'But now tell me, my excellent friend, how did you find out I was
here?'

'Od, lad, queerly eneugh,' said Dandie; 'but I'll tell ye that
after we are done wi' our supper, for it will maybe no be sae weel
to speak about it while that lang-lugged limmer o' a lass is gaun
flisking in and out o' the room.'

Bertram's curiosity was in some degree put to rest by the
appearance of the supper which his friend had ordered, which,
although homely enough, had the appetising cleanliness in which
Mrs. Mac-Guffog's cookery was so eminently deficient. Dinmont
also, premising he had ridden the whole day since breakfast-time
without tasting anything 'to speak of,' which qualifying phrase
related to about three pounds of cold roast mutton which he had
discussed at his mid-day stage--Dinmont, I say, fell stoutly upon
the good cheer, and, like one of Homer's heroes, said little,
either good or bad, till the rage of thirst and hunger was
appeased. At length, after a draught of home-brewed ale, he began
by observing, 'Aweel, aweel, that hen,' looking upon the
lamentable relics of what had been once a large fowl, 'wasna a bad
ane to be bred at a town end, though it's no like our barn-door
chuckies at Charlie's Hope; and I am glad to see that this vexing
job hasna taen awa your appetite, Captain.'

'Why, really, my dinner was not so excellent, Mr. Dinmont, as to
spoil my supper.'

'I daresay no, I daresay no,' said Dandie. 'But now, hinny, that
ye hae brought us the brandy, and the mug wi' the het water, and
the sugar, and a' right, ye may steek the door, ye see, for we wad
hae some o' our ain cracks.' The damsel accordingly retired and
shut the door of the apartment, to which she added the precaution
of drawing a large bolt on the outside.

As soon as she was gone Dandie reconnoitred the premises, listened
at the key-hole as if he had been listening for the blowing of an
otter, and, having satisfied himself that there were no
eavesdroppers, returned to the table; and, making himself what he
called a gey stiff cheerer, poked the fire, and began his story in
an undertone of gravity and importance not very usual with him.

'Ye see, Captain, I had been in Edinbro' for twa or three days,
looking after the burial of a friend that we hae lost, and maybe I
suld hae had something for my ride; but there's disappointments in
a' things, and wha can help the like o' that? And I had a wee bit
law business besides, but that's neither here nor there. In short,
I had got my matters settled, and hame I cam; and the morn awa to
the muirs to see what the herds had been about, and I thought I
might as weel gie a look to the Touthope Head, where Jock o'
Dawston and me has the outcast about a march. Weel, just as I was
coming upon the bit, I saw a man afore me that I kenn'd was nane
o' our herds, and it's a wild bit to meet ony other body, so when
I cam up to him it was Tod Gabriel, the fox-hunter. So I says to
him, rather surprised like, "What are ye doing up amang the craws
here, without your hounds, man? are ye seeking the fox without the
dogs?" So he said, "Na, gudeman, but I wanted to see yoursell."

'"Ay," said I, "and ye'll be wanting eilding now, or something to
pit ower the winter?"

'"Na, na," quo' he, "it's no that I'm seeking; but ye tak an unco
concern in that Captain Brown that was staying wi' you, d'ye no?"

'"Troth do I, Gabriel," says I; "and what about him, lad?"

'Says he, "There's mair tak an interest in him than you, and some
that I am bound to obey; and it's no just on my ain will that I'm
here to tell you something about him that will no please you."

'"Faith, naething will please me," quo' I, "that's no pleasing to
him."

'"And then," quo' he, "ye'll be ill-sorted to hear that he's like
to be in the prison at Portanferry, if he disna tak a' the better
care o' himsell, for there's been warrants out to tak him as soon
as he comes ower the water frae Allonby. And now, gudeman, an ever
ye wish him weel, ye maun ride down to Portanferry, and let nae
grass grow at the nag's heels; and if ye find him in confinement,
ye maun stay beside him night and day for a day or twa, for he'll
want friends that hae baith heart and hand; and if ye neglect this
ye'll never rue but ance, for it will be for a' your life."

'"But, safe us, man," quo' I, "how did ye learn a' this? it's an
unco way between this and Portanferry."

'"Never ye mind that," quo' he, "them that brought us the news
rade night and day, and ye maun be aff instantly if ye wad do ony
gude; and sae I have naething mair to tell ye." Sae he sat himsell
doun and hirselled doun into the glen, where it wad hae been ill
following him wi' the beast, and I cam back to Charlie's Hope to
tell the gudewife, for I was uncertain what to do. It wad look
unco-like, I thought, just to be sent out on a hunt-the-gowk
errand wi' a landlouper like that. But, Lord! as the gudewife set
up her throat about it, and said what a shame it wad be if ye was
to come to ony wrang, an I could help ye; and then in cam your
letter that confirmed it. So I took to the kist, and out wi' the
pickle notes in case they should be needed, and a' the bairns ran
to saddle Dumple. By great luck I had taen the other beast to
Edinbro', sae Dumple was as fresh as a rose. Sae aff I set, and
Wasp wi' me, for ye wad really hae thought he kenn'd where I was
gaun, puir beast; and here I am after a trot o' sixty mile or near
by. But Wasp rade thirty o' them afore me on the saddle, and the
puir doggie balanced itsell as ane of the weans wad hae dune,
whether I trotted or cantered.'

In this strange story Bertram obviously saw, supposing the warning
to be true, some intimation of danger more violent and imminent
than could be likely to arise from a few days' imprisonment. At
the same time it was equally evident that some unknown friend was
working in his behalf. 'Did you not say,' he asked Dinmont, 'that
this man Gabriel was of gipsy blood?'

