'You will say, my military career in India, when I followed my regiment
there, should have given me some satisfaction; and so it assuredly has.
You will remind me also, that if I disappointed the hopes of my
guardians, I did not incur their displeasure; that the bishop, at his
death, bequeathed me his blessing, his manuscript sermons, and a curious
portfolio containing the heads of eminent divines of the church of
England; and that my uncle, Sir Paul Mannering, left me sole heir and
executor to his large fortune. Yet this availeth me nothing; I told you I
had that upon my mind which I should carry to my grave with me, a
perpetual aloes in the draught of existence. I will tell you the cause
more in detail than I had the heart to do while under your hospitable
roof. You will often hear it mentioned, and perhaps with different and
unfounded circumstances. I will therefore speak it out; and then let the
event itself, and the sentiments of melancholy with which it has
impressed me, never again be subject of discussion between us.

'Sophia, as you well know, followed me to India. She was as innocent as
gay; but, unfortunately for us both, as gay as innocent. My own manners
were partly formed by studies I had forsaken, and habits of seclusion not
quite consistent with my situation as commandant of a regiment in a
country where universal hospitality is offered and expected by every
settler claiming the rank of a gentleman. In a moment of peculiar
pressure (you know how hard we were sometimes run to obtain white faces
to countenance our line-of-battle), a young man named Brown joined our
regiment as a volunteer, and, finding the military duty more to his fancy
than commerce, in which he had been engaged, remained with us as a cadet.
Let me do my unhappy victim justice: he behaved with such gallantry on
every occasion that offered that the first vacant commission was
considered as his due. I was absent for some weeks upon a distant
expedition; when I returned I found this young fellow established quite
as the friend of the house, and habitual attendant of my wife and
daughter. It was an arrangement which displeased me in many particulars,
though no objection could be made to his manners or character. Yet I
might have been reconciled to his familiarity in my family, but for the
suggestions of another. If you read over--what I never dare open--the
play of "Othello," you will have some idea of what followed--I mean of my
motives; my actions, thank God! were less reprehensible. There was
another cadet ambitious of the vacant situation. He called my attention
to what he led me to term coquetry between my wife and this young man.
Sophia was virtuous, but proud of her virtue; and, irritated by my
jealousy, she was so imprudent as to press and encourage an intimacy
which she saw I disapproved and regarded with suspicion. Between Brown
and me there existed a sort of internal dislike. He made an effort or two
to overcome my prejudice; but, prepossessed as I was, I placed them to a
wrong motive. Feeling himself repulsed, and with scorn, he desisted; and
as he was without family and friends, he was naturally more watchful of
the deportment of one who had both.

'It is odd with what torture I write this letter. I feel inclined,
nevertheless, to protract the operation, just as if my doing so could put
off the catastrophe which has so long embittered my life. But--it must be
told, and it shall be told briefly.

'My wife, though no longer young, was still eminently handsome, and--let
me say thus far in my own justification-she was fond of being thought
so--I am repeating what I said before. In a word, of her virtue I never
entertained a doubt; but, pushed by the artful suggestions of Archer, I
thought she cared little for my peace of mind, and that the young fellow
Brown paid his attentions in my despite, and in defiance of me. He
perhaps considered me, on his part, as an oppressive aristocratic man,
who made my rank in society and in the army the means of galling those
whom circumstances placed beneath me. And if he discovered my silly
jealousy, he probably considered the fretting me in that sore point of my
character as one means of avenging the petty indignities to which I had
it in my power to subject him. Yet an acute friend of mine gave a more
harmless, or at least a less offensive, construction to his attentions,
which he conceived to be meant for my daughter Julia, though immediately
addressed to propitiate the influence of her mother. This could have been
no very flattering or pleasing enterprise on the part of an obscure and
nameless young man; but I should not have been offended at this folly as
I was at the higher degree of presumption I suspected. Offended, however,
I was, and in a mortal degree.

'A very slight spark will kindle a flame where everything lies open to
catch it. I have absolutely forgot the proximate cause of quarrel, but it
was some trifle which occurred at the card-table which occasioned high
words and a challenge. We met in the morning beyond the walls and
esplanade of the fortress which I then commanded, on the frontiers of the
settlement. This was arranged for Brown's safety, had he escaped. I
almost wish he had, though at my own expense; but he fell by the first
fire. We strove to assist him; but some of these looties, a species of
native banditti who were always on the watch for prey, poured in upon us.
Archer and I gained our horses with difficulty, and cut our way through
them after a hard conflict, in the course of which he received some
desperate wounds. To complete the misfortunes of this miserable day, my
wife, who suspected the design with which I left the fortress, had
ordered her palanquin to follow me, and was alarmed and almost made
prisoner by another troop of these plunderers. She was quickly released
by a party of our cavalry; but I cannot disguise from myself that the
incidents of this fatal morning gave a severe shock to health already
delicate. The confession of Archer, who thought himself dying, that he
had invented some circumstances, and for his purposes put the worst
construction upon others, and the full explanation and exchange of
forgiveness with me which this produced, could not check the progress of
her disorder. She died within about eight months after this incident,
bequeathing me only the girl of whom Mrs. Mervyn is so good as to
undertake the temporary charge. Julia was also extremely ill; so much so
that I was induced to throw up my command and return to Europe, where her
native air, time, and the novelty of the scenes around her have
contributed to dissipate her dejection and restore her health.

