This was all very satisfactory to Sir George Staunton's pride, which had
revolted at the idea of his wife's sister being obscurely married. He now
began, on the contrary, to think the connection so much better than he
expected, that, if it should be necessary to acknowledge it, in
consequence of the recovery of his son, it would sound well enough that
Lady Staunton had a sister, who, in the decayed state of the family, had
married a Scottish clergyman, high in the opinion of his countrymen, and
a leader in the church.

It was with these feelings, that, when the Lord High Commissioner's
company broke up, Sir George Staunton, under pretence of prolonging some
inquiries concerning the constitution of the Church of Scotland,
requested Butler to go home to his lodgings in the Lawnmarket, and drink
a cup of coffee. Butler agreed to wait upon him, providing Sir George
would permit him, in passing, to call at a friend's house where he
resided, and make his apology for not coming to partake her tea. They
proceeded up the High Street, entered the Krames, and passed the
begging-box, placed to remind those at liberty of the distresses of the
poor prisoners. Sir George paused there one instant, and next day a L20
note was found in that receptacle for public charity.

When he came up to Butler again, he found him with his eyes fixed on the
entrance of the Tolbooth, and apparently in deep thought.

"That seems a very strong door," said Sir George, by way of saying
something.

"It is so, sir," said Butler, turning off and beginning to walk forward,
"but it was my misfortune at one time to see it prove greatly too weak."

At this moment, looking at his companion, he asked him whether he felt
himself ill? and Sir George Staunton admitted, that he had been so
foolish as to eat ice, which sometimes disagreed with him. With kind
officiousness, that would not be gainsaid, and ere he could find out
where he was going, Butler hurried Sir George into the friend's house,
near to the prison, in which he himself had lived since he came to town,
being, indeed, no other than that of our old friend Bartoline Saddletree,
in which Lady Staunton had served a short noviciate as a shop-maid. This
recollection rushed on her husband's mind, and the blush of shame which
it excited overpowered the sensation of fear which had produced his
former paleness. Good Mrs. Saddletree, however, bustled about to receive
the rich English baronet as the friend of Mr. Butler, and requested an
elderly female in a black gown to sit still, in a way which seemed to
imply a wish, that she would clear the way for her betters. In the
meanwhile, understanding the state of the case, she ran to get some
cordial waters, sovereign, of course, in all cases of faintishness
whatsoever. During her absence, her visitor, the female in black, made
some progress out of the room, and might have left it altogether without
particular observation, had she not stumbled at the threshold, so near
Sir George Staunton, that he, in point of civility, raised her and
assisted her to the door.

"Mrs. Porteous is turned very doited now, puir body," said Mrs.
Saddletree, as she returned with her bottle in her hand--"She is no sae
auld, but she got a sair back-cast wi' the slaughter o' her husband--Ye
had some trouble about that job, Mr. Butler.--I think, sir," to Sir
George, "ye had better drink out the haill glass, for to my een ye look
waur than when ye came in."

And, indeed, he grew as pale as a corpse, on recollecting who it was that
his arm had so lately supported--the widow whom he had so large a share
in making such.

"It is a prescribed job that case of Porteous now," said old Saddletree,
who was confined to his chair by the gout--"clean prescribed and out of
date."

"I am not clear of that, neighbour," said Plumdamas, "for I have heard
them say twenty years should rin, and this is but the fifty-ane--
Porteous's mob was in thretty-seven."

"Ye'll no teach me law, I think, neighbour--me that has four gaun pleas,
and might hae had fourteen, an it hadna been the gudewife? I tell ye, if
the foremost of the Porteous mob were standing there where that gentleman
stands, the King's Advocate wadna meddle wi' him--it fa's under the
negative prescription."

"Haud your din, carles," said Mrs. Saddletree, "and let the gentleman sit
down and get a dish of comfortable tea."

But Sir George had had quite enough of their conversation; and Butler, at
his request, made an apology to Mrs. Saddletree, and accompanied him to
his lodgings. Here they found another guest waiting Sir George Staunton's
return. This was no other than our reader's old acquaintance, Ratcliffe.

This man had exercised the office of turnkey with so much vigilance,
acuteness, and fidelity, that he gradually rose to be governor, or
captain of the Tolbooth. And it is yet to be remembered in tradition,
that young men, who rather sought amusing than select society in their
merry-meetings, used sometimes to request Ratcliffe's company, in order
that he might regale them with legends of his extraordinary feats in the
way of robbery and escape.*

* There seems an anachronism in the history of this person. Ratcliffe,
among other escapes from justice, was released by the Porteous mob when
under sentence of death; and he was again under the same predicament,
when the Highlanders made a similar jail-delivery in 1745. He was too
sincere a whig to embrace liberation at the hands of the Jacobites, and
in reward was made one of the keepers of the Tolbooth. So at least runs
constant tradition.

But he lived and died without resuming his original vocation, otherwise
than in his narratives over a bottle.

Under these circumstances, he had been recommended to Sir George Staunton
by a man of the law in Edinburgh, as a person likely to answer any
questions he might have to ask about Annaple Bailzou, who, according to
the colour which Sir George Staunton gave to his cause of inquiry, was
supposed to have stolen a child in the west of England, belonging to a
family in which he was interested. The gentleman had not mentioned his
name, but only his official title; so that Sir George Staunton, when told
that the captain of the Tolbooth was waiting for him in his parlour, had
no idea of meeting his former acquaintance, Jem Ratcliffe.