'It was e'en judged sae,' said Dinmont, 'and I think this maks it
likely; for they aye ken where the gangs o' ilk ither are to be
found, and they can gar news flee like a footba' through the
country an they like. An' I forgat to tell ye, there's been an
unco inquiry after the auld wife that we saw in Bewcastle; the
Sheriff's had folk ower the Limestane Edge after her, and down the
Hermitage and Liddel, and a' gates, and a reward offered for her
to appear o' fifty pound sterling, nae less; and Justice Forster,
he's had out warrants, as I am tell'd, in Cumberland; and an unco
ranging and ripeing they have had a' gates seeking for her; but
she'll no be taen wi' them unless she likes, for a' that.'

'And how comes that?' said Bertram.

'Ou, I dinna ken; I daur say it's nonsense, but they say she has
gathered the fern-seed, and can gang ony gate she likes, like Jock
the Giant-killer in the ballant, wi' his coat o' darkness and his
shoon o' swiftness. Ony way she's a kind o' queen amang the
gipsies; she is mair than a hundred year auld, folk say, and minds
the coming in o' the moss-troopers in the troublesome times when
the Stuarts were put awa. Sae, if she canna hide hersell, she kens
them that can hide her weel eneugh, ye needna doubt that. Od, an I
had kenn'd it had been Meg Merrilies yon night at Tibb Mumps's, I
wad taen care how I crossed her.'

Bertram listened with great attention to this account, which
tallied so well in many points with what he had himself seen of
this gipsy sibyl. After a moment's consideration he concluded it
would be no breach of faith to mention what he had seen at
Derncleugh to a person who held Meg in such reverence as Dinmont
obviously did. He told his story accordingly, often interrupted by
ejaculations, such as, 'Weel, the like o' that now!' or, 'Na, deil
an that's no something now!'

When our Liddesdale friend had heard the whole to an end, he shook
his great black head--'Weel, I'll uphaud there's baith gude and
ill amang the gipsies, and if they deal wi' the Enemy, it's a'
their ain business and no ours. I ken what the streeking the
corpse wad be, weel eneugh. Thae smuggler deevils, when ony o'
them's killed in a fray, they'll send for a wife like Meg far
eneugh to dress the corpse; od, it's a' the burial they ever think
o'! and then to be put into the ground without ony decency, just
like dogs. But they stick to it, that they'll be streekit, and
hae an auld wife when they're dying to rhyme ower prayers, and
ballants, and charms, as they ca' them, rather than they'll hae a
minister to come and pray wi' them--that's an auld threep o'
theirs; and I am thinking the man that died will hae been ane o'
the folk that was shot when they burnt Woodbourne.'

'But, my good friend, Woodbourne is not burnt,' said Bertram.

'Weel, the better for them that bides in't,' answered the store-
farmer. 'Od, we had it up the water wi' us that there wasna a
stane on the tap o' anither. But there was fighting, ony way; I
daur to say it would be fine fun! And, as I said, ye may take it
on trust that that's been ane o' the men killed there, and that
it's been the gipsies that took your pockmanky when they fand the
chaise stickin' in the snaw; they wadna pass the like o' that, it
wad just come to their hand like the bowl o' a pint stoup.'

'But if this woman is a sovereign among them, why was she not able
to afford me open protection, and to get me back my property?'

'Ou, wha kens? she has muckle to say wi' them, but whiles they'll
tak their ain way for a' that, when they're under temptation. And
then there's the smugglers that they're aye leagued wi', she maybe
couldna manage them sae weel. They're aye banded thegither; I've
heard that the gipsies ken when the smugglers will come aff, and
where they're to land, better than the very merchants that deal
wi' them. And then, to the boot o' that, she's whiles cracked-
brained, and has a bee in her head; they say that, whether her
spaeings and fortune-tellings be true or no, for certain she
believes in them a' hersell, and is aye guiding hersell by some
queer prophecy or anither. So she disna aye gang the straight road
to the well. But deil o' sic a story as yours, wi' glamour and
dead folk and losing ane's gate, I ever heard out o' the tale-
books! But whisht, I hear the keeper coming.'

Mac-Guffog accordingly interrupted their discourse by the harsh
harmony of the bolts and bars, and showed his bloated visage at
the opening door. 'Come, Mr. Dinmont, we have put off locking up
for an hour to oblige ye; ye must go to your quarters.'

'Quarters, man? I intend to sleep here the night. There's a spare
bed in the Captain's room.'

'It's impossible!' answered the keeper.

'But I say it IS possible, and that I winna stir; and there's a
dram t' ye.'

Mac-Guffog drank off the spirits and resumed his objection. 'But
it's against rule, sir; ye have committed nae malefaction.'

'I'll break your head,' said the sturdy Liddesdale man, 'if ye say
ony mair about it, and that will be malefaction eneugh to entitle
me to ae night's lodging wi' you, ony way.'

'But I tell ye, Mr. Dinmont,' reiterated the keeper, 'it's against
rule, and I behoved to lose my post.'

'Weel, Mac-Guffog,' said Dandie, 'I hae just twa things to say. Ye
ken wha I am weel eneugh, and that I wadna loose a prisoner.'

'And how do I ken that?' answered the jailor.

'Weel, if ye dinna ken that,' said the resolute farmer, 'ye ken
this: ye ken ye're whiles obliged to be up our water in the way o'
your business. Now, if ye let me stay quietly here the night wi'
the Captain, I'se pay ye double fees for the room; and if ye say
no, ye shall hae the best sark-fu' o' sair banes that ever ye had
in your life the first time ye set a foot by Liddel Moat!'

