The Heart of Mid-Lothian, Complete

by Walter Scott

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVENTH.

  What see you there, That hath so cowarded and chased your blood Out of appearance? Henry the Fifth.

  We are under the necessity of returning to Edinburgh, where the GeneralAssembly was now sitting. It is well known, that some Scottish noblemanis usually deputed as High Commissioner, to represent the person of theKing in this convocation; that he has allowances for the purpose ofmaintaining a certain outward show and solemnity, and supporting thehospitality of the representative of Majesty. Whoever are distinguishedby rank, or office, in or near the capital, usually attend the morninglevees of the Lord Commissioner, and walk with him in procession to theplace where the Assembly meets.

  The nobleman who held this office chanced to be particularly connectedwith Sir George Staunton, and it was in his train that he ventured totread the High Street of Edinburgh for the first time since the fatalnight of Porteous's execution. Walking at the right hand of therepresentative of Sovereignty, covered with lace and embroidery, and withall the paraphernalia of wealth and rank, the handsome though wastedfigure of the English stranger attracted all eyes. Who could haverecognised in a form so aristocratic the plebeian convict, that,disguised in the rags of Madge Wildfire, had led the formidable riotersto their destined revenge? There was no possibility that this couldhappen, even if any of his ancient acquaintances, a race of men whoselives are so brief, had happened to survive the span commonly allotted toevil-doers. Besides, the whole affair had long fallen asleep, with theangry passions in which it originated. Nothing is more certain than thatpersons known to have had a share in that formidable riot, and to havefled from Scotland on that account, had made money abroad, returned toenjoy it in their native country, and lived and died undisturbed by thelaw.*

  * See Arnot's _Criminal Trials,_ 4to ed. p. 235.

  The forbearance of the magistrate was, in these instances, wise,certainly, and just; for what good impression could be made on the publicmind by punishment, when the memory of the offence was obliterated, andall that was remembered was the recent inoffensive, or perhaps exemplaryconduct of the offender?

  Sir George Staunton might, therefore, tread the scene of his formeraudacious exploits, free from the apprehension of the law, or even ofdiscovery or suspicion. But with what feelings his heart that daythrobbed, must be left to those of the reader to imagine. It was anobject of no common interest which had brought him to encounter so manypainful remembrances.

  In consequence of Jeanie's letter to Lady Staunton, transmitting theconfession, he had visited the town of Carlisle, and had found ArchdeaconFleming still alive, by whom that confession had been received. Thisreverend gentleman, whose character stood deservedly very high, he so faradmitted into his confidence, as to own himself the father of theunfortunate infant which had been spirited away by Madge Wildfire,representing the intrigue as a matter of juvenile extravagance on his ownpart, for which he was now anxious to atone, by tracing, if possible,what had become of the child. After some recollection of thecircumstances, the clergyman was able to call to memory, that the unhappywoman had written a letter to George Staunton, Esq., younger, Rectory,Willingham, by Grantham; that he had forwarded it to the addressaccordingly, and that it had been returned, with a note from the ReverendMr. Staunton, Rector of Willingham, saying, he knew no such person as himto whom the letter was addressed. As this had happened just at the timewhen George had, for the last time, absconded from his father's house tocarry off Effie, he was at no loss to account for the cause of theresentment, under the influence of which his father had disowned him.This was another instance in which his ungovernable temper had occasionedhis misfortune; had he remained at Willingham but a few days longer, hewould have received Margaret Murdockson's letter, in which were exactlydescribed the person and haunts of the woman, Annaple Bailzou, to whomshe had parted with the infant. It appeared that Meg Murdockson had beeninduced to make this confession, less from any feelings of contrition,than from the desire of obtaining, through George Staunton or hisfather's means, protection and support for her daughter Madge. Her letterto George Staunton said, "That while the writer lived, her daughter wouldhave needed nought from any body, and that she would never have meddledin these affairs, except to pay back the ill that George had done to herand hers. But she was to die, and her daughter would be destitute, andwithout reason to guide her. She had lived in the world long enough toknow that people did nothing for nothing;--so she had told GeorgeStaunton all he could wish to know about his wean, in hopes he would notsee the demented young creature he had ruined perish for want. As for hermotives for not telling them sooner, she had a long account to reckon forin the next world, and she would reckon for that too."

  The clergyman said that Meg had died in the same desperate state of mind,occasionally expressing some regret about the child which was lost, butoftener sorrow that the mother had not been hanged--her mind at once achaos of guilt, rage, and apprehension for her daughter's future safety;that instinctive feeling of parental anxiety which she had in common withthe she-wolf and lioness, being the last shade of kindly affection thatoccupied a breast equally savage.