This, therefore, was another new and most unpleasant surprise, for he had
no difficulty in recollecting this man's remarkable features. The change,
however, from George Robertson to Sir George Staunton, baffled even the
penetration of Ratcliffe, and he bowed very low to the baronet and his
guest, hoping Mr. Butler would excuse his recollecting that he was an old
acquaintance.

"And once rendered my wife a piece of great service," said Mr. Butler,
"for which she sent you a token of grateful acknowledgment, which I hope
came safe and was welcome."

"Deil a doubt on't," said Ratcliffe, with a knowing nod; "but ye are
muckle changed for the better since I saw ye, Maister Butler."

"So much so, that I wonder you knew me."

"Aha, then!--Deil a face I see I ever forget," said Ratcliffe while Sir
George Staunton, tied to the stake, and incapable of escaping, internally
cursed the accuracy of his memory. "And yet, sometimes," continued
Ratcliffe, "the sharpest hand will be ta'en in. There is a face in this
very room, if I might presume to be sae bauld, that, if I didna ken the
honourable person it belangs to, I might think it had some cut of an auld
acquaintance."

"I should not be much flattered," answered the Baronet, sternly, and
roused by the risk in which he saw himself placed, "if it is to me you
mean to apply that compliment."

"By no manner of means, sir," said Ratcliffe, bowing very low; "I am come
to receive your honour's commands, and no to trouble your honour wi' my
poor observations."

"Well, sir," said Sir George, "I am told you understand police matters--
So do I.--To convince you of which, here are ten guineas of retaining
fee--I make them fifty when you can find me certain notice of a person,
living or dead, whom you will find described in that paper. I shall leave
town presently--you may send your written answer to me to the care of Mr.
" (naming his highly respectable agent), "or of his Grace the Lord High
Commissioner." Rateliffe bowed and withdrew.

"I have angered the proud peat now," he said to himself, "by finding out
a likeness; but if George Robertson's father had lived within a mile of
his mother, d--n me if I should not know what to think, for as high as he
carries his head."

When he was left alone with Butler, Sir George Staunton ordered tea and
coffee, which were brought by his valet, and then, after considering with
himself for a minute, asked his guest whether he had lately heard from
his wife and family. Butler, with some surprise at the question, replied,
"that he had received no letter for some time; his wife was a poor
penwoman."

"Then," said Sir George Staunton, "I am the first to inform you there has
been an invasion of your quiet premises since you left home. My wife,
whom the Duke of Argyle had the goodness to permit to use Roseneath
Lodge, while she was spending some weeks in your country, has sallied
across and taken up her quarters in the Manse, as she says, to be nearer
the goats, whose milk she is using; but, I believe, in reality, because
she prefers Mrs. Butler's company to that of the respectable gentleman
who acts as seneschal on the Duke's domains."

Mr. Butler said, "He had often heard the late Duke and the present speak
with high respect of Lady Staunton, and was happy if his house could
accommodate any friend of theirs--it would be but a very slight
acknowledgment of the many favours he owed them."

"That does not make Lady Staunton and myself the less obliged to your
hospitality, sir," said Sir George. "May I inquire if you think of
returning home soon?"

"In the course of two days," Mr. Butler answered, "his duty in the
Assembly would be ended; and the other matters he had in town being all
finished, he was desirous of returning to Dumbartonshire as soon as he
could; but he was under the necessity of transporting a considerable sum
in bills and money with him, and therefore wished to travel in company
with one or two of his brethren of the clergy."

"My escort will be more safe," said Sir George Staunton, "and I think of
setting off to-morrow or next day. If you will give me the pleasure of
your company, I will undertake to deliver you and your charge safe at the
Manse, provided you will admit me along with you."

Mr. Butler gratefully accepted of this proposal; the appointment was made
accordingly, and, by despatches with one of Sir George's servants, who
was sent forward for the purpose, the inhabitants of the manse of
Knocktarlitie were made acquainted with the intended journey; and the
news rung through the whole vicinity, "that the minister was coming back
wi' a braw English gentleman and a' the siller that was to pay for the
estate of Craigsture."

This sudden resolution of going to Knocktarlitie had been adopted by Sir
George Staunton in consequence of the incidents of the evening. In spite
of his present consequence, he felt he had presumed too far in venturing
so near the scene of his former audacious acts of violence, and he knew
too well, from past experience, the acuteness of a man like Ratcliffe,
again to encounter him. The next two days he kept his lodgings, under
pretence of indisposition, and took leave by writing of his noble friend
the High Commissioner, alleging the opportunity of Mr. Butler's company
as a reason for leaving Edinburgh sooner than he had proposed. He had a
long conference with his agent on the subject of Annaple Bailzou; and the
professional gentleman, who was the agent also of the Argyle family, had
directions to collect all the information which Ratcliffe or others might
be able to obtain concerning the fate of that woman and the unfortunate
child, and so soon as anything transpired which had the least appearance
of being important, that he should send an express with it instantly to
Knocktarlitie. These instructions were backed with a deposit of money,
and a request that no expense might be spared; so that Sir George
Staunton had little reason to apprehend negligence on the part of the
persons intrusted with the commission.

