ancestry.
Perhaps this melancholy yet consolatory reflection crossed the mind of
the unfortunate young nobleman with a breathing of comfort. Favourable
to calm reflection, as well as to the Muses, the morning, while it
dispelled the shades of night, had a composing and sedative effect upon
the stormy passions by which the Master of Ravenswood had been agitated
on the preceding day. He now felt himself able to analyse the different
feelings by which he was agitated, and much resolved to combat and
to subdue them. The morning, which had arisen calm and bright, gave a
pleasant effect even to the waste moorland view which was seen from the
castle on looking to the landward; and the glorious ocean, crisped with
a thousand rippling waves of silver, extended on the other side, in
awful yet complacent majesty, to the verge of the horizon. With such
scenes of calm sublimity the human heart sympathises even in its most
disturbed moods, and deeds of honour and virtue are inspired by their
majestic influence. To seek out Bucklaw in the retreat which he had
afforded him, was the first occupation of the Master, after he had
performed, with a scrutiny unusually severe, the important task of
self-examination. "How now, Bucklaw?" was his morning's salutation--"how
like you the couch in which the exiled Earl of Angus once slept
in security, when he was pursued by the full energy of a king's
resentment?"

"Umph!" returned the sleeper awakened; "I have little to complain of
where so great a man was quartered before me, only the mattress was of
the hardest, the vault somewhat damp, the rats rather more mutinous than
I would have expected from the state of Caleb's larder; and if there had
been shutters to that grated window, or a curtain to the bed, I should
think it, upon the whole, an improvement in your accommodations."

"It is, to be sure, forlorn enough," said the Master, looking around the
small vault; "but if you will rise and leave it, Caleb will endeavour to
find you a better breakfast than your supper of last night."

"Pray, let it be no better," said Bucklaw, getting up, and endeavouring
to dress himself as well as the obscurity of the place would
permit--"let it, I say, be no better, if you mean me to preserve in my
proposed reformation. The very recollection of Caleb's beverage has done
more to suppress my longing to open the day with a morning draught than
twenty sermons would have done. And you, master, have you been able to
give battle valiantly to your bosom-snake? You see I am in the way of
smothering my vipers one by one."

"I have commenced the battle, at least, Bucklaw, adn I have had a fair
vision of an angel who descended to my assistance," replied the Master.

"Woe's me!" said his guest, "no vision can I expect, unless my aunt,
Lady Grinington, should betake herself to the tomb; and then it would be
the substance of her heritage rather than the appearance of her phantom
that I should consider as the support of my good resolutions. But this
same breakfast, Master--does the deer that is to make the pasty run yet
on foot, as the ballad has it?"

"I will inquire into that matter," said his entertainer; and, leaving
the apartment, he went in search of Caleb, whom, after some difficulty,
he found in an obscure sort of dungeon, which had been in former times
the buttery of the castle. Here the old man was employed busily in the
doubtful task of burnishing a pewter flagon until it should take the
hue and semblance of silver-plate. "I think it may do--I think it might
pass, if they winna bring it ower muckle in the light o' the window!"
were the ejaculations which he muttered from time to time, as if to
encourage himself in his undertaking, when he was interrupted by the
voice of his master.

"Take this," said the Master of Ravenswood, "and get what is necessary
for the family." And with these words he gave to the old butler the
purse which had on the preceding evening so narrowly escaped the fangs
of Craigengelt.

The old man shook his silvery and thin locks, and looked with an
expression of the most heartfelt anguish at his master as he weighed in
his hand the slender treasure, and said in a sorrowful voice, "And is
this a' that's left?"

"All that is left at present," said the Master, affecting more
cheerfulness than perhaps he really felt, "is just the green purse and
the wee pickle gowd, as the old song says; but we shall do better one
day, Caleb."

"Before that day domes," said Caleb, "I doubt there will be an end of
an auld sang, and an auld serving-man to boot. But it disna become me to
speak that gate to your honour, adn you looking sae pale. Tak back
the purse, and keep it to be making a show before company; for if your
honour would just take a bidding, adn be whiles taking it out afore folk
and putting it up again, there's naebody would refuse us trust, for a'
that's come and gane yet."

"But, Caleb," said the Master, "I still intend to leave this country
very soon, and desire to do so with the reputation of an honest man,
leaving no debty behind me, at last of my own contracting."