'Aweel, aweel, gudeman,' said Mac-Guffog, 'a wilfu' man maun hae
his way; but if I am challenged for it by the justices, I ken wha
sall bear the wyte,' and, having sealed this observation with a
deep oath or two, he retired to bed, after carefully securing all
the doors of the bridewell. The bell from the town steeple tolled
nine just as the ceremony was concluded.

'Although it's but early hours,' said the farmer, who had observed
that his friend looked somewhat pale and fatigued, 'I think we had
better lie down, Captain, if ye're no agreeable to another
cheerer. But troth, ye're nae glass-breaker; and neither am I,
unless it be a screed wi' the neighbours, or when I'm on a
ramble.'

Bertram readily assented to the motion of his faithful friend,
but, on looking at the bed, felt repugnance to trust himself
undressed to Mrs. Mac-Guffog's clean sheets.

'I'm muckle o' your opinion, Captain,' said Dandie. 'Od, this bed
looks as if a' the colliers in Sanquhar had been in't thegither.
But it'll no win through my muckle coat.' So saying, he flung
himself upon the frail bed with a force that made all its timbers
crack, and in a few moments gave audible signal that he was fast
asleep. Bertram slipped off his coat and boots and occupied the
other dormitory. The strangeness of his destiny, and the mysteries
which appeared to thicken around him, while he seemed alike to be
persecuted and protected by secret enemies and friends, arising
out of a class of people with whom he had no previous connexion,
for some time occupied his thoughts. Fatigue, however, gradually
composed his mind, and in a short time he was as fast asleep as
his companion. And in this comfortable state of oblivion we must
leave them until we acquaint the reader with some other
circumstances which occurred about the same period.




CHAPTER XLVI

     Say from whence
     You owe this strange intelligence? or why
     Upon this blasted heath you stop our way
     With such prophetic greeting?
     Speak, I charge you.

          Macbeth.


Upon the evening of the day when Bertram's examination had taken
place, Colonel Mannering arrived at Woodbourne from Edinburgh. He
found his family in their usual state, which probably, so far as
Julia was concerned, would not have been the case had she learned
the news of Bertram's arrest. But as, during the Colonel's
absence, the two young ladies lived much retired, this
circumstance fortunately had not reached Woodbourne. A letter had
already made Miss Bertram acquainted with the downfall of the
expectations which had been formed upon the bequest of her
kinswoman. Whatever hopes that news might have dispelled, the
disappointment did not prevent her from joining her friend in
affording a cheerful reception to the Colonel, to whom she thus
endeavoured to express the deep sense she entertained of his
paternal kindness. She touched on her regret that at such a season
of the year he should have made, upon her account, a journey so
fruitless.

'That it was fruitless to you, my dear,' said the Colonel, 'I do
most deeply lament; but for my own share, I have made some
valuable acquaintances, and have spent the time I have been absent
in Edinburgh with peculiar satisfaction; so that on that score
there is nothing to be regretted. Even our friend the Dominie is
returned thrice the man he was, from having sharpened his wits in
controversy with the geniuses of the northern metropolis.'

'Of a surety,' said the Dominie, with great complacency, 'I did
wrestle, and was not overcome, though my adversary was cunning in
his art.'

'I presume,' said Miss Mannering, 'the contest was somewhat
fatiguing, Mr. Sampson?'

'Very much, young lady; howbeit I girded up my loins and strove
against him.'

'I can bear witness,' said the Colonel; 'I never saw an affair
better contested. The enemy was like the Mahratta cavalry: he
assailed on all sides, and presented no fair mark for artillery;
but Mr. Sampson stood to his guns notwithstanding, and fired away,
now upon the enemy and now upon the dust which he had raised. But
we must not fight our battles over again to-night; to-morrow we
shall have the whole at breakfast.'

The next morning at breakfast, however, the Dominie did not make
his appearance. He had walked out, a servant said, early in the
morning. It was so common for him to forget his meals that his
absence never deranged the family. The housekeeper, a decent old-
fashioned Presbyterian matron, having, as such, the highest
respect for Sampson's theological acquisitions, had it in charge
on these occasions to take care that he was no sufferer by his
absence of mind, and therefore usually waylaid him on his return,
to remind him of his sublunary wants, and to minister to their
relief. It seldom, however, happened that he was absent from two
meals together, as was the case in the present instance. We must
explain the cause of this unusual occurrence.

The conversation which Mr. Pleydell had held with Mr. Mannering on
the subject of the loss of Harry Bertram had awakened all the
painful sensations which that event had inflicted upon Sampson.
The affectionate heart of the poor Dominie had always reproached
him that his negligence in leaving the child in the care of Frank
Kennedy had been the proximate cause of the murder of the one, the
loss of the other, the death of Mrs. Bertram, and the ruin of the
family of his patron. It was a subject which he never conversed
upon, if indeed his mode of speech could be called conversation at
any time; but it was often present to his imagination. The sort of
hope so strongly affirmed and asserted in Mrs. Bertram's last
settlement had excited a corresponding feeling in the Dominie's
bosom, which was exasperated into a sort of sickening anxiety by
the discredit with which Pleydell had treated it. 'Assuredly,'
thought Sampson to himself, 'he is a man of erudition, and well
skilled in the weighty matters of the law; but he is also a man of
humorous levity and inconsistency of speech, and wherefore should
he pronounce ex cathedra, as it were, on the hope expressed by
worthy Madam Margaret Bertram of Singleside?'

All this, I say, the Dominie THOUGHT to himself; for had he
uttered half the sentence, his jaws would have ached for a month
under the unusual fatigue of such a continued exertion. The result
of these cogitations was a resolution to go and visit the scene of
the tragedy at Warroch Point, where he had not been for many
years; not, indeed, since the fatal accident had happened. The
walk was a long one, for the Point of Warroch lay on the farther
side of the Ellangowan property, which was interposed between it
and Woodbourne. Besides, the Dominie went astray more than once,
and met with brooks swoln into torrents by the melting of the
snow, where he, honest man, had only the summer recollection of
little trickling rills.