The journey, which the brothers made in company, was attended with more
pleasure, even to Sir George Staunton, than he had ventured to expect.
His heart lightened in spite of himself when they lost sight of
Edinburgh; and the easy, sensible conversation of Butler was well
calculated to withdraw his thoughts from painful reflections. He even
began to think whether there could be much difficulty in removing his
wife's connections to the rectory of Willingham; it was only on his part
procuring some still better preferment for the present incumbent, and on
Butler's, that he should take orders according to the English Church, to
which he could not conceive a possibility of his making objection, and
then he had them residing under his wing. No doubt there was pain in
seeing Mrs. Butler, acquainted, as he knew her to be, with the full truth
of his evil history; but then her silence, though he had no reason to
complain of her indiscretion hitherto, was still more absolutely ensured.
It would keep his lady, also, both in good temper and in more subjection;
for she was sometimes troublesome to him by insisting on remaining in
town when he desired to retire to the country, alleging the total want of
society at Willingham. "Madam, your sister is there," would, he thought,
be a sufficient answer to this ready argument.

He sounded Butler on this subject, asking what he would think of an
English living of twelve hundred pounds yearly, with the burden of
affording his company now and then to a neighbour, whose health was not
strong or his spirits equal. "He might meet," he said, "occasionally, a
very learned and accomplished gentleman, who was in orders as a Catholic
priest, but he hoped that would be no insurmountable objection to a man
of his liberality of sentiment. What," he said, "would Mr. Butler think
of as an answer, if the offer should be made to him?"

"Simply that I could not accept of it," said Mr. Butler. "I have no mind
to enter into the various debates between the churches; but I was brought
up in mine own, have received her ordination, am satisfied of the truth
of her doctrines, and will die under the banner I have enlisted to."

"What may be the value of your preferment?" said Sir George Staunton,
"unless I am asking an indiscreet question."

"Probably one hundred a-year, one year with another, besides my glebe and
pasture-ground."

"And you scruple to exchange that for twelve hundred a-year, without
alleging any damning difference of doctrine betwixt the two churches of
England and Scotland?"

"On that, sir, I have reserved my judgment; there may be much good, and
there are certainly saving means in both; but every man must act
according to his own lights. I hope I have done, and am in the course of
doing, my Master's work in this Highland parish; and it would ill become
me, for the sake of lucre, to leave my sheep in the wilderness. But, even
in the temporal view which you have taken of the matter, Sir George, this
hundred pounds a-year of stipend hath fed and clothed us, and left us
nothing to wish for; my father-in-law's succession, and other
circumstances, have added a small estate of about twice as much more, and
how we are to dispose of it I do not know--So I leave it to you, sir, to
think if I were wise, not having the wish or opportunity of spending
three hundred a-year, to covet the possession of four times that sum."

"This is philosophy," said Sir George; "I have heard of it, but I never
saw it before."

"It is common sense," replied Butler, "which accords with philosophy and
religion more frequently than pedants or zealots are apt to admit."

Sir George turned the subject, and did not again resume it. Although they
travelled in Sir George's chariot, he seemed so much fatigued with the
motion, that it was necessary for him to remain for a day at a small town
called Mid-Calder, which was their first stage from Edinburgh. Glasgow
occupied another day, so slow were their motions.

They travelled on to Dumbarton, where they had resolved to leave the
equipage and to hire a boat to take them to the shores near the manse, as
the Gare-Loch lay betwixt them and that point, besides the impossibility
of travelling in that district with wheel-carriages. Sir George's valet,
a man of trust, accompanied them, as also a footman; the grooms were left
with the carriage. Just as this arrangement was completed, which was
about four o'clock in the afternoon, an express arrived from Sir George's
agent in Edinburgh, with a packet, which he opened and read with great
attention, appearing much interested and agitated by the contents. The
packet had been despatched very soon after their leaving Edinburgh, but
the messenger had missed the travellers by passing through Mid-Calder in
the night, and overshot his errand by getting to Roseneath before them.
He was now on his return, after having waited more than four-and-twenty
hours. Sir George Staunton instantly wrote back an answer, and rewarding
the messenger liberally, desired him not to sleep till he placed it in
his agent's hands.

At length they embarked in the boat, which had waited for them some time.
During their voyage, which was slow, for they were obliged to row the
whole way, and often against the tide, Sir George Staunton's inquiries
ran chiefly on the subject of the Highland banditti who had infested that
country since the year 1745. Butler informed him that many of them were
not native Highlanders, but gipsies, tinkers, and other men of desperate
fortunes, who had taken advantage of the confusion introduced by the
civil war, the general discontent of the mountaineers, and the unsettled
state of police, to practise their plundering trade with more audacity.
Sir George next inquired into their lives, their habits, whether the
violences which they committed were not sometimes atoned for by acts of
generosity, and whether they did not possess the virtues as well as the
vices of savage tribes?

Butler answered, that certainly they did sometimes show sparks of
generosity, of which even the worst class of malefactors are seldom
utterly divested; but that their evil propensities were certain and
regular principles of action, while any occasional burst of virtuous
feeling was only a transient impulse not to be reckoned upon, and excited
probably by some singular and unusual concatenation of circumstances. In
discussing these inquiries, which Sir George pursued with an apparent
eagerness that rather surprised Butler, the latter chanced to mention the
name of Donacha dhu na Dunaigh, with which the reader is already
acquainted. Sir George caught the sound up eagerly, and as if it conveyed
particular interest to his ear. He made the most minute inquiries
concerning the man whom he mentioned, the number of his gang, and even
the appearance of those who belonged to it. Upon these points Butler
could give little answer. The man had a name among the lower class, but
his exploits were considerably exaggerated; he had always one or two
fellows with him, but never aspired to the command of above three or
four. In short, he knew little about him, and the small acquaintance he
had had by no means inclined him to desire more.