  The melancholy catastrophe of Madge Wildfire was occasioned by her takingthe confusion of her mother's execution, as affording an opportunity ofleaving the workhouse to which the clergyman had sent her, and presentingherself to the mob in their fury, to perish in the way we have alreadyseen. When Dr. Fleming found the convict's letter was returned fromLincolnshire, he wrote to a friend in Edinburgh, to inquire into the fateof the unfortunate girl whose child had been stolen, and was informed byhis correspondent, that she had been pardoned, and that, with all herfamily, she had retired to some distant part of Scotland, or left thekingdom entirely. And here the matter rested, until, at Sir GeorgeStaunton's application, the clergyman looked out, and produced MargaretMurdockson's returned letter, and the other memoranda which he had keptconcerning the affair.

  Whatever might be Sir George Staunton's feelings in ripping up thismiserable history, and listening to the tragical fate of the unhappy girlwhom he had ruined, he had so much of his ancient wilfulness ofdisposition left, as to shut his eyes on everything, save the prospectwhich seemed to open itself of recovering his son. It was true, it wouldbe difficult to produce him, without telling much more of the history ofhis birth, and the misfortunes of his parents, than it was prudent tomake known. But let him once be found, and, being found, let him butprove worthy of his father's protection, and many ways might be fallenupon to avoid such risk. Sir George Staunton was at liberty to adopt himas his heir, if he pleased, without communicating the secret of hisbirth; or an Act of Parliament might be obtained, declaring himlegitimate, and allowing him the name and arms of his father. He wasindeed already a legitimate child according to the law of Scotland, bythe subsequent marriage of his parents. Wilful in everything, SirGeorge's sole desire now was to see this son, even should his recoverybring with it a new series of misfortunes, as dreadful as those whichfollowed on his being lost.

  But where was the youth who might eventually be called to the honours andestates of this ancient family? On what heath was he wandering, andshrouded by what mean disguise? Did he gain his precarious bread by somepetty trade, by menial toil, by violence, or by theft? These werequestions on which Sir George's anxious investigations could obtain nolight. Many remembered that Annaple Bailzou wandered through the countryas a beggar and fortune-teller, or spae-wife--some remembered that shehad been seen with an infant in 1737 or 1738,--but for more than tenyears she had not travelled that district; and that she had been heard tosay she was going to a distant part of Scotland, of which country she wasa native. To Scotland, therefore, came Sir George Staunton, having partedwith his lady at Glasgow; and his arrival at Edinburg happening tocoincide with the sitting of the General Assembly of the Kirk, hisacquaintance with the nobleman who held the office of Lord HighCommissioner forced him more into public than suited either his views
orinclinations.

  At the public table of this nobleman, Sir George Staunton was placed nextto a clergyman of respectable appearance, and well-bred, though plaindemeanour, whose name he discovered to be Butler. It had been no part ofSir George's plan to take his brother-in-law into his confidence, and hehad rejoiced exceedingly in the assurances he received from his wife,that Mrs. Butler, the very soul of integrity and honour, had neversuffered the account he had given of himself at Willingham Rectory totranspire, even to her husband. But he was not sorry to have anopportunity to converse with so near a connection without being known tohim, and to form a judgment of his character and understanding. He sawmuch, and heard more, to raise Butler very high in his opinion. He foundhe was generally respected by those of his own profession, as well as bythe laity who had seats in the Assembly. He had made several publicappearances in the Assembly, distinguished by good sense, candour, andability; and he was followed and admired as a sound, and, at the sametime, an eloquent preacher.

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

  It was with these feelings, that, when the Lord High Commissioner'scompany broke up, Sir George Staunton, under pretence of prolonging someinquiries concerning the constitution of the Church of Scotland,requested Butler to go home to his lodgings in the Lawnmarket, and drinka cup of coffee. Butler agreed to wait upon him, providing Sir Georgewould permit him, in passing, to call at a friend's house where heresided, and make his apology for not coming to partake her tea. Theyproceeded up the High Street, entered the Krames, and passed thebegging-box, placed to remind those at liberty of the distresses of thepoor prisoners. Sir George paused there one instant, and next day a L20note was found in that receptacle for public charity.