'Now that you know my story, you will no longer ask me the reason of my
melancholy, but permit me to brood upon it as I may. There is, surely, in
the above narrative enough to embitter, though not     to poison, the
chalice which the fortune and fame you so often mention had prepared to
regale my years of retirement.

'I could add circumstances which our old tutor would have quoted as
instances of DAY FATALITY,--you would laugh were I to mention such
particulars, especially as you know I put no faith in them. Yet, since I
have come to the very house from which I now write, I have learned a
singular coincidence, which, if I find it truly established by tolerable
evidence, will serve as hereafter for subject of curious discussion. But
I will spare you at present, as I expect a person to speak about a
purchase of property now open in this part of the country. It is a place
to which I have a foolish partiality, and I hope my purchasing may be
convenient to those who are parting with it, as there is a plan for
buying it under the value. My respectful compliments to Mrs. Mervyn, and
I will trust you, though you boast to be so lively a young gentleman, to
kiss Julia for me. Adieu, dear Mervyn.--Thine ever, GUY MANNERING.'

Mr. Mac-Morlan now entered the room. The well-known character of Colonel
Mannering at once disposed this gentleman, who was a man of intelligence
and probity, to be open and confidential. He explained the advantages and
disadvantages of the property. 'It was settled,' he said, 'the greater
part of it at least, upon heirs-male, and the purchaser would have the
privilege of retaining in his hands a large proportion of the price, in
case of the reappearance, within a certain limited term, of the child who
had disappeared.'

'To what purpose, then, force forward a sale?' said Mannering. Mac-Morlan
smiled. 'Ostensibly,' he answered, 'to substitute the interest of money
instead of the ill-paid and precarious rents of an unimproved estate; but
chiefly it was believed, to suit the wishes and views of a certain
intended purchaser, who had become a principal creditor, and forced
himself into the management of the affairs by means best known to
himself, and who, it was thought, would find it very convenient to
purchase the estate without paying down the price.'

Mannering consulted with Mr. Mac-Morlan upon the steps for thwarting this
unprincipled attempt. They then conversed long on the singular
disappearance of Harry Bertram upon his fifth birthday, verifying thus
the random prediction of Mannering, of which, however, it will readily be
supposed he made no boast. Mr. Mac-Morlan was not himself in office when
that incident took place; but he was well acquainted with all the
circumstances, and promised that our hero should have them detailed by
the sheriff-depute himself, if, as he proposed, he should become a
settler in that part of Scotland. With this assurance they parted, well
satisfied with each other and with the evening's conference.

On the Sunday following, Colonel Mannering attended the parish church
with great decorum. None of the Ellangowan family were present; and it
was understood that the old Laird was rather worse than better. Jock
Jabos, once more despatched for him, returned once more without his
errand; but on the following day Miss Bertram hoped he might be removed.






CHAPTER  XIII
     They told me, by the sentence of the law,
     They had commission to seize all thy fortune.
     Here stood a ruffian with a horrid face,
     Lording it o'er a pile of massy plate,
     Tumbled into a heap for public sale;
     There was another, making villainous jests
     At thy undoing; he had ta'en possession
     Of all thy ancient most domestic ornaments.

          OTWAY.


Early next morning Mannering mounted his horse and, accompanied by his
servant, took the road to Ellangowan. He had no need to inquire the way.
A sale in the country is a place of public resort and amusement, and
people of various descriptions streamed to it from all quarters.

After a pleasant ride of about an hour, the old towers of the ruin
presented themselves in the landscape. The thoughts, with what different
feelings he had lost sight of them so many years before, thronged upon
the mind of the traveller. The landscape was the same; but how changed
the feelings, hopes, and views of the spectator! Then life and love were
new, and all the prospect was gilded by their rays. And now, disappointed
in affection, sated with fame and what the world calls success, his mind,
goaded by bitter and repentant recollection, his best hope was to find a
retirement in which he might nurse the melancholy that was to accompany
him to his grave. 'Yet why should an individual mourn over the
instability of his hopes and the vanity of his prospects? The ancient
chiefs who erected these enormous and massive towers to be the fortress
of their race and the seat of their power,--could they have dreamed the
day was to come when the last of their descendants should be expelled, a
ruined wanderer, from his possessions! But Nature's bounties are
unaltered. The sun will shine as fair on these ruins, whether the
property of a stranger or of a sordid and obscure trickster of the abused
law, as when the banners of the founder first waved upon their
battlements.'

These reflections brought Mannering to the door of the house, which was
that day open to all. He entered among others, who traversed the
apartments, some to select articles for purchase, others to gratify their
curiosity. There is something melancholy in such a scene, even under the
most favourable circumstances. The confused state of the furniture,
displaced for the convenience of being easily viewed and carried off by
the purchasers, is disagreeable to the eye. Those articles which,
properly and decently arranged, look creditable and handsome, have then a
paltry and wretched appearance; and the apartments, stripped of all that
render them commodious and comfortable, have an aspect of ruin and
dilapidation. It is disgusting also to see the scenes of domestic society
and seclusion thrown open to the gaze of the curious and the vulgar, to
hear their coarse speculations and brutal jests upon the fashions and
furniture to which they are unaccustomed,--a frolicsome humour much
cherished by the whisky which in Scotland is always put in circulation on
such occasions. All these are ordinary effects of such a scene as
Ellangowan now presented; but the moral feeling, that in this case they
indicated the total ruin of an ancient and honourable family, gave them
treble weight and poignancy.