At length, however, he reached the woods which he had made the
object of his excursion, and traversed them with care, muddling
his disturbed brains with vague efforts to recall every
circumstance of the catastrophe. It will readily be supposed that
the influence of local situation and association was inadequate to
produce conclusions different from those which he had formed under
the immediate pressure of the occurrences themselves. 'With many a
weary sigh, therefore, and many a groan,' the poor Dominie
returned from his hopeless pilgrimage, and weariedly plodded his
way towards Woodbourne, debating at times in his altered mind a
question which was forced upon him by the cravings of an appetite
rather of the keenest, namely, whether he had breakfasted that
morning or no? It was in this twilight humour, now thinking of the
loss of the child, then involuntarily compelled to meditate upon
the somewhat incongruous subject of hung beef, rolls, and butter,
that his route, which was different from that which he had taken
in the morning, conducted him past the small ruined tower, or
rather vestige of a tower, called by the country people the Kaim
of Derncleugh.

The reader may recollect the description of this ruin in the
twenty-seventh chapter, as the vault in which young Bertram, under
the auspices of Meg Merrilies, witnessed the death of Hatteraick's
lieutenant. The tradition of the country added ghostly terrors to
the natural awe inspired by the situation of this place, which
terrors the gipsies who so long inhabited the vicinity had
probably invented, or at least propagated, for their own
advantage. It was said that, during the times of the Galwegian
independence, one Hanlon Mac-Dingawaie, brother to the reigning
chief, Knarth Mac-Dingawaie, murdered his brother and sovereign,
in order to usurp the principality from his infant nephew, and
that, being pursued for vengeance by the faithful allies and
retainers of the house, who espoused the cause of the lawful heir,
he was compelled to retreat, with a few followers whom he had
involved in his crime, to this impregnable tower called the Kaim
of Derucleugh, where he defended himself until nearly reduced by
famine, when, setting fire to the place, he and the small
remaining garrison desperately perished by their own swords,
rather than fall into the hands of their exasperated enemies. This
tragedy, which, considering the wild times wherein it was placed,
might have some foundation in truth, was larded with many legends
of superstition and diablerie, so that most of the peasants of the
neighbourhood, if benighted, would rather have chosen to make a
considerable circuit than pass these haunted walls. The lights,
often seen around the tower, when used as the rendezvous of the
lawless characters by whom it was occasionally frequented, were
accounted for, under authority of these tales of witchery, in a
manner at once convenient for the private parties concerned and
satisfactory to the public.

Now it must be confessed that our friend Sampson, although a
profound scholar and mathematician, had not travelled so far in
philosophy as to doubt the reality of witchcraft or apparitions.
Born, indeed, at a time when a doubt in the existence of witches
was interpreted as equivalent to a justification of their infernal
practices, a belief of such legends had been impressed upon the
Dominie as an article indivisible from his religious faith, and
perhaps it would have been equally difficult to have induced him
to doubt the one as the other. With these feelings, and in a thick
misty day, which was already drawing to its close, Dominie Sampson
did not pass the Kaim of Derncleugh without some feelings of tacit
horror.

What, then, was his astonishment when, on passing the door--that
door which was supposed to have been placed there by one of the
latter Lairds of Ellangowan to prevent presumptuous strangers from
incurring the dangers of the haunted vault--that door, supposed to
be always locked, and the key of which was popularly said to be
deposited with the presbytery--that door, that very door, opened
suddenly, and the figure of Meg Merrilies, well known, though not
seen for many a revolving year, was placed at once before the eyes
of the startled Dominie! She stood immediately before him in the
footpath, confronting him so absolutely that he could not avoid
her except by fairly turning back, which his manhood prevented him
from thinking of.

'I kenn'd ye wad be here,' she said, with her harsh and hollow
voice; 'I ken wha ye seek; but ye maun do my bidding.'

'Get thee behind me!' said the alarmed Dominie. 'Avoid ye! Conjuro
te, scelestissima, nequissima, spurcissima, iniquissima atque
miserrima, conjuro te!!!'

Meg stood her ground against this tremendous volley of
superlatives, which Sampson hawked up from the pit of his stomach
and hurled at her in thunder. 'Is the carl daft,' she said, 'wi'
his glamour?'

'Conjuro,' continued the Dominie, 'abjuro, contestor atque
viriliter impero tibi!'

'What, in the name of Sathan, are ye feared for, wi' your French
gibberish, that would make a dog sick? Listen, ye stickit
stibbler, to what I tell ye, or ye sail rue it while there's a
limb o' ye hings to anither! Tell Colonel Mannering that I ken
he's seeking me. He kens, and I ken, that the blood will be wiped
out, and the lost will be found,

     And Bertram's right and Bertram's might
     Shall meet on Ellangowan height.

Hae, there's a letter to him; I was gaun to send it in another
way. I canna write mysell; but I hae them that will baith write
and read, and ride and rin for me. Tell him the time's coming now,
and the weird's dreed, and the wheel's turning. Bid him look at
the stars as he has looked at them before. Will ye mind a' this?'

'Assuredly,' said the Dominie, 'I am dubious; for, woman, I am
perturbed at thy words, and my flesh quakes to hear thee.'

'They'll do you nae ill though, and maybe muckle gude.'

'Avoid ye! I desire no good that comes by unlawful means.'

