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 THE LIBRARY 
 
 OF 
 
 THE UNIVERSITY 
 
 OF CALIFORNIA 
 
 RIVERSIDE
 
 THE NEW BORDER TALES
 
 'THL MAZES OK SOME MYSTIC AND INTKICATE MEASLKK, 
 
 AVu' Bcrdtr Tnies.\
 
 THE NEW 
 BORDER TALES 
 
 SIR GEORGE ' DOUGLAS, BART., 
 
 THE WALTER SCOTT PUBLISHING CO., LTD. 
 
 LONDON AND NEWCASTLE-ON-TYNE. 
 
 NEW YORK: 3 EAST I4TH STREET.
 
 TMhl5 
 
 T.'IB WALTER SCOTT PUBLISHING CO., LTD., NEWCASTLE-ON-TVMP;. 
 
 12-04
 
 Several of the subjects of these stories are tradi- 
 tional. A passage in The Brither Stanes will be 
 recognised as a prose transcript from one of the old 
 ballads.
 
 CONTENTS 
 
 -*•*- 
 
 THE CHIEF MOURNER . ... I 
 
 AN EXODUS FROM RAT HALL . . 37 
 
 THE BRITHER STANES . . . .48 
 
 JOHN BUNGLE . . . - 75 
 
 A DARK PAGE FROM A FAMILY HISTORY . 86 
 
 THE POT OF GOLD .... lOI 
 
 THE NABOB . . . . .120 
 
 WILL WINTER AND ROB SCOTT . . 1 37 
 
 THE RESURRECTIONISTS . . '154 
 
 THE BROKEN TRYST . . . 1 75 
 
 A MATCH NOT MADE IN HEAVEN . .194 
 
 A DEATH-BED VIGIL , , . 264
 
 THE NEW BORDER TALES. 
 
 THE CHIEF MOURNER. 
 
 At a late hour of the night, two friends sat 
 together over a dying fire. 
 
 " I have given you my experience of the 
 supernatural," said the first ; " now, let me have 
 yours," 
 
 The other shook his head. 
 
 " I have none to give." And, after a pause, 
 he continued, "You forget, S., that I am the 
 child of a scientific age. For me, belief has one 
 basis, and one alone — the evidence of the senses. 
 I believe in what I can see, touch, hear ; and 
 anything else in which I am to believe must 
 be deduced from this by a process of reasoning 
 which I can test or check. Now, I have never 
 seen a ghost ; ergo I don't believe in ghosts." 
 
 " And you discredit the evidence of those who 
 say they have ? " 
 
 I
 
 2 THE NEW BORDER TALES. 
 
 " Not in the sense you mean — I should be 
 extremely sorry to doubt the word of a friend; and 
 more than one of my friends have, like yourself, 
 at least seen something of a ghostly nature. 
 But, tho' my friends don't tell fibs, I think it is 
 quite possible that they may make mistakes — 
 that they may imagine a ghost where in reality 
 ghost is none. And my conclusion is that all 
 ghosts which are not the creations of simple 
 fiction, exaggeration, or inaccuracy, may be 
 explained by one out of three kinds of causes. 
 These causes are : first, natural phenomena — 
 such as shadows, a patch of white light, an acci- 
 dental fantastic arrangement of light and shade ; 
 secondly, the morbid symptoms of brain- or 
 nerve-sickness — hallucinations, delusions, and 
 the like ; and, thirdly, coincidences — those extra- 
 ordinary concatenations of circumstance which 
 have given rise to the proverb that truth is 
 stranger than fiction : these things, I say, plus 
 a mistaken attribution of the relation of cause 
 and effect." 
 
 " Ah ! — well, at the present moment, my dear 
 D., I could wish that you had not been the ' child 
 of a scientific age.' However, though you have 
 yourself had no personal experience of the 
 supernatural, and don't believe in it, are there 
 no ghost-stories connected with your house? 
 One would think that there ought to be." 
 
 " There is one such story ; and, to tell you the
 
 THE CHIEF MOURNER. 3 
 
 truth, it is one which I have hitherto taken some 
 trouble to keep from becoming public property. 
 For, notwithstanding that the age in which we 
 live is scientific, thought has not yet "come down 
 among the crowd." In other words, the light 
 shed by science has not yet penetrated to the 
 world below stairs. And were my story to 
 become known in the house, it might give rise 
 to trouble among the maid-servants." 
 