It was some time before Colonel Mannering could find any one disposed to
answer his reiterated questions concerning Ellangowan himself. At length
an old maidservant, who held her apron to her eyes as she spoke, told him
'the Laird was something better, and they hoped he would be able to leave
the house that day. Miss Lucy expected the chaise every moment, and, as
the day was fine for the time o'year, they had carried him in his
easychair up to the green before the auld castle, to be out of the way of
this unco spectacle.' Thither Colonel Mannering went in quest of him, and
soon came in sight of the little group, which consisted of four persons.
The ascent was steep, so that he had time to reconnoitre them as he
advanced, and to consider in what mode he should make his address.

Mr. Bertram, paralytic and almost incapable of moving, occupied his
easy-chair, attired in his nightcap and a loose camlet coat, his feet
wrapped in blankets. Behind him, with his hands crossed on the cane upon
which he rested, stood Dominie Sampson, whom Mannering recognised at
once. Time had made no change upon him, unless that his black coat seemed
more brown, and his gaunt cheeks more lank, than when Mannering last saw
him. On one side of the old man was a sylph-like form--a young woman of
about seventeen, whom the Colonel accounted to be his daughter. She was
looking from time to time anxiously towards the avenue, as if expecting
the post-chaise; and between whiles busied herself in adjusting the
blankets so as to protect her father from the cold, and in answering
inquiries, which he seemed to make with a captious and querulous manner.
She did not trust herself to look towards the Place, although the hum of
the assembled crowd must have drawn her attention in that direction. The
fourth person of the group was a handsome and genteel young man, who
seemed to share Miss Bertram's anxiety, and her solicitude to soothe and
accommodate her parent.

This young man was the first who observed Colonel Mannering, and
immediately stepped forward to meet him, as if politely to prevent his
drawing nearer to the distressed group. Mannering instantly paused and
explained. 'He was,' he said, 'a stranger to whom Mr. Bertram had
formerly shown kindness and hospitality; he would not have intruded
himself upon him at a period of distress, did it not seem to be in some
degree a moment also of desertion; he wished merely to offer such
services as might be in his power to Mr. Bertram and the young lady.'

He then paused at a little distance from the chair. His old acquaintance
gazed at him with lack-lustre eye, that intimated no tokens of
recognition; the Dominie seemed too deeply sunk in distress even to
observe his presence. The young man spoke aside with Miss Bertram, who
advanced timidly, and thanked Colonel Mannering for his goodness; 'but,'
she said, the tears gushing fast into her eyes, 'her father, she feared,
was not so much himself as to be able to remember him.'

She then retreated towards the chair, accompanied by the Colonel.
'Father,' she said, 'this is Mr. Mannering, an old friend, come to
inquire after you.'

'He's very heartily welcome,' said the old man, raising himself in his
chair, and attempting a gesture of courtesy, while a gleam of hospitable
satisfaction seemed to pass over his faded features; 'but, Lucy, my dear,
let us go down to the house; you should not keep the gentleman here in
the cold. Dominie, take the key of the wine-cooler. Mr. a--a--the
gentleman will surely take something after his ride.'

Mannering was unspeakably affected by the contrast which his recollection
made between this reception and that with which he had been greeted by
the same individual when they last met. He could not restrain his tears,
and his evident emotion at once attained him the confidence of the
friendless young lady.

'Alas!' she said, 'this is distressing even to a stranger; but it may be
better for my poor father to be in this way than if he knew and could
feel all.'

A servant in livery now came up the path, and spoke in an undertone to
the young gentleman--'Mr. Charles, my lady's wanting you yonder sadly, to
bid for her for the black ebony cabinet; and Lady Jean Devorgoil is wi'
her an' a'; ye maun come away directly.'

'Tell them you could not find me, Tom, or, stay,--say I am looking at the
horses.'

'No, no, no,' said Lucy Bertram, earnestly; 'if you would not add to the
misery of this miserable moment, go to the company directly. This
gentleman, I am sure, will see us to the carriage.'

'Unquestionably, madam,' said Mannering, 'your young friend may rely on
my attention.'

'Farewell, then,' said young Hazlewood, and whispered a word in her ear;
then ran down the steep hastily, as if not trusting his resolution at a
slower pace.

'Where's Charles Hazlewood running?' said the invalid, who apparently was
accustomed to his presence and attentions; 'where's Charles Hazlewood
running? what takes him away now?'

'He'll return in a little while,' said Lucy, gently.

The sound of voices was now heard from the ruins. The reader may remember
there was a communication between the castle and the beach, up which the
speakers had ascended.

'Yes, there's a plenty of shells and seaware for manure, as you observe;
and if one inclined to build a new house, which might indeed be
necessary, there's a great deal of good hewn stone about this old
dungeon, for the devil here--'

'Good God!' said Miss Bertram hastily to Sampson, ''t is that wretch
Glossin's voice! If my father sees him, it will kill him outright!'

Sampson wheeled perpendicularly round, and moved with long strides to
confront the attorney as he issued from beneath the portal arch of the
ruin. 'Avoid ye!' he said, 'avoid ye! wouldst thou kill and take
possession?'

'Come, come, Master Dominie Sampson,' answered Glossin insolently, 'if ye
cannot preach in the pulpit, we'll have no preaching here. We go by the
law, my good friend; we leave the gospel to you.'