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

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

  "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 felthimself ill? and Sir George Staunton admitted, that he had been sofoolish as to eat ice, which sometimes disagreed with him. With kindofficiousness, that would not be gainsaid, and ere he could find outwhere 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. Thisrecollection rushed on her husband's mind, and the blush of shame whichit excited overpowered the sensation of fear which had produced hisformer paleness. Good Mrs. Saddletree, however, bustled about to receivethe rich English baronet as the friend of Mr. Butler, and requested anelderly female in a black gown to sit still, in a way which seemed toimply a wish, that she would clear the way for her betters. In themeanwhile, understanding the state of the case, she ran to get somecordial waters, sovereign, of course, in all cases of faintishnesswhatsoever. During her absence, her visitor, the female in black, madesome progress out of the room, and might have left it altogether withoutparticular observation, had she not stumbled at the threshold, so nearSir George Staunton, that he, in point of civility, raised her andassisted 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 saeauld, but she got a sair back-cast wi' the slaughter o' her husband--Yehad some trouble about that job, Mr. Butler.--I think, sir," to SirGeorge, "ye had better drink out the haill glass, for to my een ye lookwaur than when ye came in."

  And, indeed, he grew as pale as a corpse, on recollecting who it was thathis arm had so lately supported--the widow whom he had so large a sharein 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 ofdate."

  "I am not clear of that, neighbour," said Plumdamas, "for I have heardthem 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, ifthe foremost of the Porteous mob were standing there where that gentlemanstands, the King's Advocate wadna meddle wi' him--it fa's under thenegative prescription."

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

  But Sir George had had quite enough of their conversation; and Butler, athis request, made an apology to Mrs. Saddletree, and accompanied him tohis lodgings. Here they found another guest waiting Sir George Staunton'sreturn. 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, orcaptain of the Tolbooth. And it is yet to be remembered in tradition,that young men, who rather sought amusing than select society in theirmerry-meetings, used sometimes to request Ratcliffe's company, in orderthat he might regale them with legends of his extraordinary feats in theway 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 whenunder sentence of death; and he was again under the same predicament,when the Highlanders made a similar jail-delivery in 1745. He was toosincere a whig to embrace liberation at the hands of the Jacobites, andin reward was made one of the keepers of the Tolbooth. So at least runsconstant tradition.

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

  Under these circumstances, he had been recommended to Sir George Stauntonby a man of the law in Edinburgh, as a person likely to answer anyquestions he might have to ask about Annaple Bailzou, who, according tothe colour which Sir George Staunton gave to his cause of inquiry, wassupposed to have stolen a child in the west of England, belonging to afamily in which he was interested. The gentleman had not mentioned hisname, but only his official title; so that Sir George Staunton, when toldthat the captain of the Tolbooth was waiting for him in his parlour, hadno idea of meeting his former acquaintance, Jem Ratcliffe.

  This, therefore, was another new and most unpleasant surprise, for he hadno difficulty in recollecting this man's remarkable features. The change,however, from George Robertson to Sir George Staunton, baffled even thepenetration of Ratcliffe, and he bowed very low to the baronet and hisguest, hoping Mr. Butler would excuse his recollecting that he was an oldacquaintance.

  "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 hopecame safe and was welcome."

  "Deil a doubt on't," said Ratcliffe, with a knowing nod; "but ye aremuckle 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 SirGeorge Staunton, tied to the stake, and incapable of escaping, internallycursed the accuracy of his memory. "And yet, sometimes," continuedRatcliffe, "the sharpest hand will be ta'en in. There is a face in thisvery room, if I might presume to be sae bauld, that, if I didna ken thehonourable person it belangs to, I might think it had some cut of an auldacquaintance."

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

  "By no manner of means, sir," said Ratcliffe, bowing very low; "I am cometo receive your honour's commands, and no to trouble your honour wi' mypoor 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 retainingfee--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 leavetown presently--you may send your written answer to me to the care ofMr. ----" (naming his highly respectable agent), "or of his Grace the LordHigh Commissioner." Rateliffe bowed and withdrew.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

  Mr. Butler gratefully accepted of this proposal; the appointment was madeaccordingly, and, by despatches with one of Sir George's servants, whowas sent forward for the purpose, the inhabitants of the manse ofKnocktarlitie were made acquainted with the intended journey; and thenews rung through the whole vicinity, "that the minister was coming backwi' a braw English gentleman and a' the siller that was to pay for theestate of Craigsture."