 " Delightful ! To think that you have such a 
 story and never yet have mentioned it to me ! 
 Pray let me hear it at once." 
 
 " If you wish it, certainly. My story, then, let 
 me premise, is one which is concerned with what, 
 in the jargon of the ghost-seeing world, is called, 
 I believe, specifically, a warning." 
 
 " An excellent variety of the ghost-story ! " 
 
 " Well, my authority for what I am going to 
 tell you is my aunt, Miss Caroline D., whom you 
 have met. She, as you know, is in a way of her 
 own a sort of antiquarian. Old customs, old 
 stories, old-world odds and ends of every kind — 
 all such worn-out waifs are her delight. But her 
 speciality is old family history, and in particular 
 the history of our own family. Well, these fads, 
 as you must know, are no recent development in 
 her character, but have characterised her from 
 girlhood ; at which period of her life she used, I 
 believe, to find great pleasure in the society of a 
 certain Mr. Dalziel, a Writer to the Signet, who
 
 4 THE NEW BORDER TALES. 
 
 had been our family lawyer, who was at that 
 time an old man and able to gratify her appetite 
 for gossip about the dead and gone. The narra- 
 tive which I am about to relate she received from 
 this Dalziel's lips and communicated to me. 
 Dalziel was an actor in the events described ; so 
 that you see that the story now comes to your- 
 self only (so to put it) at third-hand. Dalziel 
 was assuredly no romancer ; my aunt Caroline, 
 though by no means without her foibles, has, I 
 verily believe, too much respect for the past to 
 seek to colour history; and, as for myself, a 
 scientific training, whatever may be its draw- 
 backs, has certainly, as I think you will allow, 
 the advantage of cultivating accuracy. So that 
 I think you may reckon upon hearing what took 
 place described, without loss or addition, pretty 
 much as it occurred. 
 
 "My great-grandfather. Sir George D. — for 
 reasons into which I need not enter — lived for 
 many years with his family on the Continent, 
 and during their absence this house was kept 
 shut up. At length, however, he found himself 
 at liberty to return and take up his abode here; 
 which, accompanied by his wife and an only 
 daughter, he proceeded to do. Sir George may 
 be supposed to have been very glad to be at 
 home again ; and by way of celebrating his 
 return, he invited a small party of friends and 
 relations, whom he had not seen for some time,
 
 THE CHIEF MOURNER- S 
 
 to meet him at Silverwood, to spend a few days 
 in renewing acquaintance, and in enjoying those 
 natural beauties of the place which had remained 
 so long unadmired. Among the guests thus 
 assembled were the afore-mentioned Mr. Dalziel 
 — then a youngish man, occupying a subordinate 
 position — who was in attendance to transact 
 business and supply information, and a certain 
 maiden lady, a 'Scotch cousin' of the family, 
 whose whalebone constitution, ready tongue, and 
 caustic raillery, together with an inexhaustible 
 fund of stories, which were alternately broadly 
 humorous and terrifying, made her, notwith- 
 standing advanced age and broken fortunes, still 
 a notable person in the Scotch society of her 
 day. (It will interest you, as a literary man, 
 to know that she is one of the old ladies referred 
 to, though her name is not given, in the late 
 Dean Ramsay's well-known book of old Scotch 
 traits and stories.) Sir George, as I have been 
 told, was always very kind to this old lady, and 
 showed her great attention — partly, no doubt, 
 because she was a poor relation, but also because 
 he really liked her. But there were plenty of 
 other people, who — being of less kindly nature, 
 or, perhaps, because, having been trained in a 
 more modern school, they were unable to 
 appreciate her — laughed at the old woman 
 (behind her back, as you may be very sure) and 
 thought her a nuisance. Her name was Miss
 
 6 THE NEW BORDER TALES. . 
 
 Euphame Pirie, and my great-grandfather always 
 spoke of her and addressed her as his 'Aunt 
 Euphame/ though she did not in reality stand 
 in that relationship to him. Besides the above, 
 the party numbered some four or five others, 
 whose names will either be mentioned later on, 
 or need not be mentioned at all. 
 