"Nevertheless, I should like to see him some of these days."

"That would be a dangerous meeting, Sir George, unless you mean we are to
see him receive his deserts from the law, and then it were a melancholy
one."

"Use every man according to his deserts, Mr. Butler, and who shall escape
whipping? But I am talking riddles to you. I will explain them more fully
to you when I have spoken over the subject with Lady Staunton.--Pull
away, my lads," he added, addressing himself to the rowers; "the clouds
threaten us with a storm."

In fact, the dead and heavy closeness of the air, the huge piles of
clouds which assembled in the western horizon, and glowed like a furnace
under the influence of the setting sun--that awful stillness in which
nature seems to expect the thunder-burst, as a condemned soldier waits
for the platoon fire which is to stretch him on the earth, all betokened
a speedy storm. Large broad drops fell from time to time, and induced the
gentlemen to assume the boat-cloaks; but the rain again ceased, and the
oppressive heat, so unusual in Scotland in the end of May, inclined them
to throw them aside. "There is something solemn in this delay of the
storm," said Sir George; "it seems as if it suspended its peal till it
solemnised some important event in the world below."

"Alas!" replied Butler, "what are we that the laws of nature should
correspond in their march with our ephemeral deeds or sufferings! The
clouds will burst when surcharged with the electric fluid, whether a goat
is falling at that instant from the cliffs of Arran, or a hero expiring
on the field of battle he has won."

"The mind delights to deem it otherwise," said Sir George Staunton; "and
to dwell on the fate of humanity as on that which is the prime central
movement of the mighty machine. We love not to think that we shall mix
with the ages that have gone before us, as these broad black raindrops
mingle with the waste of waters, making a trifling and momentary eddy,
and are then lost for ever."

"_For ever!_--we are not--we cannot be lost for ever," said Butler,
looking upward; "death is to us change, not consummation; and the
commencement of a new existence, corresponding in character to the deeds
which we have done in the body."

While they agitated these grave subjects, to which the solemnity of the
approaching storm naturally led them, their voyage threatened to be more
tedious than they expected, for gusts of wind, which rose and fell with
sudden impetuosity, swept the bosom of the firth, and impeded the efforts
of the rowers. They had now only to double a small headland, in order to
get to the proper landing-place in the mouth of the little river; but in
the state of the weather, and the boat being heavy, this was like to be a
work of time, and in the meanwhile they must necessarily be exposed to
the storm.

"Could we not land on this side of the headland," asked Sir George, "and
so gain some shelter?"

Butler knew of no landing-place, at least none affording a convenient or
even practicable passage up the rocks which surrounded the shore.

"Think again," said Sir George Staunton; "the storm will soon be
violent."

"Hout, ay," said one of the boatmen, "there's the Caird's Cove; but we
dinna tell the minister about it, and I am no sure if I can steer the
boat to it, the bay is sae fa' o' shoals and sunk rocks."

"Try," said Sir George, "and I will give you half-a-guinea."

The old fellow took the helm, and observed, "That, if they could get in,
there was a steep path up from the beach, and half-an-hour's walk from
thence to the Manse."

"Are you sure you know the way?" said Butler to the old man.

"I maybe kend it a wee better fifteen years syne, when Dandie Wilson was
in the firth wi' his clean-ganging lugger. I mind Dandie had a wild young
Englisher wi' him, that they ca'd"

"If you chatter so much," said Sir George Staunton, "you will have the
boat on the Grindstone--bring that white rock in a line with the
steeple."

"By G--," said the veteran, staring, "I think your honour kens the bay as
weel as me.--Your honour's nose has been on the Grindstone ere now, I'm
thinking."

As they spoke thus, they approached the little cove, which, concealed
behind crags, and defended on every point by shallows and sunken rocks,
could scarce be discovered or approached, except by those intimate with
the navigation. An old shattered boat was already drawn up on the beach
within the cove, close beneath the trees, and with precautions for
concealment.

Upon observing this vessel, Butler remarked to his companion, "It is
impossible for you to conceive, Sir George, the difficulty I have had
with my poor people, in teaching them the guilt and the danger of this
contraband trade--yet they have perpetually before their eyes all its
dangerous consequences. I do not know anything that more effectually
depraves and ruins their moral and religious principles."

Sir George forced himself to say something in a low voice about the
spirit of adventure natural to youth, and that unquestionably many would
become wiser as they grew older.

"Too seldom, sir," replied Butler. "If they have been deeply engaged, and
especially if they, have mingled in the scenes of violence and blood to
which their occupation naturally leads, I have observed, that, sooner or
later, they come to an evil end. Experience, as well as Scripture,
teaches us, Sir George, that mischief shall hunt the violent man, and
that the bloodthirsty man shall not live half his days--But take my arm
to help you ashore."

Sir George needed assistance, for he was contrasting in his altered
thought the different feelings of mind and frame with which he had
formerly frequented the same place. As they landed, a low growl of
thunder was heard at a distance.

"That is ominous, Mr. Butler," said Sir George.

"_Intonuit laevum_--it is ominous of good, then," answered Butler,
smiling.

The boatmen were ordered to make the best of their way round the headland
to the ordinary landing-place; the two gentlemen, followed by their
servant, sought their way by a blind and tangled path, through a close
copsewood, to the Manse of Knocktarlitie, where their arrival was
anxiously expected.