The very mention of this man's name had been of late a subject of the
most violent irritation to the unfortunate patient. The sound of his
voice now produced an instantaneous effect. Mr. Bertram started up
without assistance and turned round towards him; the ghastliness of his
features forming a strange contrast with the violence of his
exclamations.--'Out of my sight, ye viper! ye frozen viper, that I
warmed, till ye stung me! Art thou not afraid that the walls of my
father's dwelling should fall and crush thee limb and bone? Are ye not
afraid the very lintels of the door of Ellangowan Castle should break
open and swallow you up? Were ye not friendless, houseless, penniless,
when I took ye by the hand; and are ye not expelling me--me and that
innocent girl--friendless, houseless, and penniless, from the house that
has sheltered us and ours for a thousand years?'

Had Glossin been alone, he would probably have slunk off; but the
consciousness that a stranger was present, besides the person who came
with him (a sort of land-surveyor), determined him to resort to
impudence. The task, however, was almost too hard even for his
effrontery--'Sir--sir--Mr. Bertram, sir, you should not blame me, but
your own imprudence, sir--'

The indignation of Mannering was mounting very high. 'Sir,' he said to
Glossin, 'without entering into the merits of this controversy, I must
inform you that you have chosen a very improper place, time, and presence
for it. And you will oblige me by withdrawing without more words.'

Glossin, being a tall, strong, muscular man, was not unwilling rather to
turn upon the stranger, whom he hoped to bully, than maintain his
wretched cause against his injured patron.--'I do not know who you are,
sir,' he said, 'and I shall permit no man to use such d--d freedom with
me.'

Mannering was naturally hot-tempered: his eyes flashed a dark light; he
compressed his nether lip so closely that the blood sprung, and
approaching Glossin--'Look you, sir,' he said,' that you do not know me
is of little consequence. _I_ KNOW YOU; and if you do not instantly
descend that bank, without uttering a single syllable, by the Heaven that
is above us you shall make but one step from the top to the bottom!'

The commanding tone of rightful anger silenced at once the ferocity of
the bully. He hesitated, turned on his heel, and, muttering something
between his teeth about unwillingness to alarm the lady, relieved them of
his hateful company.

Mrs. Mac-Candlish's postilion, who had come up in time to hear what
passed, said aloud, 'If he had stuck by the way, I would have lent him a
heezie, the dirty scoundrel, as willingly as ever I pitched a boddle.'

He then stepped forward to announce that his horses were in readiness for
the invalid and his daughter. But they were no longer necessary. The
debilitated frame of Mr. Bertram was exhausted by this last effort of
indignant anger, and when he sunk again upon his chair, he expired almost
without a struggle or groan. So little alteration did the extinction of
the vital spark make upon his external appearance that the screams of his
daughter, when she saw his eye fix and felt his pulse stop, first
announced his death to the spectators.






CHAPTER  XIV
     The bell strikes one. We take no note of time
     But from its loss. To give it then a tongue
     Is wise in man. As if an angel spoke,
     I feel the solemn sound.

           YOUNG.


The moral which the poet has rather quaintly deduced from the necessary
mode of measuring time may be well applied to our feelings respecting
that portion of it which constitutes human life. We observe the aged, the
infirm, and those engaged in occupations of immediate hazard, trembling
as it were upon the very brink of non-existence, but we derive no lesson
from the precariousness of their tenure until it has altogether failed.
Then, for a moment at least--

Our hopes and fears Start up alarm'd, and o'er life's narrow verge Look
down--on what? a fathomless abyss, A dark eternity, how surely ours!

The crowd of assembled gazers and idlers at Ellangowan had followed the
views of amusement, or what they called business, which brought them
there, with little regard to the feelings of those who were suffering
upon that occasion. Few, indeed, knew anything of the family. The father,
betwixt seclusion, misfortune, and imbecility, had drifted, as it were,
for many years out of the notice of his contemporaries; the daughter had
never been known to them. But when the general murmur announced that the
unfortunate Mr. Bertram had broken his heart in the effort to leave the
mansion of his forefathers, there poured forth a torrent of sympathy like
the waters from the rock when stricken by the wand of the prophet. The
ancient descent and unblemished integrity of the family were respectfully
remembered; above all, the sacred veneration due to misfortune, which in
Scotland seldom demands its tribute in vain, then claimed and received
it.

Mr. Mac-Morlan hastily announced that he would suspend all farther
proceedings in the sale of the estate and other property, and relinquish
the possession of the premises to the young lady, until she could consult
with her friends and provide for the burial of her father.

Glossin had cowered for a few minutes under the general expression of
sympathy, till, hardened by observing that no appearance of popular
indignation was directed his way, he had the audacity to require that the
sale should proceed.

'I will take it upon my own authority to adjourn it,' said the
Sheriff-substitute, 'and will be responsible for the consequences. I will
also give due notice when it is again to go forward. It is for the
benefit of all concerned that the lands should bring the highest price
the state of the market will admit, and this is surely no time to expect
it. I will take the responsibility upon myself.'

Glossin left the room and the house too with secrecy and despatch; and it
was probably well for him that he did so, since our friend Jock Jabos was
already haranguing a numerous tribe of bare-legged boys on the propriety
of pelting him off the estate.