'Fule body that thou art,' said Meg, stepping up to him, with a
frown of indignation that made her dark eyes flash like lamps from
under her bent brows--'Fule body! if I meant ye wrang, couldna I
clod ye ower that craig, and wad man ken how ye cam by your end
mair than Frank Kennedy? Hear ye that, ye worricow?'

'In the name of all that is good,' said the Dominie, recoiling,
and pointing his long pewter-headed walking cane like a javelin at
the supposed sorceress--'in the name of all that is good, bide off
hands! I will not be handled; woman, stand off, upon thine own
proper peril! Desist, I say; I am strong; lo, I will resist!' Here
his speech was cut short; for Meg, armed with supernatural
strength (as the Dominie asserted), broke in upon his guard, put
by a thrust which he made at her with his cane, and lifted him
into the vault, 'as easily,' said he, 'as I could sway a Kitchen's
Atlas.'

'Sit down there,' she said, pushing the half-throttled preacher
with some violence against a broken chair--'sit down there and
gather your wind and your senses, ye black barrow-tram o' the kirk
that ye are. Are ye fou or fasting?'

'Fasting, from all but sin,' answered the Dominie, who, recovering
his voice, and finding his exorcisms only served to exasperate the
intractable sorceress, thought it best to affect complaisance and
submission, inwardly conning over, however, the wholesome
conjurations which he durst no longer utter aloud. But as the
Dominie's brain was by no means equal to carry on two trains of
ideas at the same time, a word or two of his mental exercise
sometimes escaped and mingled with his uttered speech in a manner
ludicrous enough, especially as the poor man shrunk himself
together after every escape of the kind, from terror of the effect
it might produce upon the irritable feelings of the witch.

Meg in the meanwhile went to a great black cauldron that was
boiling on a fire on the floor, and, lifting the lid, an odour was
diffused through the vault which, if the vapours of a witch's
cauldron could in aught be trusted, promised better things than
the hell-broth which such vessels are usually supposed to contain.
It was, in fact, the savour of a goodly stew, composed of fowls,
hares, partridges, and moor-game boiled in a large mess with
potatoes, onions, and leeks, and from the size of the cauldron
appeared to be prepared for half a dozen of people at least. 'So
ye hae eat naething a' day?' said Meg, heaving a large portion of
this mess into a brown dish and strewing it savourily with salt
and pepper. [Footnote: See Note 4.]

'Nothing,' answered the Dominie, 'scelestissima!--that is,
gudewife.'

'Hae then,' said she, placing the dish before him, 'there's what
will warm your heart.'

'I do not hunger, malefica--that is to say, Mrs. Merrilies!' for
he said unto himself,' the savour is sweet, but it hath been
cooked by a Canidia or an Ericthoe.'

'If ye dinna eat instantly and put some saul in ye, by the bread
and the salt, I'll put it down your throat wi' the cutty spoon,
scaulding as it is, and whether ye will or no. Gape, sinner, and
swallow!'

Sampson, afraid of eye of newt, and toe of frog, tigers'
chaudrons, and so forth, had determined not to venture; but the
smell of the stew was fast melting his obstinacy, which flowed
from his chops as it were in streams of water, and the witch's
threats decided him to feed. Hunger and fear are excellent
casuists.

'Saul,' said Hunger, 'feasted with the witch of Endor.' 'And,'
quoth Fear, 'the salt which she sprinkled upon the food showeth
plainly it is not a necromantic banquet, in which that seasoning
never occurs.' 'And, besides,' says Hunger, after the first
spoonful, 'it is savoury and refreshing viands.'

'So ye like the meat?' said the hostess.

'Yea,' answered the Dominie, 'and I give thee thanks,
sceleratissima!--which means, Mrs. Margaret.'

'Aweel, eat your fill; but an ye kenn'd how it was gotten ye maybe
wadna like it sae weel.' Sampson's spoon dropped in the act of
conveying its load to his mouth. 'There's been mony a moonlight
watch to bring a' that trade thegither,' continued Meg; 'the folk
that are to eat that dinner thought little o' your game laws.'

'Is that all?' thought Sampson, resuming his spoon and shovelling
away manfully; 'I will not lack my food upon that argument.'

'Now ye maun tak a dram?'

'I will,' quoth Sampson, 'conjuro te--that is, I thank you
heartily,' for he thought to himself, in for a penny in for a
pound; and he fairly drank the witch's health in a cupful of
brandy. When he had put this copestone upon Meg's good cheer, he
felt, as he said, 'mightily elevated, and afraid of no evil which
could befall unto him.'

'Will ye remember my errand now?' said Meg Merrilies; 'I ken by
the cast o' your ee that ye're anither man than when you cam in.'

'I will, Mrs. Margaret,' repeated Sampson, stoutly; 'I will
deliver unto him the sealed yepistle, and will add what you please
to send by word of mouth.'

'Then I'll make it short,' says Meg. 'Tell him to look at the
stars without fail this night, and to do what I desire him in that
letter, as he would wish

     That Bertram's right and Bertram's might
     Should meet on Ellangowan height.

I have seen him twice when he saw na me; I ken when he was in this
country first, and I ken what's brought him back again. Up an' to
the gate! ye're ower lang here; follow me.'

Sampson followed the sibyl accordingly, who guided him about a
quarter of a mile through the woods, by a shorter cut than he
could have found for himself; then they entered upon the common,
Meg still marching before him at a great pace, until she gained
the top of a small hillock which overhung the road.