The sisters in vain had expected their husbands' return on the preceding
day, which was that appointed by Sir George's letter. The delay of the
travellers at Calder had occasioned this breach of appointment. The
inhabitants of the Manse began even to doubt whether they would arrive on
the present day. Lady Staunton felt this hope of delay as a brief
reprieve, for she dreaded the pangs which her husband's pride must
undergo at meeting with a sister-in-law, to whom the whole of his unhappy
and dishonourable history was too well known. She knew, whatever force or
constraint he might put upon his feelings in public, that she herself
must be doomed to see them display themselves in full vehemence in
secret,--consume his health, destroy his temper, and render him at once
an object of dread and compassion. Again and again she cautioned Jeanie
to display no tokens of recognition, but to receive him as a perfect
stranger,--and again and again Jeanie renewed her promise to comply with
her wishes.

Jeanie herself could not fail to bestow an anxious thought on the
awkwardness of the approaching meeting; but her conscience was
ungalled--and then she was cumbered with many household cares of an
unusual nature, which, joined to the anxious wish once more to see
Butler, after an absence of unusual length, made her extremely desirous
that the travellers should arrive as soon as possible. And--why should I
disguise the truth?--ever and anon a thought stole across her mind that
her gala dinner had now been postponed for two days; and how few of the
dishes, after every art of her simple cuisine had been exerted to dress
them, could with any credit or propriety appear again upon the third;
and what was she to do with the rest?--Upon this last subject she was
saved the trouble of farther deliberation, by the sudden appearance of
the Captain at the head of half-a-dozen stout fellows, dressed and armed
in the Highland fashion.

"Goot-morrow morning to ye, Leddy Staunton, and I hope I hae the pleasure
to see you weel--And goot-morrow to you, goot Mrs. Putler--I do peg you
will order some victuals and ale and prandy for the lads, for we hae peen
out on firth and moor since afore daylight, and a' to no purpose
neither--Cot tam!"

So saying, he sate down, pushed back his brigadier wig, and wiped his
head with an air of easy importance; totally regardless of the look of
well-bred astonishment by which Lady Staunton endeavoured to make him
comprehend that he was assuming too great a liberty.

"It is some comfort, when one has had a sair tussel," continued the
Captain, addressing Lady Staunton, with an air of gallantry, "that it is
in a fair leddy's service, or in the service of a gentleman whilk has a
fair leddy, whilk is the same thing, since serving the husband is serving
the wife, as Mrs. Putler does very weel know."

"Really, sir," said Lady Staunton, "as you seem to intend this compliment
for me, I am at a loss to know what interest Sir George or I can have in
your movements this morning."

"O, Cot tam!--this is too cruel, my leddy--as if it was not py special
express from his Grace's honourable agent and commissioner at Edinburgh,
with a warrant conform, that I was to seek for and apprehend Donacha dhu
na Dunaigh, and pring him pefore myself and Sir George Staunton, that he
may have his deserts, that is to say, the gallows, whilk he has doubtless
deserved, py peing the means of frightening your leddyship, as weel as
for something of less importance."

"Frightening me!" said her ladyship; "why, I never wrote to Sir George
about my alarm at the waterfall."

"Then he must have heard it otherwise; for what else can give him sic an
earnest tesire to see this rapscallion, that I maun ripe the haill mosses
and muirs in the country for him, as if I were to get something for
finding him, when the pest o't might pe a pall through my prains?"

"Can it be really true, that it is on Sir George's account that you have
been attempting to apprehend this fellow?"

"Py Cot, it is for no other cause that I know than his honour's pleasure;
for the creature might hae gone on in a decent quiet way for me, sae lang
as he respectit the Duke's pounds--put reason goot he suld be taen, and
hangit to poet, if it may pleasure ony honourable shentleman that is the
Duke's friend--Sae I got the express over night, and I caused warn half a
score of pretty lads, and was up in the morning pefore the sun, and I
garr'd the lads take their kilts and short coats."

"I wonder you did that, Captain," said Mrs. Butler, "when you know the
act of Parliament against wearing the Highland dress."

"Hout, tout, ne'er fash your thumb, Mrs. Putler. The law is put twa-three
years auld yet, and is ower young to hae come our length; and pesides,
how is the lads to climb the praes wi' thae tamn'd breekens on them? It
makes me sick to see them. Put ony how, I thought I kend Donacha's haunt
gey and weel, and I was at the place where he had rested yestreen; for I
saw the leaves the limmers had lain on, and the ashes of them; by the
same token, there was a pit greeshoch purning yet. I am thinking they got
some word oat o' the island what was intended--I sought every glen and
clench, as if I had been deer-stalking, but teil a want of his coat-tail
could I see--Cot tam!"

"He'll be away down the Firth to Cowal," said David; and Reuben, who had
been out early that morning a-nutting, observed, "That he had seen a boat
making for the Caird's Cove;" a place well known to the boys, though
their less adventurous father was ignorant of its existence.

"Py Cot," said Duncan, "then I will stay here no longer than to trink
this very horn of prandy and water, for it's very possible they will pe
in the wood. Donacha's a clever fellow, and maype thinks it pest to sit
next the chimley when the lum reeks. He thought naebody would look for
him sae near hand! I peg your leddyship will excuse my aprupt departure,
as I will return forthwith, and I will either pring you Donacha in life,
or else his head, whilk I dare to say will be as satisfactory. And I hope
to pass a pleasant evening with your leddyship; and I hope to have mine
revenges on Mr. Putler at backgammon, for the four pennies whilk he won,
for he will pe surely at home soon, or else he will have a wet journey,
seeing it is apout to pe a scud."