Some of the rooms were hastily put in order for the reception of the
young lady, and of her father's dead body. Mannering now found his
farther interference would be unnecessary, and might be misconstrued. He
observed, too, that several families connected with that of Ellangowan,
and who indeed derived their principal claim of gentility from the
alliance, were now disposed to pay to their trees of genealogy a tribute
which the adversity of their supposed relatives had been inadequate to
call forth; and that the honour of superintending the funeral rites of
the dead Godfrey Bertram (as in the memorable case of Homer's birthplace)
was likely to be debated by seven gentlemen of rank and fortune, none of
whom had offered him an asylum while living. He therefore resolved, as
his presence was altogether useless, to make a short tour of a fortnight,
at the end of which period the adjourned sale of the estate of Ellangowan
was to proceed.

But before he departed he solicited an interview with the Dominie. The
poor man appeared, on being informed a gentleman wanted to speak to him,
with some expression of surprise in his gaunt features, to which recent
sorrow had given an expression yet more grisly. He made two or three
profound reverences to Mannering, and then, standing erect, patiently
waited an explanation of his commands.

'You are probably at a loss to guess, Mr. Sampson,' said Mannering, 'what
a stranger may have to say to you?'

'Unless it were to request that I would undertake to train up some youth
in polite letters and humane learning; but I cannot--I cannot; I have yet
a task to perform.'

'No, Mr. Sampson, my wishes are not so ambitious. I have no son, and my
only daughter, I presume, you would not consider as a fit pupil.'

'Of a surety no,' replied the simple-minded Sampson. 'Nathless, it was I
who did educate Miss Lucy in all useful learning, albeit it was the
housekeeper who did teach her those unprofitable exercises of hemming and
shaping.'

'Well, sir,' replied Mannering, 'it is of Miss Lucy I meant to speak. You
have, I presume, no recollection of me?'

Sampson, always sufficiently absent in mind, neither remembered the
astrologer of past years, nor even the stranger who had taken his
patron's part against Glossin, so much had his friend's sudden death
embroiled his ideas.

'Well, that does not signify,' pursued the Colonel; 'I am an old
acquaintance of the late Mr. Bertram, able and willing to assist his
daughter in her present circumstances. Besides, I have thoughts of making
this purchase, and I should wish things kept in order about the place;
will you have the goodness to apply this small sum in the usual family
expenses?' He put into the Dominie's hand a purse containing some gold.

'Pro-di-gi-ous!' exclaimed Dominie Sampson. 'But if your honour would
tarry--'

'Impossible, sir, impossible,' said Mannering, making his escape from
him.

'Pro-di-gi-ous!' again exclaimed Sampson, following to the head of the
stairs, still holding out the purse. 'But as touching this coined
money--'

Mannering escaped downstairs as fast as possible.

'Pro-di-gi-ous!' exclaimed Dominie Sampson, yet the third time, now
standing at the front door. 'But as touching this specie--'

But Mannering was now on horseback, and out of hearing. The Dominie, who
had never, either in his own right or as trustee for another, been
possessed of a quarter part of this sum, though it was not above twenty
guineas, 'took counsel,' as he expressed himself, 'how he should demean
himself with respect unto the fine gold' thus left in his charge.
Fortunately he found a disinterested adviser in Mac-Morlan, who pointed
out the most proper means of disposing of it for contributing to Miss
Bertram's convenience, being no doubt the purpose to which it was
destined by the bestower.

Many of the neighbouring gentry were now sincerely eager in pressing
offers of hospitality and kindness upon Miss Bertram. But she felt a
natural reluctance to enter any family for the first time as an object
rather of benevolence than hospitality, and determined to wait the
opinion and advice of her father's nearest female relation, Mrs. Margaret
Bertram of Singleside, an old unmarried lady, to whom she wrote an
account of her present distressful situation.

The funeral of the late Mr. Bertram was performed with decent privacy,
and the unfortunate young lady was now to consider herself as but the
temporary tenant of the house in which she had been born, and where her
patience and soothing attentions had so long 'rocked the cradle of
declining age.' Her communication with Mr. Mac-Morlan encouraged her to
hope that she would not be suddenly or unkindly deprived of this asylum;
but fortune had ordered otherwise.

For two days before the appointed day for the sale of the lands and
estate of Ellangowan, Mac-Morlan daily expected the appearance of Colonel
Mannering, or at least a letter containing powers to act for him. But
none such arrived. Mr. Mac-Morlan waked early in the morning, walked over
to the Post-office,--there were no letters for him. He endeavoured to
persuade himself that he should see Colonel Mannering to breakfast, and
ordered his wife to place her best china and prepare herself accordingly.
But the preparations were in vain. 'Could I have foreseen this,' he said,
'I would have travelled Scotland over, but I would have found some one to
bid against Glossin.' Alas! such reflections were all too late. The
appointed hour arrived; and the parties met in the Masons' Lodge at
Kippletringan, being the place fixed for the adjourned sale. Mac-Morlan
spent as much time in preliminaries as decency would permit, and read
over the articles of sale as slowly as if he had been reading his own
death-warrant. He turned his eye every time the door of the room opened,
with hopes which grew fainter and fainter. He listened to every noise in
the street of the village, and endeavoured to distinguish in it the sound
of hoofs or wheels. It was all in vain. A bright idea then occurred, that
Colonel Mannering might have employed some other person in the
transaction; he would not have wasted a moment's thought upon the want of
confidence in himself which such a manoeuvre would have evinced. But this
hope also was groundless. After a solemn pause, Mr. Glossin offered the
upset price for the lands and barony of Ellangowan. No reply was made,
and no competitor appeared; so, after a lapse of the usual interval by
the running of a sand-glass, upon the intended purchaser entering the
proper sureties, Mr. Mac-Morlan was obliged, in technical terms, to 'find
and declare the sale lawfully completed, and to prefer the said Gilbert
Glossin as the purchaser of the said lands and estate.' The honest writer
refused to partake of a splendid entertainment with which Gilbert
Glossin, Esquire, now of Ellangowan, treated the rest of the company, and
returned home in huge bitterness of spirit, which he vented in complaints
against the fickleness and caprice of these Indian nabobs, who never knew
what they would be at for ten days together. Fortune generously
determined to take the blame upon herself, and cut off even this vent of
Mac-Morlan's resentment.