'Here,' she said, 'stand still here. Look how the setting sun
breaks through yon cloud that's been darkening the lift a' day.
See where the first stream o' light fa's: it's upon Donagild's
round tower, the auldest tower in the Castle o' Ellangowan; that's
no for naething! See as it's glooming to seaward abune yon sloop
in the bay; that's no for naething neither. Here I stood on this
very spot,' said she, drawing herself up so as not to lose one
hair-breadth of her uncommon height, and stretching out her long
sinewy arm and clenched hand--'here I stood when I tauld the last
Laird o' Ellangowan what was coming on his house; and did that fa'
to the ground? na, it hit even ower sair! And here, where I brake
the wand of peace ower him, here I stand again, to bid God bless
and prosper the just heir of Ellangowan that will sune be brought
to his ain; and the best laird he shall be that Ellangowan has
seen for three hundred years. I'll no live to see it, maybe; but
there will be mony a blythe ee see it though mine be closed. And
now, Abel Sampson, as ever ye lo'ed the house of Ellangowan, away
wi' my message to the English Colonel, as if life and death were
upon your haste!'

So saying, she turned suddenly from the amazed Dominie and
regained with swift and long strides the shelter of the wood from
which she had issued at the point where it most encroached upon
the common. Sampson gazed after her for a moment in utter
astonishment, and then obeyed her directions, hurrying to
Woodbourne at a pace very unusual for him, exclaiming three times,
'Prodigious! prodigious! pro-di-gi-ous!'




CHAPTER XLVII

     It is not madness
     That I have utter'd, bring me to the test,
     And I the matter will re-word, which madness
     Would gambol from.
          Hamlet.


As Mr. Sampson crossed the hall with a bewildered look, Mrs.
Allan, the good housekeeper, who, with the reverent attention
which is usually rendered to the clergy in Scotland, was on the
watch for his return, sallied forth to meet him--'What's this o't
now, Mr. Sampson, this is waur than ever! Ye'll really do yoursell
some injury wi' these lang fasts; naething's sae hurtful to the
stamach, Mr. Sampson. If ye would but put some peppermint draps in
your pocket, or let Barnes cut ye a sandwich.'

'Avoid thee!' quoth the Dominie, his mind running still upon his
interview with Meg Merrilies, and making for the dining-parlour.

'Na, ye needna gang in there, the cloth's been removed an hour
syne, and the Colonel's at his wine; but just step into my room, I
have a nice steak that the cook will do in a moment.'

'Exorciso te!' said Sampson; 'that is, I have dined.'

'Dined! it's impossible; wha can ye hae dined wi', you that gangs
out nae gate?'

'With Beelzebub, I believe,' said the minister.

'Na, then he's bewitched for certain,' said the housekeeper,
letting go her hold; 'he's bewitched, or he's daft, and ony way
the Colonel maun just guide him his ain gate. Wae's me! Hech,
sirs! It's a sair thing to see learning bring folk to this!' And
with this compassionate ejaculation she retreated into her own
premises.

The object of her commiseration had by this time entered the
dining-parlour, where his appearance gave great surprise. He was
mud up to the shoulders, and the natural paleness of his hue was
twice as cadaverous as usual, through terror, fatigue, and
perturbation of mind.

'What on earth is the meaning of this, Mr. Sampson?' said
Mannering, who observed Miss Bertram looking much alarmed for her
simple but attached friend.

'Exorciso,' said the Dominie.

'How, sir?' replied the astonished Colonel.

'I crave pardon, honourable sir! but my wits---'

'Are gone a wool-gathering, I think; pray, Mr. Sampson, collect
yourself, and let me know the meaning of all this.'

Sampson was about to reply, but finding his Latin formula of
exorcism still came most readily to his tongue, he prudently
desisted from the attempt, and put the scrap of paper which he had
received from the gipsy into Mannering's hand, who broke the seal
and read it with surprise. 'This seems to be some jest,' he said,
'and a very dull one.'

'It came from no jesting person,' said Mr. Sampson.

'From whom then did it come?' demanded Mannering.

The Dominie, who often displayed some delicacy of recollection in
cases where Miss Bertram had an interest, remembered the painful
circumstances connected with Meg Merrilies, looked at the young
ladies, and remained silent. 'We will join you at the tea-table in
an instant, Julia,' said the Colonel; 'I see that Mr. Sampson
wishes to speak to me alone. And now they are gone, what, in
Heaven's name, Mr. Sampson, is the meaning of all this?'

'It may be a message from Heaven,' said the Dominie, 'but it came
by Beelzebub's postmistress. It was that witch, Meg Merrilies, who
should have been burned with a tar-barrel twenty years since for a
harlot, thief, witch, and gipsy.'

'Are you sure it was she?' said the Colonel with great interest.

'Sure, honoured sir? Of a truth she is one not to be forgotten,
the like o' Meg Merrilies is not to be seen in any land.'

The Colonel paced the room rapidly, cogitating with himself. 'To
send out to apprehend her; but it is too distant to send to Mac-
Morlan, and Sir Robert Hazlewood is a pompous coxcomb; besides,
the chance of not finding her upon the spot, or that the humour of
silence that seized her before may again return. No, I will not,
to save being thought a fool, neglect the course she points out.
Many of her class set out by being impostors and end by becoming
enthusiasts, or hold a kind of darkling conduct between both
lines, unconscious almost when they are cheating themselves or
when imposing on others. Well, my course is a plain one at any
rate; and if my efforts are fruitless, it shall not be owing to
over-jealousy of my own character for wisdom.'

With this he rang the bell, and, ordering Barnes into his private
sitting-room, gave him some orders, with the result of which the
reader may be made hereafter acquainted.

We must now take up another adventure, which is also to be woven
into the story of this remarkable day.