"And gude right ye suld gang away as a true man, and so ye shall; for
auld Caleb can tak the wyte of whatever is taen on for the house, and
then it will be a' just ae man's burden; and I will live just as weel in
the tolbooth as out of it, and the credit of the family will be a' safe
and sound."

The Master endeavoured, in vain, to make Caleb comprehend that the
butler's incurring the responsibility of debts in his own person would
rather add to than remove the objections which he had to their being
contracted. He spoke to a premier too busy in devising ways and means to
puzzle himself with refuting the arguments offered against their justice
or expediency.

"There's Eppie Sma'trash will trust us for ale," said Caleb to
himself--"she has lived a' her life under the family--and maybe wi' a
soup brandy; I canna say for wine--she is but a lone woman, and gets
her claret by a runlet at a time; but I'll work a wee drap out o' her by
fair means or foul. For doos, there's the doocot; there will be poultry
amang the tenants, though Luckie Chirnside says she has paid the kain
twice ower. We'll mak shift, an it like your honour--we'll mak shift;
keep your heart abune, for the house sall haud its credit as lang as
auld Caleb is to the fore."

The entertainment which the old man's exertions of various kinds
enabled him to present to the young gentlemen for three or four days was
certainly of no splendid description, but it may readily be believed
it was set before no critical guests; and even the distresses, excuses,
evasions, and shifts of Caleb afforded amusement to the young men, and
added a sort fo interest to the scrambling and irregular style of their
table. They had indeed occasion to seize on every circumstance that
might serve to diversify or enliven time, which otherwise passed away so
heavily.

Bucklaw, shut out from his usual field-sports and joyous carouses by the
necessity of remaining concealed within the walls of the castle, became
a joyless and uninteresting companion. When the Master of Ravenswood
would no longer fence or play at shovel-board; when he himself had
polished to the extremity the coat of his palfrey with brush, curry
comb, and hair-cloth; when he had seen him eat his provender, and
gently lie down in his stall, he could hardly help envying the animal's
apparent acquiescence in a life so monotonous. "The stupid brute," he
said, "thinks neither of the race-ground or the hunting-field, or
his green paddock at Bucklaw, but enjoys himself as comfortably when
haltered to the rack in this ruinous vault, as if he had been foaled
in it; and, I who have the freedom of a prisoner at large, to range
through the dungeons of this wretched old tower, can hardly,
betwixt whistling and sleeping, contrive to pass away the hour till
dinner-time."

And with this disconsolate reflection, he wended his way to the bartizan
or battlements of the tower, to watch what objects might appear on the
distant moor, or to pelt, with pebbles and pieces of lime, the sea-mews
and cormorants which established themselves incautiously within the
reach of an idle young man.

Ravenswood, with a mind incalculably deeper and more powerful than that
of his companion, had his own anxious subjects of reflection, which
wrought for him the same unhappiness that sheer enui and want of
occupation inflicted on his companion. The first sight of Lucy Ashton
had been less impressive than her image proved to be upon reflection. As
the depth and violence of that revengeful passion by which he had been
actuated in seeking an interview with the father began to abate by
degrees, he looked back on his conduct towards the daughter as harsh
and unworthy towards a female of rank and beauty. Her looks of grateful
acknowledgment, her words of affectionate courtesy, had been repelled
with something which approached to disdain; and if the Master of
Ravenswood had sustained wrongs at the hand of Sir William Ashton, his
conscience told him they had been unhandsomely resented towards his
daughter. When his thoughts took this turn of self-reproach, the
recollection of Lucy Ashton's beautiful features, rendered yet more
interesting by the circumstances in which their meeting had taken place,
made an impression upon his mind at once soothing and painful. The
sweetness of her voice, the delicacy of her expressions, the vivid glow
of her filial affection, embittered his regret at having repulsed her
gratitude with rudeness, while, at the same time, they placed before his
imagination a picture of the most seducing sweetness.

Even young Ravenswood's strength of moral feeling and rectitude of
purpose at once increased the danger of cherishing these recollections,
and the propensity to entertain them. Firmly resolved as he was to
subdue, if possible, the predominating vice in his character, he
admitted with willingness--nay, he summoned up in his imagination--the
ideas by which it could be most powerfully counteracted; and, while he
did so, a sense of his own harsh conduct towards the daughter of his
enemy naturally induced him, as if by way of recompense, to invest her
with more of grace and beauty than perhaps she could actually claim.