Thus saying, with many scrapes and bows, and apologies for leaving them,
which were very readily received, and reiterated assurances of his speedy
return (of the sincerity whereof Mrs. Butler entertained no doubt, so
long as her best greybeard of brandy was upon duty), Duncan left the
Manse, collected his followers, and began to scour the close and
entangled wood which lay between the little glen and the Caird's Cove.
David, who was a favourite with the Captain, on account of his spirit and
courage, took the opportunity of escaping, to attend the investigations
of that great man.





CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHTH.

                         I did send for thee,
             That Talbot's name might be in thee revived,
               When sapless age and weak, unable limbs,
             Should bring thy father to his drooping chair.
                But--O malignant and ill-boding stars!--
                             First part of Henry the Sixth.

Duncan and his party had not proceeded very far in the direction of the
Caird's Cove before they heard a shot, which was quickly followed by one
or two others. "Some tamn'd villains among the roe-deer," said Duncan;
"look sharp out, lads."

The clash of swords was next heard, and Duncan and his myrmidons,
hastening to the spot, found Butler and Sir George Staunton's servant in
the hands of four ruffians. Sir George himself lay stretched on the
ground, with his drawn sword in his hand. Duncan, who was as brave as a
lion, instantly fired his pistol at the leader of the band, unsheathed
his sword, cried out to his men, _Claymore!_ and run his weapon through
the body of the fellow whom he had previously wounded, who was no other
thau Donacha dhu na Dunaigh himself. The other banditti were speedily
overpowered, excepting one young lad, who made wonderful resistance for
his years, and was at length secured with difficulty.


[Illustration: Death of Sir George Staunton--404]


Butler, so soon as he was liberated from the ruffians, ran to raise Sir
George Staunton, but life had wholly left him.

"A creat misfortune," said Duncan; "I think it will pe pest that I go
forward to intimate it to the coot lady.--Tavie, my dear, you hae smelled
pouther for the first time this day--take my sword and hack off Donacha's
head, whilk will pe coot practice for you against the time you may wish
to do the same kindness to a living shentleman--or hould! as your father
does not approve, you may leave it alone, as he will pe a greater object
of satisfaction to Leddy Staunton to see him entire; and I hope she will
do me the credit to pelieve that I can afenge a shentleman's plood fery
speedily and well."

Such was the observation of a man too much accustomed to the ancient
state of manners in the Highlands, to look upon the issue of such a
skirmish as anything worthy of wonder or emotion.

We will not attempt to describe the very contrary effect which the
unexpected disaster produced upon Lady Staunton, when the bloody corpse
of her husband was brought to the house, where she expected to meet him
alive and well. All was forgotten, but that he was the lover of her
youth; and whatever were his faults to the world, that he had towards her
exhibited only those that arose from the inequality of spirits and
temper, incident to a situation of unparalleled difficulty. In the
vivacity of her grief she gave way to all the natural irritability of her
temper; shriek followed shriek, and swoon succeeded to swoon. It required
all Jeanie's watchful affection to prevent her from making known, in
these paroxysms of affliction, much which it was of the highest
importance that she should keep secret.

At length silence and exhaustion succeeded to frenzy, and Jeanie stole
out to take counsel with her husband, and to exhort him to anticipate the
Captain's interference, by taking possession, in Lady Staunton's name, of
the private papers of her deceased husband. To the utter astonishment of
Butler, she now, for the first time, explained the relation betwixt
herself and Lady Staunton, which authorised, nay, demanded, that he
should prevent any stranger from being unnecessarily made acquainted with
her family affairs. It was in such a crisis that Jeanie's active and
undaunted habits of virtuous exertion were most conspicuous. While the
Captain's attention was still engaged by a prolonged refreshment, and a
very tedious examination, in Gaelic and English, of all the prisoners,
and every other witness of the fatal transaction, she had the body of her
brother-in-law undressed and properly disposed. It then appeared, from
the crucifix, the beads, and the shirt of hair which he wore next his
person, that his sense of guilt had induced him to receive the dogmata of
a religion, which pretends, by the maceration of the body, to expiate the
crimes of the soul. In the packet of papers which the express had brought
to Sir George Staunton from Edinburgh, and which Butler, authorised by
his connection with the deceased, did not scruple to examine, he found
new and astonishing intelligence, which gave him reason to thank God he
had taken that measure.

Ratcliffe, to whom all sorts of misdeeds and misdoers were familiar,
instigated by the promised reward, soon found himself in a condition to
trace the infant of these unhappy parents. The woman to whom Meg
Murdockson had sold that most unfortunate child, had made it the
companion of her wanderings and her beggary, until he was about seven or
eight years old, when, as Ratcliffe learned from a companion of hers,
then in the Correction House of Edinburgh, she sold him in her turn to
Donacha dhu na Dunaigh. This man, to whom no act of mischief was unknown,
was occasionally an agent in a horrible trade then carried on betwixt
Scotland and America, for supplying the plantations with servants, by
means of _kidnapping,_ as it was termed, both men and women, but
especially children under age. Here Ratcliffe lost sight of the boy, but
had no doubt but Donacha Dhu could give an account of him. The gentleman
of the law, so often mentioned, despatched therefore an express, with a
letter to Sir George Staunton, and another covering a warrant for
apprehension of Donacha, with instructions to the Captain of Knockdunder
to exert his utmost energy for that purpose.