Charles Hazlewood had not ventured to make a visit at Woodbourne
during the absence of the Colonel. Indeed, Mannering's whole
behaviour had impressed upon him an opinion that this would be
disagreeable; and such was the ascendency which the successful
soldier and accomplished gentleman had attained over the young
man's conduct, that in no respect would he have ventured to offend
him. He saw, or thought he saw, in Colonel Mannering's general
conduct, an approbation of his attachment to Miss Bertram. But
then he saw still more plainly the impropriety of any attempt at a
private correspondence, of which his parents could not be supposed
to approve, and he respected this barrier interposed betwixt them
both on Mannering's account and as he was the liberal and zealous
protector of Miss Bertram. 'No,' said he to himself, 'I will not
endanger the comfort of my Lucy's present retreat until I can
offer her a home of her own.'

With this valorous resolution, which he maintained although his
horse, from constant habit, turned his head down the avenue of
Woodbourne, and although he himself passed the lodge twice every
day, Charles Hazlewood withstood a strong inclination to ride down
just to ask how the young ladies were, and whether he could be of
any service to them during Colonel Mannering's absence. But on the
second occasion he felt the temptation so severe that he resolved
not to expose himself to it a third time; and, contenting himself
with sending hopes and inquiries and so forth to Woodbourne, he
resolved to make a visit long promised to a family at some
distance, and to return in such time as to be one of the earliest
among Mannering's visitors who should congratulate his safe
arrival from his distant and hazardous expedition to Edinburgh.
Accordingly he made out his visit, and, having arranged matters so
as to be informed within a few hours after Colonel Mannering
reached home, he finally resolved to take leave of the friends
with whom he had spent the intervening time, with the intention of
dining at Woodbourne, where he was in a great measure
domesticated; and this (for he thought much more deeply on the
subject than was necessary) would, he flattered himself, appear a
simple, natural, and easy mode of conducting himself.

Fate, however, of which lovers make so many complaints, was in
this case unfavourable to Charles Hazlewood. His horse's shoes
required an alteration, in consequence of the fresh weather having
decidedly commenced. The lady of the house where he was a visitor
chose to indulge in her own room till a very late breakfast hour.
His friend also insisted on showing him a litter of puppies which
his favourite pointer bitch had produced that morning. The colours
had occasioned some doubts about the paternity--a weighty question
of legitimacy, to the decision of which Hazlewood's opinion was
called in as arbiter between his friend and his groom, and which
inferred in its consequences which of the litter should be
drowned, which saved. Besides, the Laird himself delayed our young
lover's departure for a considerable time, endeavouring, with long
and superfluous rhetoric, to insinuate to Sir Robert Hazlewood,
through the medium of his son, his own particular ideas respecting
the line of a meditated turnpike road. It is greatly to the shame
of our young lover's apprehension that, after the tenth reiterated
account of the matter, he could not see the advantage to be
obtained by the proposed road passing over the Lang Hirst, Windy
Knowe, the Goodhouse Park, Hailziecroft, and then crossing the
river at Simon's Pool, and so by the road to Kippletringan; and
the less eligible line pointed out by the English surveyor, which
would go clear through the main enclosures at Hazlewood, and cut
within a mile or nearly so of the house itself, destroying the
privacy and pleasure, as his informer contended, of the grounds.
In short, the adviser (whose actual interest was to have the
bridge built as near as possible to a farm of his own) failed in
every effort to attract young Hazlewood's attention until he
mentioned by chance that the proposed line was favoured by 'that
fellow Glossin,' who pretended to take a lead in the county. On a
sudden young Hazlewood became attentive and interested; and,
having satisfied himself which was the line that Glossin
patronised, assured his friend it should not be his fault if his
father did not countenance any other instead of that. But these
various interruptions consumed the morning. Hazlewood got on
horseback at least three hours later than he intended, and,
cursing fine ladies, pointers, puppies, and turnpike acts of
parliament, saw himself detained beyond the time when he could
with propriety intrude upon the family at Woodbourne.

He had passed, therefore, the turn of the road which led to that
mansion, only edified by the distant appearance of the blue smoke
curling against the pale sky of the winter evening, when he
thought he beheld the Dominie taking a footpath for the house
through the woods. He called after him, but in vain; for that
honest gentleman, never the most susceptible of extraneous
impressions, had just that moment parted from Meg Merrilies, and
was too deeply wrapt up in pondering upon her vaticinations to
make any answer to Hazlewood's call. He was therefore obliged to
let him proceed without inquiry after the health of the young
ladies, or any other fishing question, to which he might by good
chance have had an answer returned wherein Miss Bertram's name
might have been mentioned. All cause for haste was now over, and,
slackening the reins upon his horse's neck, he permitted the
animal to ascend at his own leisure the steep sandy track between
two high banks, which, rising to a considerable height, commanded
at length an extensive view of the neighbouring country.

Hazlewood was, however, so far from eagerly looking forward to
this prospect, though it had the recommendation that great part of
the land was his father's, and must necessarily be his own, that
his head still turned backward towards the chimneys of Woodbourne,
although at every step his horse made the difficulty of employing
his eyes in that direction become greater. From the reverie in
which he was sunk he was suddenly roused by a voice, too harsh to
be called female, yet too shrill for a man: 'What's kept you on
the road sae lang? Maun ither folk do your wark?'

He looked up. The spokeswoman was very tall, had a voluminous
handkerchief rolled round her head, grizzled hair flowing in elf-
locks from beneath it, a long red cloak, and a staff in her hand,
headed with a sort of spear-point; it was, in short, Meg
Merrilies. Hazlewood had never seen this remarkable figure before;
he drew up his reins in astonishment at her appearance, and made a
full stop. 'I think,' continued she, 'they that hae taen interest
in the house of Ellangowan suld sleep nane this night; three men
hae been seeking ye, and you are gaun hame to sleep in your bed.
D' ye think if the lad-bairn fa's, the sister will do weel? Na,
na!'