An express arrived about six o'clock at night, 'very particularly drunk,'
the maid-servant said, with a packet from Colonel Mannering, dated four
days back, at a town about a hundred miles' distance from Kippletringan,
containing full powers to Mr. Mac-Morlan, or any one whom he might
employ, to make the intended purchase, and stating that some family
business of consequence called the Colonel himself to Westmoreland, where
a letter would find him, addressed to the care of Arthur Mervyn, Esq., of
Mervyn Hall.

Mac-Morlan, in the transports of his wrath, flung the power of attorney
at the head of the innocent maidservant, and was only forcibly withheld
from horse-whipping the rascally messenger by whose sloth and drunkenness
the disappointment had taken place.






CHAPTER  XV
     My gold is gone, my money is spent,
     My land now take it unto thee.
     Give me thy gold, good John o' the Scales,
     And thine for aye my land shall be.

     Then John he did him to record draw.
     And John he caste him a gods-pennie;
     But for every pounde that John agreed,
     The land, I wis, was well worth three.

          HEIR OF LINNE.


The Galwegian John o' the Scales was a more clever fellow than his
prototype. He contrived to make himself heir of Linne without the
disagreeable ceremony of 'telling down the good red gold.' Miss Bertram
no sooner heard this painful, and of late unexpected, intelligence than
she proceeded in the preparations she had already made for leaving the
mansion-house immediately. Mr. Mac-Morlan assisted her in these
arrangements, and pressed upon her so kindly the hospitality and
protection of his roof, until she should receive an answer from her
cousin, or be enabled to adopt some settled plan of life, that she felt
there would be unkindness in refusing an invitation urged with such
earnestness. Mrs. Mac-Morlan was a ladylike person, and well qualified by
birth and manners to receive the visit, and to make her house agreeable
to Miss Bertram. A home, therefore, and an hospitable reception were
secured to her, and she went on with better heart to pay the wages and
receive the adieus of the few domestics of her father's family.

Where there are estimable qualities on either side, this task is always
affecting; the present circumstances rendered it doubly so. All received
their due, and even a trifle more, and with thanks and good wishes, to
which some added tears, took farewell of their young mistress. There
remained in the parlour only Mr. Mac-Morlan, who came to attend his guest
to his house, Dominie Sampson, and Miss Bertram. 'And now,' said the poor
girl, 'I must bid farewell to one of my oldest and kindest friends. God
bless you, Mr. Sampson, and requite to you all the kindness of your
instructions to your poor pupil, and your friendship to him that is gone.
I hope I shall often hear from you.' She slid into his hand a paper
containing some pieces of gold, and rose, as if to leave the room.

Dominie Sampson also rose; but it was to stand aghast with utter
astonishment. The idea of parting from Miss Lucy, go where she might, had
never once occurred to the simplicity of his understanding. He laid the
money on the table. 'It is certainly inadequate,' said Mac-Morlan,
mistaking his meaning, 'but the circumstances--'

Mr. Sampson waved his hand impatiently.--'It is not the lucre, it is not
the lucre; but that I, that have ate of her father's loaf, and drank of
his cup, for twenty years and more--to think that I am going to leave
her, and to leave her in distress and dolour! No, Miss Lucy, you need
never think it! You would not consent to put forth your father's poor
dog, and would you use me waur than a messan? No, Miss Lucy Bertram,
while I live I will not separate from you. I'll be no burden; I have
thought how to prevent that. But, as Ruth said unto Naomi, "Entreat me
not to leave thee, nor to depart from thee; for whither thou goest I will
go, and where thou dwellest I will dwell; thy people shall be my people,
and thy God shall be my God. Where thou diest will I die, and there will
I be buried. The Lord do so to me, and more also, if aught but death do
part thee and me."'

During this speech, the longest ever Dominie Sampson was known to utter,
the affectionate creature's eyes streamed with tears, and neither Lucy
nor Mac-Morlan could refrain from sympathising with this unexpected burst
of feeling and attachment. 'Mr. Sampson,' said Mac-Morlan, after having
had recourse to his snuff-box and handkerchief alternately, 'my house is
large enough, and if you will accept of a bed there while Miss Bertram
honours us with her residence, I shall think myself very happy, and my
roof much favoured, by receiving a man of your worth and fidelity.' And
then, with a delicacy which was meant to remove any objection on Miss
Bertram's part to bringing with her this unexpected satellite, he added,
'My business requires my frequently having occasion for a better
accountant than any of my present clerks, and I should be glad to have
recourse to your assistance in that way now and then.'

'Of a surety, of a surety,' said Sampson eagerly; 'I understand
book-keeping by double entry and the Italian method.'