 " Sir George, as I have already indicated, was 
 in high spirits at finding himself at home once 
 more, with the prospect of remaining there. He 
 was a born country-gentleman, with two tastes 
 — sport and the management of an estate — which, 
 poor man, he was fated not to gratify. Lady D. 
 did not share his elation. From all I have ever 
 heard of my great-grandmother, I should judge 
 her to have been an elegant woman, of no great 
 depth of character. Certainly she preferred the 
 polished society and the round of amusements 
 of a foreign city to life in a Scotch country 
 house. The state of mind, again, of Miss D. — 
 or Johnina, as she had been christened in compli- 
 ment to Lord John S., an old friend and kinsman 
 of her father's — partook both of Sir George's 
 elation and of her mother's enmii. In her arti- 
 ficial tastes, which had been fostered by a Parisian 
 education, in the shallowness of her nature, 
 evinced by her love of pleasure, change, and of 
 society, I judge her to have been her mother's 
 daughter — and, as such, more fitted for a town 
 life than for the country. On the other hand,
 
 THE CHIEF MOURNER. 7 
 
 she was a mere girl — not more than seventeen 
 years old — and novelty itself was a source of the 
 keenest pleasure to her. You have seen Johnina's 
 portrait, painted in miniature by Cosway. It is 
 the finest in my collection. In her rose-leaf 
 complexion, her large and swimming eyes of 
 sky-blue, in the ethereal nature and the tremb- 
 ling sensibility expressed in her countenance, 
 that great artist found a subject worthy of his 
 exquisite skill. And I remember that, long ago, 
 when I used to read of ' sylph-like forms,' in old- 
 fashioned novels, I always thought of this portrait 
 of Johnina. But I think it must have been a little 
 idealised. I don't wish to judge the girl harshly; 
 but I gather from the story which I am about to 
 tell you (which, indeed, embodies all that I know 
 concerning her), that, if there was something of 
 the angel in Johnina's appearance, there was 
 something of the elf in her disposition. A very 
 small example may serve to illustrate what 
 I mean. She spent the first morning after 
 her return home — which was also (had she but 
 known it) the most important in her life — as was 
 natural enough, in eager exploration of the house 
 and its precincts. She had left Silverwood at an 
 early age; yet some recollections, however slight, 
 of days of infancy passed there must still have 
 lingered in her mind. With most of us such 
 recollections are apt to be regarded as precious 
 spiritual possessions, sanctifying and endearing,
 
 8 THE NEW BORDER TALES. 
 
 though it were mean and homely, the abode 
 about which they cling. But with Miss D. it 
 was otherwise. I will not take it upon me to 
 say that she lacked heart or reverence altogether; 
 all I know is that her first criticisms upon this 
 old house are said to have been liberal and tren- 
 chant, whilst she derived a good deal of food for 
 mirth from 'quizzing' its furniture and other con- 
 tents. I have also been informed that, on the 
 very evening of their arrival, she and her mother 
 set their brains to work to design sweeping altera- 
 tions — or, as they called them, improvements — 
 to be carried out here. So sweeping, indeed, 
 were the changes proposed, that, had there been 
 a presiding genius or household-spirit in the 
 place, the very mention of them might have been 
 enough to rouse him from his dusky lair and 
 from his age-long lethargy, to make one final 
 appearance, like Barbarossa, long after his date 
 was closed, and so, by a monstrous interference 
 with the course of nature, emphatically protest 
 against, or forbid, the purposed desecration. 
 However, for reasons which you will presently 
 understand, the proposed alterations were not 
 carried out. 
 