Possessed of this information, and with a mind agitated by the most
gloomy apprehensions, Butler now joined the Captain, and obtained from
him with some difficulty a sight of the examinations. These, with a few
questions to the elder of the prisoners, soon confirmed the most dreadful
of Butler's anticipations. We give the heads of the information, without
descending into minute details.

Donacha Dhu had indeed purchased Effie's unhappy child, with the purpose
of selling it to the American traders, whom he had been in the habit of
supplying with human flesh. But no opportunity occurred for some time;
and the boy, who was known by the name of "The Whistler," made some
impression on the heart and affections even of this rude savage, perhaps
because he saw in him flashes of a spirit as fierce and vindictive as his
own. When Donacha struck or threatened him--a very common occurrence--he
did not answer with complaints and entreaties like other children, but
with oaths and efforts at revenge--he had all the wild merit, too, by
which Woggarwolfe's arrow-bearing page won the hard heart of his master:

             Like a wild cub, rear'd at the ruffian's feet,
             He could say biting jests, bold ditties sing,
             And quaff his foaming bumper at the board,
                 With all the mockery of a little man.*

* Ethwald.

In short, as Donacha Dhu said, the Whistler was a born imp of Satan, and
_therefore_ he should never leave him. Accordingly, from his eleventh
year forward, he was one of the band, and often engaged in acts of
violence. The last of these was more immediately occasioned by the
researches which the Whistler's real father made after him whom he had
been taught to consider as such. Donacha Dhu's fears had been for some
time excited by the strength of the means which began now to be employed
against persons of his description. He was sensible he existed only by
the precarious indulgence of his namesake, Duncan of Knockdunder, who was
used to boast that he could put him down or string him up when he had a
mind. He resolved to leave the kingdom by means of one of those sloops
which were engaged in the traffic of his old kidnapping friends, and
which was about to sail for America; but he was desirous first to strike
a bold stroke.

The ruffian's cupidity was excited by the intelligence, that a wealthy
Englishman was coming to the Manse--he had neither forgotten the
Whistler's report of the gold he had seen in Lady Staunton's purse, nor
his old vow of revenge against the minister; and, to bring the whole to a
point, he conceived the hope of appropriating the money, which, according
to the general report of the country, the minister was to bring from
Edinburgh to pay for his pew purchase. While he was considering how he
might best accomplish his purpose, he received the intelligence from one
quarter, that the vessel in which he proposed to sail was to sail
immediately from Greenock; from another, that the minister and a rich
English lord, with a great many thousand pounds, were expected the next
evening at the Manse; and from a third, that he must consult his safety
by leaving his ordinary haunts as soon as possible, for that the Captain
had ordered out a party to scour the glens for him at break of day.
Donacha laid his plans with promptitude and decision. He embarked with
the Whistler and two others of his band (whom, by the by, he meant to
sell to the kidnappers), and set sail for the Caird's Cove. He intended
to lurk till nightfall in the wood adjoining to this place, which he
thought was too near the habitation of men to excite the suspicion of
Duncan Knock, then break into Butler's peaceful habitation, and flesh at
once his appetite for plunder and revenge. When his villany was
accomplished, his boat was to convey him to the vessel, which, according
to previous agreement with the master, was instantly to set sail.

This desperate design would probably have succeeded, but for the ruffians
being discovered in their lurking-place by Sir George Staunton and
Butler, in their accidental walk from the Caird's Cove towards the Manse.
Finding himself detected, and at the same time observing that the servant
carried a casket, or strong-box, Donacha conceived that both his prize
and his victims were within his power, and attacked the travellers
without hesitation. Shots were fired and swords drawn on both sides; Sir
George Staunton offered the bravest resistance till he fell, as there was
too much reason to believe, by the hand of a son, so long sought, and now
at length so unhappily met.

While Butler was half-stunned with this intelligence, the hoarse voice of
Knockdunder added to his consternation.

"I will take the liperty to take down the pell-ropes, Mr. Putler, as I
must pe taking order to hang these idle people up to-morrow morning, to
teach them more consideration in their doings in future."

Butler entreated him to remember the act abolishing the heritable
jurisdictions, and that he ought to send them to Glasgow or Inverary, to
be tried by the Circuit. Duncan scorned the proposal.

"The Jurisdiction Act," he said, "had nothing to do put with the rebels,
and specially not with Argyle's country; and he would hang the men up all
three in one row before coot Leddy Staunton's windows, which would be a
great comfort to her in the morning to see that the coot gentleman, her
husband, had been suitably afenged."

And the utmost length that Butler's most earnest entreaties could prevail
was, that he would, reserve "the twa pig carles for the Circuit, but as
for him they ca'd the Fustler, he should try how he could fustle in a
swinging tow, for it suldna be said that a shentleman, friend to the
Duke, was killed in his country, and his people didna take at least twa
lives for ane."

Butler entreated him to spare the victim for his soul's sake. But
Knockdunder answered, "that the soul of such a scum had been long the
tefil's property, and that, Cot tam! he was determined to gif the tefil
his due."

All persuasion was in vain, and Duncan issued his mandate for execution
on the succeeding morning. The child of guilt and misery was separated
from his companions, strongly pinioned, and committed to a separate room,
of which the Captain kept the key.