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

  The journey, which the brothers made in company, was attended with morepleasure, even to Sir George Staunton, than he had ventured to expect.His heart lightened in spite of himself when they lost sight ofEdinburgh; and the easy, sensible conversation of Butler was wellcalculated to withdraw his thoughts from painful reflections. He evenbegan to think whether there could be much difficulty in removing hiswife's connections to the rectory of Willingham; it was only on his partprocuring some still better preferment for the present incumbent, and onButler's, that he should take orders according to the English Church, towhich he could not conceive a possibility of his making objection, andthen he had them residing under his wing. No doubt there was pain inseeing Mrs. Butler, acquainted, as he knew her to be, with the full truthof his evil history; but then her silence, though he had no reason tocomplain 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 intown when he desired to retire to the country, alleging the total want ofsociety 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 anEnglish living of twelve hundred pounds yearly, with the burden ofaffording his company now and then to a neighbour, whose health was notstrong or his spirits equal. "He might meet," he said, "occasionally, avery learned and accomplished gentleman, who was in orders as a Catholicpriest, but he hoped that would be no insurmountable objection to a manof his liberality of sentiment. What," he said, "would Mr. Butler thinkof 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 mindto enter into the various debates between the churches; but I was broughtup in mine own, have received her ordination, am satisfied of the truthof 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 andpasture-ground."

  "And you scruple to exchange that for twelve hundred a-year, withoutalleging any damning difference of doctrine betwixt the two churches ofEngland and Scotland?"

  "On that, sir, I have reserved my judgment; there may be much good, andthere are certainly saving means in both; but every man must actaccording to his own lights. I hope I have done, and am in the course ofdoing, my Master's work in this Highland parish; and it would ill becomeme, for the sake of lucre, to leave my sheep in the wilderness. But, evenin the temporal view which you have taken of the matter, Sir George, thishundred pounds a-year of stipend hath fed and clothed us, and left usnothing to wish for; my father-in-law's succession, and othercircumstances, have added a small estate of about twice as much more, andhow we are to dispose of it I do not know--So I leave it to you, sir, tothink if I were wise, not having the wish or opportunity of spendingthree 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 neversaw it before."

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

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


  They travelled on to Dumbarton, where they had resolved to leave theequipage and to hire a boat to take them to the shores near the manse, asthe Gare-Loch lay betwixt them and that point, besides the impossibilityof travelling in that district with wheel-carriages. Sir George's valet,a man of trust, accompanied them, as also a footman; the grooms were leftwith the carriage. Just as this arrangement was completed, which wasabout four o'clock in the afternoon, an express arrived from Sir George'sagent in Edinburgh, with a packet, which he opened and read with greatattention, appearing much interested and agitated by the contents. Thepacket had been despatched very soon after their leaving Edinburgh, butthe messenger had missed the travellers by passing through Mid-Calder inthe night, and overshot his errand by getting to Roseneath before them.He was now on his return, after having waited more than four-and-twentyhours. Sir George Staunton instantly wrote back an answer, and rewardingthe messenger liberally, desired him not to sleep till he placed it inhis 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 thewhole way, and often against the tide, Sir George Staunton's inquiriesran chiefly on the subject of the Highland banditti who had infested thatcountry since the year 1745. Butler informed him that many of them werenot native Highlanders, but gipsies, tinkers, and other men of desperatefortunes, who had taken advantage of the confusion introduced by thecivil war, the general discontent of the mountaineers, and the unsettledstate of police, to practise their plundering trade with more audacity.Sir George next inquired into their lives, their habits, whether theviolences which they committed were not sometimes atoned for by acts ofgenerosity, and whether they did not possess the virtues as well as thevices of savage tribes?

  Butler answered, that certainly they did sometimes show sparks ofgenerosity, of which even the worst class of malefactors are seldomutterly divested; but that their evil propensities were certain andregular principles of action, while any occasional burst of virtuousfeeling was only a transient impulse not to be reckoned upon, and excitedprobably by some singular and unusual concatenation of circumstances. Indiscussing these inquiries, which Sir George pursued with an apparenteagerness that rather surprised Butler, the latter chanced to mention thename of Donacha dhu na Dunaigh, with which the reader is alreadyacquainted. Sir George caught the sound up eagerly, and as if it conveyedparticular interest to his ear. He made the most minute inquiriesconcerning the man whom he mentioned, the number of his gang, and eventhe appearance of those who belonged to it. Upon these points Butlercould give little answer. The man had a name among the lower class, buthis exploits were considerably exaggerated; he had always one or twofellows with him, but never aspired to the command of above three orfour. In short, he knew little about him, and the small acquaintance hehad 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 tosee him receive his deserts from the law, and then it were a melancholyone."

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

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

  "Alas!" replied Butler, "what are we that the laws of nature shouldcorrespond in their march with our ephemeral deeds or sufferings! Theclouds will burst when surcharged with the electric fluid, whether a goatis falling at that instant from the cliffs of Arran, or a hero expiringon the field of battle he has won."

  "The mind delights to deem it otherwise," said Sir George Staunton; "andto dwell on the fate of humanity as on that which is the prime centralmovement of the mighty machine. We love not to think that we shall mixwith the ages that have gone before us, as these broad black raindropsmingle 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 thecommencement of a new existence, corresponding in character to the deedswhich we have done in the body."