Our postilion had thrust himself into the room to announce his chaise and
horses; he tarried, unobserved, during this extraordinary scene, and
assured Mrs. Mac-Candlish it was the most moving thing he ever saw; 'the
death of the grey mare, puir hizzie, was naething till't.' This trifling
circumstance afterwards had consequences of greater moment to the
Dominie.

The visitors were hospitably welcomed by Mrs. Mac-Morlan, to whom, as
well as to others, her husband intimated that he had engaged Dominie
Sampson's assistance to disentangle some perplexed accounts, during which
occupation he would, for convenience sake, reside with the family. Mr.
Mac-Morlan's knowledge of the world induced him to put this colour upon
the matter, aware that, however honourable the fidelity of the Dominie's
attachment might be both to his own heart and to the family of
Ellangowan, his exterior ill qualified him to be a'squire of dames,' and
rendered him, upon the whole, rather a ridiculous appendage to a
beautiful young woman of seventeen.

Dominie Sampson achieved with great zeal such tasks as Mr. Mac-Morlan
chose to entrust him with; but it was speedily observed that at a certain
hour after breakfast he regularly disappeared, and returned again about
dinner-time. The evening he occupied in the labour of the office. On
Saturday he appeared before Mac-Morlan with a look of great triumph, and
laid on the table two pieces of gold. 'What is this for, Dominie?' said
Mac-Morlan.

'First to indemnify you of your charges in my behalf, worthy sir; and the
balance for the use of Miss Lucy Bertram.'

'But, Mr. Sampson, your labour in the office much more than recompenses
me; I am your debtor, my good friend.'

'Then be it all,' said the Dominie, waving his hand, 'for Miss Lucy
Bertram's behoof.'

'Well, but, Dominie, this money-'

'It is honestly come by, Mr. Mac-Morlan; it is the bountiful reward of a
young gentleman to whom I am teaching the tongues; reading with him three
hours daily.'

A few more questions extracted from the Dominie that this liberal pupil
was young Hazlewood, and that he met his preceptor daily at the house of
Mrs. Mac-Candlish, whose proclamation of Sampson's disinterested
attachment to the young lady had procured him this indefatigable and
bounteous scholar.

Mac-Morlan was much struck with what he heard. Dominie Sampson was
doubtless a very good scholar, and an excellent man, and the classics
were unquestionably very well worth reading; yet that a young man of
twenty should ride seven miles and back again each day in the week, to
hold this sort of TETE-A-TETE of three hours, was a zeal for literature
to which he was not prepared to give entire credit. Little art was
necessary to sift the Dominie, for the honest man's head never admitted
any but the most direct and simple ideas. 'Does Miss Bertram know how
your time is engaged, my good friend?'

'Surely not as yet. Mr. Charles recommended it should be concealed from
her, lest she should scruple to accept of the small assistance arising
from it; but,' he added, 'it would not be possible to conceal it long,
since Mr. Charles proposed taking his lessons occasionally in this
house.'

'O, he does!' said Mac-Morlan.' Yes, yes, I can understand that better.
And pray, Mr. Sampson, are these three hours entirely spent inconstruing
and translating?'

'Doubtless, no; we have also colloquial intercourse to sweeten study:
neque semper arcum tendit apollo.'

The querist proceeded to elicit from this Galloway Phoebus what their
discourse chiefly turned upon.

'Upon our past meetings at Ellangowan; and, truly, I think very often we
discourse concerning Miss Lucy, for Mr. Charles Hazlewood in that
particular resembleth me, Mr. Mac-Morlan. When I begin to speak of her I
never know when to stop; and, as I say (jocularly), she cheats us out of
half our lessons.'

'O ho!' thought Mac-Morlan, 'sits the wind in that quarter? I've heard
something like this before.'

He then began to consider what conduct was safest for his protegee, and
even for himself; for the senior Mr. Hazlewood was powerful, wealthy,
ambitious, and vindictive, and looked for both fortune and title in any
connexion which his son might form. At length, having the highest opinion
of his guest's good sense and penetration, he determined to take an
opportunity, when they should happen to be alone, to communicate the
matter to her as a simple piece of intelligence. He did so in as natural
a manner as he could. 'I wish you joy of your friend Mr. Sampson's good
fortune, Miss Bertram; he has got a pupil who pays him two guineas for
twelve lessons of Greek and Latin.'

'Indeed! I am equally happy and surprised. Who can be so liberal? is
Colonel Mannering returned?'

'No, no, not Colonel Mannering; but what do you think of your
acquaintance, Mr. Charles Hazlewood? He talks of taking his lessons here;
I wish we may have accommodation for him.'

Lucy blushed deeply. 'For Heaven's sake, no, Mr. Mac-Morlan, do not let
that be; Charles Hazlewood has had enough of mischief about that
already.'

'About the classics, my dear young lady?' wilfully seeming to
misunderstand her; 'most young gentlemen have so at one period or
another, sure enough; but his present studies are voluntary.'

Miss Bertram let the conversation drop, and her host made no effort to
renew it, as she seemed to pause upon the intelligence in order to form
some internal resolution.

The next day Miss Bertram took an opportunity of conversing with Mr.
Sampson. Expressing in the kindest manner her grateful thanks for his
disinterested attachment, and her joy that he had got such a provision,
she hinted to him that his present mode of superintending Charles
Hazlewood's studies must be so inconvenient to his pupil that, while that
engagement lasted, he had better consent to a temporary separation, and
reside either with his scholar or as near him as might be. Sampson
refused, as indeed she had expected, to listen a moment to this
proposition; he would not quit her to be made preceptor to the Prince of
Wales. 'But I see,' he added, 'you are too proud to share my pittance;
and peradventure I grow wearisome unto you.'