 " Among the assembled guests there is still 
 one who remains to be specified. He was a 
 young gentleman of the neighbourhood, Beau- 
 mont by name. Whilst completing his education 
 in the approved manner of the day, by perform-
 
 THE CHIEF MOURNER. 9 
 
 ing the 'grand tour,' he had spent some time 
 with the D.'s upon the Continent, with the result 
 that he was now a suitor for Johnina's hand. 
 His family was a good one; he was his own 
 master, and the owner of a considerable landed 
 estate ; and he further bore the character of 
 being an amiable and sensible young fellow, and 
 was sincerely attached to Miss D. Sir George 
 liked him, and would have sanctioned an en- 
 gagement ; and even her ladyship, generally so 
 indifferent and hard to please, had expressed 
 herself favourably towards him. But Miss 
 Johnina, the principal party concerned, was 
 more difficult to come to terms with. Flighty, 
 mercurial, of a strangely nervous temperament, 
 never knowing her own mind, or knowing 
 it but to change it, Miss D. united the attri- 
 butes of the spoiled and precocious child with 
 those of the ideal mistress. The result was 
 that, to all appearance, she played fast and 
 loose with her lover, keeping him dangling at 
 her heels whilst she occasionally encouraged 
 other admirers, and no one in the world could 
 say whether she intended finally to accept him 
 or not. Beaumont's steadiness and staying- 
 power were, however, greatly in his favour, and 
 at the time of which I speak it seemed not im- 
 probable that he might gain the day. As 
 regards Johnina, in all probability the surest 
 method for precipitating matters would have
 
 lO THE NEW BORDER TALES. 
 
 been to set strong, and, if possible, authoritative, 
 persuasions to work in the direction which was 
 not desired. But Sir George and his wife habit- 
 ually indulged their daughter, allowing her to 
 have her own way in all matters where her own 
 interest was concerned, so that she felt that she 
 was free to act in this matter entirely as she chose. 
 
 " Well, on the day following the return of 
 the family, the party assembled in the dining- 
 room about noon, to partake of dejeuner d la 
 fourchette. It did not suit my great-grand- 
 mother to put in an appearance very early in the 
 day, and she had determined to keep to Conti- 
 nental hours at Silverwood. Sir George — he 
 must have been rather a fine old fellow, to judge 
 from Raeburn's portrait of him — seated at the 
 head of his table once more, a king in his castle, 
 was extolling, as I have been told, the glories of 
 a country gentleman's life. (He had not as yet 
 enjoyed them for full four-and-twenty hours, so 
 that I, his degenerate descendant, born into an 
 age of bad times, reduced rents, and dissatisfied 
 tenantry, can at this distance of time forgive 
 him.) 
 
 " ' Why, I had rather any day be the Duke of 
 B. than one of your petty German princes or 
 potentates ! The Duke's income is larger than 
 their revenue; his estate is as large as their 
 principality. His power, in all that makes 
 power worth having, is as great as theirs ; and
 
 THE CHIEF MOURNER. II 
 
 he is not plagued with the intolerable tedium of 
 a Court and perpetual etiquette.' 
 
 " Dalziel, the person addressed, confined him- 
 self to politely murmuring assent. If accounts 
 may be trusted, he appears to have been an 
 ideal man of business — that is, in all matters 
 where business was not concerned, an entirely 
 characterless person. As he has been described 
 to me, his every word, opinion, act, had the 
 colourlessness of absolute propriety. Imagine a 
 man who should never surprise, never shock, 
 never even disappoint ! 
 
 "Miss Euphame now inquired how Johnina 
 came to be absent. 
 
 " ' She is late, I suppose,' murmured Lady D. 
 ' In fact, it is seldom she is otherwise.' 
 
 " ' You ought not to allow her to be late. In 
 my young days, if one of us came late to a meal 
 she went without it. But it is true that in those 
 days the old heads governed the young. Now, 
 it seems to be the other way about.' 
 
 " It was summer-time. The day was warm 
 and bright, and a somewhat extended expedi- 
 tion, to visit the grounds, had been planned for 
 the afternoon. This would make a punctual 
 start desirable ; so that, as the moments passed 
 and still Johnina did not appear, her father rose 
 from his seat to go and look for her. 
 
 "'Allow me to go,' said Beaumont, rising 
 also.
 
 12 THE NEW BORDER TALES. 
 
 " But at this moment an incident occurred 
 which violently turned the current of their 
 thoughts: — that most dreadful of all sounds, the 
 shriek of a human creature in ghastly terror or 
 in deadly pain, rang through the house and tore 
 their ears. It came from one of the upper 
 floors, but it so happened that doors had been 
 left open to remove a smell of paint, and thus it 
 pealed out clear and awful as if uttered close at 
 hand. Of course the voice was not recognis- 
 able; but old Mr. Dalziel, when he used to tell 
 my aunt the story, always laid particular stress 
 on the singularly terrifying quality of the cry. 
 