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

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

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

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

  "Hout, ay," said one of the boatmen, "there's the Caird's Cove; but wedinna tell the minister about it, and I am no sure if I can steer theboat 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 fromthence 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 wasin the firth wi' his clean-ganging lugger. I mind Dandie had a wild youngEnglisher wi' him, that they ca'd--"

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

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

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

  Upon observing this vessel, Butler remarked to his companion, "It isimpossible for you to conceive, Sir George, the difficulty I have hadwith my poor people, in teaching them the guilt and the danger of thiscontraband trade--yet they have perpetually before their eyes all itsdangerous consequences. I do not know anything that more effectuallydepraves and ruins their moral and religious principles."

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

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

  Sir George needed assistance, for he was contrasting in his alteredthought the different feelings of mind and frame with which he hadformerly frequented the same place. As they landed, a low growl ofthunder 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 headlandto the ordinary landing-place; the two gentlemen, followed by theirservant, sought their way by a blind and tangled path, through a closecopsewood, to the Manse of Knocktarlitie, where their arrival wasanxiously expected.

  The sisters in vain had expected their husbands' return on the precedingday, which was that appointed by Sir George's letter. The delay of thetravellers at Calder had occasioned this breach of appointment. Theinhabitants of the Manse began even to doubt whether they would arrive onthe present day. Lady Staunton felt this hope of delay as a briefreprieve, for she dreaded the pangs which her husband's pride mustundergo at meeting with a sister-in-law, to whom the whole of his unhappyand dishonourable history was too well known. She knew, whatever force orconstraint he might put upon his feelings in public, that she herselfmust be doomed to see them display themselves in full vehemence insecret,--consume his health, destroy his temper, and render him at oncean object of dread and compassion. Again and again she cautioned Jeanieto display no tokens of recognition, but to receive him as a perfectstranger,--and again and again Jeanie renewed her promise to comply withher wishes.

  Jeanie herself could not fail to bestow an anxious thought on theawkwardness of the approaching meeting; but her conscience wasungalled--and then she was cumbered with many household cares of anunusual nature, which, joined to the anxious wish once more to seeButler, after an absence of unusual length, made her extremely desirousthat the travellers should arrive as soon as possible. And--why should Idisguise the truth?--ever and anon a thought stole across her mind thather gala dinner had now been postponed for two days; and how few of thedishes, after every art of her simple cuisine had been exerted to dressthem, 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 wassaved the trouble of farther deliberation, by the sudden appearance ofthe Captain at the head of half-a-dozen stout fellows, dressed and armedin the Highland fashion.

  "Goot-morrow morning to ye, Leddy Staunton, and I hope I hae the pleasureto see you weel--And goot-morrow to you, goot Mrs. Putler--I do peg youwill order some victuals and ale and prandy for the lads, for we hae peenout on firth and moor since afore daylight, and a' to no purposeneither--Cot tam!"

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

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

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

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

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

  "Then he must have heard it otherwise; for what else can give him sic anearnest tesire to see this rapscallion, that I maun ripe the haill mossesand muirs in the country for him, as if I were to get something forfinding 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 havebeen 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 langas he respectit the Duke's pounds--put reason goot he suld be taen, andhangit to poet, if it may pleasure ony honourable shentleman that is theDuke's friend--Sae I got the express over night, and I caused warn half ascore of pretty lads, and was up in the morning pefore the sun, and Igarr'd the lads take their kilts and short coats."

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

  "Hout, tout, ne'er fash your thumb, Mrs. Putler. The law is put twa-threeyears 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? Itmakes me sick to see them. Put ony how, I thought I kend Donacha's hauntgey and weel, and I was at the place where he had rested yestreen; for Isaw the leaves the limmers had lain on, and the ashes of them; by thesame token, there was a pit greeshoch purning yet. I am thinking they gotsome word oat o' the island what was intended--I sought every glen andclench, as if I had been deer-stalking, but teil a want of his coat-tailcould I see--Cot tam!"

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

  "Py Cot," said Duncan, "then I will stay here no longer than to trinkthis very horn of prandy and water, for it's very possible they will pein the wood. Donacha's a clever fellow, and maype thinks it pest to sitnext the chimley when the lum reeks. He thought naebody would look forhim 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 hopeto pass a pleasant evening with your leddyship; and I hope to have minerevenges 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 speedyreturn (of the sincerity whereof Mrs. Butler entertained no doubt, solong as her best greybeard of brandy was upon duty), Duncan left theManse, collected his followers, and began to scour the close andentangled 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 andcourage, took the opportunity of escaping, to attend the investigationsof that great man.