'No indeed; you were my father's ancient, almost his only, friend. I am
not proud; God knows, I have no reason to be so. You shall do what you
judge best in other matters; but oblige me by telling Mr. Charles
Hazlewood that you had some conversation with me concerning his studies,
and that I was of opinion that his carrying them on in this house was
altogether impracticable, and not to be thought of.'

Dominie Sampson left her presence altogether crest-fallen, and, as he
shut the door, could not help muttering the 'varium et mutabile' of
Virgil. Next day he appeared with a very rueful visage, and tendered Miss
Bertram a letter. 'Mr. Hazlewood,' he said, 'was to discontinue his
lessons, though he had generously made up the pecuniary loss. But how
will he make up the loss to himself of the knowledge he might have
acquired under my instruction? Even in that one article of writing,--he
was an hour before he could write that brief note, and destroyed many
scrolls, four quills, and some good white paper. I would have taught him
in three weeks a firm, current, clear, and legible hand; he should have
been a calligrapher,--but God's will be done.'

The letter contained but a few lines, deeply regretting and murmuring
against Miss Bertram's cruelty, who not only refused to see him, but to
permit him in the most indirect manner to hear of her health and
contribute to her service. But it concluded with assurances that her
severity was vain, and that nothing could shake the attachment of Charles
Hazlewood.

Under the active patronage of Mrs. Mac-Candlish, Sampson picked up some
other scholars--very different indeed from Charles Hazlewood in rank, and
whose lessons were proportionally unproductive. Still, however, he gained
something, and it was the glory of his heart to carry it to Mr.
Mac-Morlan weekly, a slight peculium only subtracted to supply his
snuff-box and tobacco-pouch.

And here we must leave Kippletringan to look after our hero, lest our
readers should fear they are to lose sight of him for another quarter of
a century.






CHAPTER  XVI
     Our Polly is a sad slut, nor heeds what we have taught her,
     I wonder any man alive will ever rear a daughter,
     For when she's drest with care and cost, all tempting, fine,
       and gay,
     As men should serve a cucumber, she flings herself away.

          Beggar's Opera.


After the death of Mr. Bertram, Mannering had set out upon a short tour,
proposing to return to the neighbourhood of Ellangowan before the sale of
that property should take place. He went, accordingly, to Edinburgh and
elsewhere, and it was in his return towards the south-western district of
Scotland, in which our scene lies, that, at a post-town about a hundred
miles from Kippletringan, to which he had requested his friend, Mr.
Mervyn, to address his letters, he received one from that gentleman which
contained rather unpleasing intelligence. We have assumed already the
privilege of acting a secretis to this gentleman, and therefore shall
present the reader with an extract from this epistle.

'I beg your pardon, my dearest friend, for the pain I have given you in
forcing you to open wounds so festering as those your letter referred to.
I have always heard, though erroneously perhaps, that the attentions of
Mr. Brown were intended for Miss Mannering. But, however that were, it
could not be supposed that in your situation his boldness should escape
notice and chastisement. Wise men say that we resign to civil society our
natural rights of self-defence only on condition that the ordinances of
law should protect us. Where the price cannot be paid, the resignation
becomes void. For instance, no one supposes that I am not entitled to
defend my purse and person against a highwayman, as much as if I were a
wild Indian, who owns neither law nor magistracy. The question of
resistance or submission must be determined by my means and situation.
But if, armed and equal in force, I submit to injustice and violence from
any man, high or low, I presume it will hardly be attributed to religious
or moral feeling in me, or in any one but a Quaker. An aggression on my
honour seems to me much the same. The insult, however trifling in itself,
is one of much deeper consequence to all views in life than any wrong
which can be inflicted by a depredator on the highway, and to redress the
injured party is much less in the power of public jurisprudence, or
rather it is entirely beyond its reach. If any man chooses to rob Arthur
Mervyn of the contents of his purse, supposing the said Arthur has not
means of defence, or the skill and courage to use them, the assizes at
Lancaster or Carlisle will do him justice by tucking up the robber; yet
who will say I am bound to wait for this justice, and submit to being
plundered in the first instance, if I have myself the means and spirit to
protect my own property? But if an affront is offered to me, submission
under which is to tarnish my character for ever with men of honour, and
for which the twelve judges of England, with the chancellor to boot, can
afford me no redress, by what rule of law or reason am I to be deterred
from protecting what ought to be, and is, so infinitely dearer to every
man of honour than his whole fortune? Of the religious views of the
matter I shall say nothing, until I find a reverend divine who shall
condemn self-defence in the article of life and property. If its
propriety in that case be generally admitted, I suppose little
distinction can be drawn between defence of person and goods and
protection of reputation. That the latter is liable to be assailed by
persons of a different rank in life, untainted perhaps in morals, and
fair in character, cannot affect my legal right of self-defence. I may be
sorry that circumstances have engaged me in personal strife with such an
individual; but I should feel the same sorrow for a generous enemy who
fell under my sword in a national quarrel. I shall leave the question
with the casuists, however; only observing, that what I have written will
not avail either the professed duellist or him who is the aggressor in a
dispute of honour. I only presume to exculpate him who is dragged into
the field by such an offence as, submitted to in patience, would forfeit
for ever his rank and estimation in society.