 " With one accord all started to their feet, 
 and in less than a moment every man had 
 rushed from the room and was flying up the 
 stairs in the direction whence the sound pro- 
 ceeded. Dalziel, who had been seated nearest 
 to the door, came first, and when he reached the 
 angle of the staircase, there upon the landing 
 in front of him, looking as if a breath would 
 blow her away, stood the frail figure of Johnina. 
 She was clothed in white muslin, on account of 
 the heat; but, as Dalziel always declared, her 
 dress, when he first caught sight of her, was not 
 whiter than her countenance, and she was 
 shaking like an aspen leaf 
 
 "'Miss Johnina!' exclaimed the breathless 
 lawyer, * Great heavens ! what has happened ? ' 
 
 " But, to the astonishment, and, as I need not
 
 THE CHIEF MOURNER. I3 
 
 add, to the great relief of everybody, by one 
 of the instantaneous transitions which were such 
 a perplexing feature in her temperament, Johnina 
 was now discovered to be laughing. So swift, 
 indeed, was the change, that Dalziel alone, as he 
 averred, was a witness of the terror of the one 
 moment — those who were a step or two behind 
 him on the stairs seeing only the merriment 
 of the next 
 
 "And now, indeed. Miss Johnina seemed 
 almost as much overcome by the one emotion 
 as it had been feared that she had before been 
 by the other. Pressing one hand upon her side, 
 she leaned back against the door-jamb in a fit 
 of uncontrollable mirth. 
 
 " ' Oh dear, oh dear ! ' she exclaimed, when at 
 last she was able to speak, ' I protest that I shall 
 die of laughing ! ' 
 
 " This was strange. Was the girl's behaviour 
 genuine ? was the question which Dalziel asked 
 himself; or was she — ashamed of her former 
 passion of fear, and afraid of being laughed at 
 (about which she was indeed always particularly 
 sensitive) — now trying to pass off something as 
 a joke which had indeed been deadly earnest ? 
 Inexperienced in the young lady's April nature, 
 the lawyer was perplexed. 
 
 *' The party now returned to the dining-room ; 
 and Johnina, being interrogated as to the cause 
 of her alarming cry, revealed what follows. — In
 
 14 THE NEW BORDER TALES. 
 
 the hope of lighting upon something pretty and 
 to her taste, she had been occupied in ransacking 
 a long-closed cupboard in a remote attic of the 
 house, of the key of which she had somehow 
 managed to possess herself She had heard the 
 lunch -bell ring; but, led on from treasure 
 to treasure, had disregarded its summons. At 
 last the recollection of the afternoon's ex- 
 pedition had darted through her giddy head; 
 and, ever ready to leave the present for the 
 future pleasure, she had started up to come 
 downstairs. But, as she rose from her kneeling 
 posture in front of the engrossing cupboard, she 
 had suddenly become aware of the disquieting 
 fact that she was not alone. And the nature 
 and garb of the intruder were not such as to 
 inspire confidence. The figure of an elderly 
 man of austere aspect, dressed in the intensely 
 funereal garb affected by a Scotchman of the 
 middle class when he attends a funeral, was 
 standing in the half-light just outside the attic 
 doorway, his eyes being fixed upon her. Amazed 
 at finding herself not only not alone (as she had 
 fully believed herself to be), but attended, or, as 
 it seemed, watched, by a companion at once so 
 startling and so mournful, so forbidding, un- 
 gainly, and extravagant, in the first moment 
 of her surprise, Johnina had screamed aloud. 
 Whereupon the mourner seemed to have glided 
 silently through one of the open doors, and so
 
 THE CHIEF MOURNER. 1$ 
 
 been lost to view ; whilst the young girl had 
 fled like the wind toward the more frequented 
 parts of the house, reaching the landing where 
 she had been discovered from above at the same 
 moment as her friends had reached it from 
 below. 
 
 " Her momentary alarm seemed now, how- 
 ever, to have entirely passed away ; and, indeed, 
 the above statement was not made without 
 several brief relapses into a somewhat hysterical 
 laughter, and when it was concluded, Miss D. 
 laughed long and loud. 
 