In the silence of the night, however, Mrs. Butler arose, resolved, if
possible, to avert, at least to delay, the fate which hung over her
nephew, especially if, upon conversing with him, she should see any hope
of his being brought to better temper. She had a master-key that opened
every lock in the house; and at midnight, when all was still, she stood
before the eyes of the astonished young savage, as, hard bound with
cords, he lay, like a sheep designed for slaughter, upon a quantity of
the refuse of flax which filled a corner in the apartment. Amid features
sunburnt, tawny, grimed with dirt, and obscured by his shaggy hair of a
rusted black colour, Jeanie tried in vain to trace the likeness of either
of his very handsome parents. Yet how could she refuse compassion to a
creature so young and so wretched,--so much more wretched than even he
himself could be aware of, since the murder he had too probably committed
with his own hand, but in which he had at any rate participated, was in
fact a parricide? She placed food on a table near him, raised him, and
slacked the cords on his arms, so as to permit him to feed himself. He
stretched out his hands, still smeared with blood perhaps that of his
father, and he ate voraciously and in silence.

"What is your first name?" said Jeanie, by way of opening the
conversation.

"The Whistler."

"But your Christian name, by which you were baptized?"

"I never was baptized that I know of--I have no other name than the
Whistler."

"Poor unhappy abandoned lad!" said Jeanie. "What would ye do if you could
escape from this place, and the death you are to die to-morrow morning?"

"Join wi' Rob Roy, or wi' Sergeant More Cameron" (noted freebooters at
that time), "and revenge Donacha's death on all and sundry."

"O ye unhappy boy," said Jeanie, "do ye ken what will come o' ye when ye
die?"

"I shall neither feel cauld nor hunger more," said the youth doggedly.

"To let him be execute in this dreadful state of mind would be to destroy
baith body and soul--and to let him gang I dare not--what will be done?--
But he is my sister's son--my own nephew--our flesh and blood--and his
hands and feet are yerked as tight as cords can be drawn.--Whistler, do
the cords hurt you?"

"Very much."

"But, if I were to slacken them, you would harm me?"

"No, I would not--you never harmed me or mine."

There may be good in him yet, thought Jeanie; I will try fair play with
him.

She cut his bonds--he stood upright, looked round with a laugh of wild
exultation, clapped his hands together, and sprung from the ground, as if
in transport on finding himself at liberty. He looked so wild, that
Jeanie trembled at what she had done.

"Let me out," said the young savage.

"I wunna, unless you promise"

"Then I'll make you glad to let us both out."

He seized the lighted candle and threw it among the flax, which was
instantly in a flame. Jeanie screamed, and ran out of the room; the
prisoner rushed past her, threw open a window in the passage, jumped into
the garden, sprung over its enclosure, bounded through the woods like a
deer, and gained the seashore. Meantime, the fire was extinguished, but
the prisoner was sought in vain. As Jeanie kept her own secret, the share
she had in his escape was not discovered: but they learned his fate some
time afterwards--it was as wild as his life had hitherto been.

The anxious inquiries of Butler at length learned, that the youth had
gained the ship in which his master, Donacha, had designed to embark. But
the avaricious shipmaster, inured by his evil trade to every species of
treachery, and disappointed of the rich booty which Donacha had proposed
to bring aboard, secured the person of the fugitive, and having
transported him to America, sold him as a slave, or indented servant, to
a Virginian planter, far up the country. When these tidings reached
Butler, he sent over to America a sufficient sum to redeem the lad from
slavery, with instructions that measures should be taken for improving
his mind, restraining his evil propensities, and encouraging whatever
good might appear in his character. But this aid came too late. The young
man had headed a conspiracy in which his inhuman master was put to death,
and had then fled to the next tribe of wild Indians. He was never more
heard of; and it may therefore be presumed that he lived and died after
the manner of that savage people, with whom his previous habits had well
fitted him to associate.

All hopes of the young man's reformation being now ended, Mr. and Mrs.
Butler thought it could serve no purpose to explain to Lady Staunton a
history so full of horror. She remained their guest more than a year,
during the greater part of which period her grief was excessive. In the
latter months, it assumed the appearance of listlessness and low spirits,
which the monotony of her sister's quiet establishment afforded no means
of dissipating. Effie, from her earliest youth, was never formed for a
quiet low content. Far different from her sister, she required the
dissipation of society to divert her sorrow, or enhance her joy. She left
the seclusion of Knocktarlitie with tears of sincere affection, and after
heaping its inmates with all she could think of that might be valuable in
their eyes. But she _did_ leave it; and, when the anguish of the parting
was over, her departure was a relief to both sisters.

The family at the Manse of Knocktarlitie, in their own quiet happiness,
heard of the well-dowered and beautiful Lady Staunton resuming her place
in the fashionable world. They learned it by more substantial proofs, for
David received a commission; and as the military spirit of Bible Butler
seemed to have revived in him, his good behaviour qualified the envy of
five hundred young Highland cadets, "come of good houses," who were
astonished at the rapidity of his promotion. Reuben followed the law, and
rose more slowly, yet surely. Euphemia Butler, whose fortune, augmented
by her aunt's generosity, and added to her own beauty, rendered her no
small prize, married a Highland laird, who never asked the name of her
grand-father, and was loaded on the occasion with presents from Lady
Staunton, which made her the envy of all the beauties in Dumbarton and
Argyle shires.