'I don't understand you, good woman,' said Hazlewood. 'If you
speak of Miss---, I mean of any of the late Ellangowan family,
tell me what I can do for them.'

'Of the late Ellangowan family?' she answered with great
vehemence--'of the LATE Ellangowan family! and when was there
ever, or when will there ever be, a family of Ellangowan but
bearing the gallant name of the bauld Bertrams?'

'But what do you mean, good woman?'

'I am nae good woman; a' the country kens I am bad eneugh, and
baith they and I may be sorry eneugh that I am nae better. But I
can do what good women canna, and daurna do. I can do what would
freeze the blood o' them that is bred in biggit wa's for naething
but to bind bairns' heads and to hap them in the cradle. Hear me:
the guard's drawn off at the custom-house at Portanferry, and it's
brought up to Hazlewood House by your father's orders, because he
thinks his house is to be attacked this night by the smugglers.
There's naebody means to touch his house; he has gude blood and
gentle blood--I say little o' him for himsell--but there's naebody
thinks him worth meddling wi'. Send the horsemen back to their
post, cannily and quietly; see an they winna hae wark the night,
ay will they: the guns will flash and the swords will glitter in
the braw moon.'

'Good God! what do you mean?' said young Hazlewood; 'your words
and manner would persuade me you are mad, and yet there is a
strange combination in what you say.'

'I am not mad!' exclaimed the gipsy; 'I have been imprisoned for
mad--scourged for mad--banished for mad--but mad I am not. Hear
ye, Charles Hazlewood of Hazlewood: d'ye bear malice against him
that wounded you?'

'No, dame, God forbid; my arm is quite well, and I have always
said the shot was discharged by accident. I should be glad to tell
the young man so himself.'

'Then do what I bid ye,' answered Meg Merrilies, 'and ye'll do
him mair gude than ever he did you ill; for if he was left to his
ill-wishers he would be a bloody corpse ere morn, or a banished
man; but there's Ane abune a'. Do as I bid you; send back the
soldiers to Portanferry. There's nae mair fear o' Hazlewood House
than there's o' Cruffel Fell.' And she vanished with her usual
celerity of pace.

It would seem that the appearance of this female, and the mixture
of frenzy and enthusiasm in her manner, seldom failed to produce
the strongest impression upon those whom she addressed. Her words,
though wild, were too plain and intelligible for actual madness,
and yet too vehement and extravagant for sober-minded
communication. She seemed acting under the influence of an
imagination rather strongly excited than deranged; and it is
wonderful how palpably the difference in such cases is impressed
upon the mind of the auditor. This may account for the attention
with which her strange and mysterious hints were heard and acted
upon. It is certain, at least, that young Hazlewood was strongly
impressed by her sudden appearance and imperative tone. He rode to
Hazlewood at a brisk pace. It had been dark for some time before
he reached the house, and on his arrival there he saw a
confirmation of what the sibyl had hinted.

Thirty dragoon horses stood under a shed near the offices, with
their bridles linked together. Three or four soldiers attended as
a guard, while others stamped up and down with their long
broadswords and heavy boots in front of the house. Hazlewood asked
a non-commissioned officer from whence they came.

'From Portanferry.'

'Had they left any guard there?'

'No; they had been drawn off by order of Sir Robert Hazlewood for
defence of his house against an attack which was threatened by the
smugglers.'

Charles Hazlewood instantly went in quest of his father, and,
having paid his respects to him upon his return, requested to know
upon what account he had thought it necessary to send for a
military escort. Sir Robert assured his son in reply that, from
the information, intelligence, and tidings which had been
communicated to, and laid before him, he had the deepest reason to
believe, credit, and be convinced that a riotous assault would
that night be attempted and perpetrated against Hazlewood House by
a set of smugglers, gipsies, and other desperadoes.

'And what, my dear sir,' said his son, 'should direct the fury of
such persons against ours rather than any other house in the
country?'

'I should rather think, suppose, and be of opinion, sir,' answered
Sir Robert, 'with deference to your wisdom and experience, that on
these occasions and times the vengeance of such persons is
directed or levelled against the most important and distinguished
in point of rank, talent, birth, and situation who have checked,
interfered with, and discountenanced their unlawful and illegal
and criminal actions or deeds.'

Young Hazlewood, who knew his father's foible, answered, that the
cause of his surprise did not lie where Sir Robert apprehended,
but that he only wondered they should think of attacking a house
where there were so many servants, and where a signal to the
neighbouring tenants could call in such strong assistance; and
added, that he doubted much whether the reputation of the family
would not in some degree suffer from calling soldiers from their
duty at the custom-house to protect them, as if they were not
sufficiently strong to defend themselves upon any ordinary
occasion. He even hinted that, in case their house's enemies
should observe that this precaution had been taken unnecessarily,
there would be no end of their sarcasms.

Sir Robert Hazlewood was rather puzzled at this intimation, for,
like most dull men, he heartily hated and feared ridicule. He
gathered himself up and looked with a sort of pompous
embarrassment, as if he wished to be thought to despise the
opinion of the public, which in reality he dreaded.

'I really should have thought,' he said, 'that the injury which
had already been aimed at my house in your person, being the next
heir and representative of the Hazlewood family, failing me--I
should have thought and believed, I say, that this would have
justified me sufficiently in the eyes of the most respectable and
the greater part of the people for taking such precautions as are
calculated to prevent and impede a repetition of outrage.'

'Really, sir,' said Charles, 'I must remind you of what I have
often said before, that I am positive the discharge of the piece
was accidental.'

'Sir, it was not accidental,' said his father, angrily; 'but you
will be wiser than your elders.'

'Really, sir,' replied Hazlewood, 'in what so intimately concerns
myself---'