 " 'A Scotchman bent upon enjoying himself — 
 ha, ha! That is what I saw. And as I had 
 never seen one before, only heard him de- 
 scribed, no wonder that it alarmed me.' 
 
 "(I must observe that Lady D. and her 
 daughter had returned from their long residence 
 abroad primed with many gibes and sneers 
 against Scotchmen, whom they chose to repre- 
 sent as a nation who divided their time between 
 listening to interminable sermons and getting 
 drunk on whisky, only snatching an interval of 
 repose and relaxation on those congenial occa- 
 sions when they buried a relation or a friend.) 
 
 " * Such a quizzical figure ! ' continued the 
 young lady, ^ Mais je vous assure . . . fagoU 
 jusqu! aux yeux — black frock, black breeches, 
 black gloves, white bands, and the most ample 
 "weepers." He must certainly have been the
 
 l6 THE NEW BORDER TALES. 
 
 Chief Mourner, whoever he was. Quel pays 
 ridicule ! I vow that I shall die of laughing ! ' 
 
 " ' Is one of the servants attending a funeral 
 to-day ? ' enquired her father of the butler. 
 
 " ' Not that I know of, Sir George.' 
 
 "Johnina had flung herself forward over the 
 table in a new paroxysm of laughter. Was 
 there not something factitious in this excess of 
 mirth provoked by such a cause? Was there 
 not, at least, a suspicion that the young girl was 
 in a condition of over-excitement, and that she 
 was straining to laugh away the recollection of 
 some unpleasant impression which she had 
 received ? 
 
 " During all this time Miss Euphame had 
 not spoken. But an observer might have 
 noticed that her countenance was strangely 
 altered, and that as Johnina persisted in the 
 indulgence of her foolish hilarity, a dark cloud 
 was fast gathering on the old woman's brow. 
 But attention being centred elsewhere, she had 
 been for the moment unobserved ; and when at 
 last she spoke, her discordant tones — like those 
 of a raven croaking ill-omen — produced an 
 effect upon her audience, which was different, 
 indeed, in character, but far less so in degree, 
 from that which had been produced by the 
 appalling sound of a few minutes before. 
 
 " ' Have ye neither sense nor mense, woman,' 
 she cried aloud, relapsing, under the influence of
 
 THE CHIEF MOURNER. 17 
 
 strong emotion, into a Doric yet more guttural 
 than her habitual medium of expression — 'Have 
 ye neither sense nor mense, to demean yersel' 
 that gait — for a' the warld like some puir 
 dementit haverel ? Bairn, let me tell ye that ye 
 are nae better than a French fule, without heart's 
 compassion for his fellow-man, nor respect for 
 that which is abune man's comprehension ! ' 
 
 " Miss Euphame's tones were those of right- 
 eously indignant reproach. Her deep eyes 
 lightened, her strongly-marked features were 
 transformed, and she wore, as she spoke, the 
 aspect of a denouncing sibyl or prophetess. An 
 awkward silence fell upon the company; for 
 even the most light-minded person present 
 (much as he might wish to do it) could scarcely 
 in sincerity refer those deep tones of conviction 
 to a mere freak of senile irritability. Johnina 
 was wholly unaccustomed to be spoken to 
 roughly, and her eyes in spite of her filled with 
 tears, which her pride struggled vainly to 
 conceal. At the same time it was quite plain 
 that the feeling which had brought them there 
 was no amiable compunction at having thought- 
 lessly given offence, but a naughty resentment 
 against her harsh reprover. She turned to her 
 next neighbour, a young gentleman named 
 Pringle, and in a voice which was by no means 
 inaudible, though a little shaken by her sobs, 
 pronounced the words :
 
 1 8 THE NEW BORDER TALES. 
 
 " ' Old cat ! ' 
 
 " Pringle with difficulty stifled his amusement; 
 but fortunately it seemed that Miss Euphame's 
 sense of hearing, dulled by age, had not allowed 
 her to catch the words. She had withdrawn into 
 herself once more, and now wore an air of pro- 
 found and melancholy abstraction, to all appear- 
 ance dead to what was taking place around her. 
 
 " The expediency of bringing the meal to as 
 early a termination as possible was apparent to 
 every one. Further supplies were declined, and 
 in a few minutes Lady D. pushed back her chair 
 and, followed by the other ladies, rose to leave 
 the room. 
 
 "As they passed out at the door. Miss 
 Euphame laid her hand on Johnina's waist, and 
 employing a far softer voice than before, mur- 
 mured not unkindly in her ear : 
 
 " ' Learn wisdom, learn wisdom, my dear ! 
 You have need of it, and your time may be 
 short enough.' 
 
 " But either Miss D. had not yet forgiven her 
 kinswoman's previous harshness, or else she did 
 not relish the wrath -to- come character of the 
 present good advice. She hastily shook off the 
 old lady's arm, and moved huffily away, just like 
 the spoiled child she was. 
 
 " After lingering behind for a few minutes, the 
 men joined the ladies, and on Sir George's in- 
 stigation various details of the plans for the
 
 THE CHIEF MOURNER. 19 
 
 afternoon began to be debated. No great eager- 
 ness to set out was at first displayed ; and, in 
 fact, it was discovered that there were to be 
 several seceders from the party. Lady D. 
 excused herself upon the score of fatigue after 
 her journey. Miss Euphame had disappeared, 
 having withdrawn to her own room, whence she 
 presently sent a message desiring that Sir George 
 would speak with her. The baronet went away, 
 promising to return immediately ; but minute 
 followed minute, and still he did not reappear. 
 The party grew tired of waiting; conversation 
 languished ; and an atmosphere of fatigue and 
 depression began to weigh upon the little circle. 
 Any one among them would have given a hand- 
 some sum to have seen the proposed pleasure- 
 party abandoned, and to have been left to spend 
 the afternoon according to his own devices ; but 
 they were visitors in a friend's house, and politeness 
 hindered any one from taking the initiative with 
 a proposal to that effect. Only Beaumont good- 
 naturedly exerted himself to make the best of 
 things ; and, to revive the flagging interest of 
 the party, proposed to take them on the water. 
 Johnina jumped at the idea, and the company 
 in general approved ; but at this moment Sir 
 George at length returned from his interview 
 with Miss Euphame, and after apologising for 
 having kept them waiting, somewhat curtly 
 vetoed the proposal.
 
 20 THE NEW BORDER TALES. 
 
 "Of course Johnina protested vehemently. 
 However, it was to no purpose ; for she merely 
 succeeded in eliciting from her father the in- 
 formation that he had given an undertaking to 
 his old aunt (as he called her) that none of the 
 party should go upon the water that day. 
 
 " * The old lady is nervous and fanciful,' he 
 explained, with some degree of preoccupation in 
 his manner. ' She has taken some fancy as to 
 the danger of boating into her head, and nothing 
 would satisfy her but that I should give her 
 my word that none of us would attempt it to- 
 day. As she made such a point of it, I thought 
 it best to humour her ; but I have also ascer- 
 tained from the gardener that the Teviot is in 
 half-flood, after yesterday's thunder-showers, so 
 that in any case it would not have been prudent 
 for us to have ventured upon it' 
 
 ** After this, of course no objection was raised 
 by the visitors, though Miss Johnina still con- 
 tinued to murmur at having been baulked of her 
 water-party. In the present state of the weather, 
 as she maintained, there was no form of pleasure 
 at all comparable to boating, — walking, riding, 
 and driving, being each of them one more un- 
 endurable than the rest. It was inexpressibly 
 stupid of Sir George to have bound himself by 
 any undertaking to Miss Euphame, whose sole 
 object, since she could not be happy herself, was 
 to prevent others being so. Finally, she (Johnina)
 
 THE CHIEF MOURNER. 21 
 
 did not believe that the river was so much 
 flooded as to make boating upon it in any degree 
 unsafe or impracticable. 
 
 " It must be confessed that nobody paid much 
 heed to the young lady's complaints and lament- 
 ations. Even the devoted Beaumont knew her 
 ways too well for that; and, besides, he was of 
 too sensible and sterling a character to seek to 
 gain her favour by flattering her weaknesses. At 
 last, it having been decided that walking was to 
 be the method of their transit, the party began 
 to move off. 
 
 "Now it happened that among those who 
 remained behind was Mr. Dalziel. He was a 
 bachelor, and not very fond of society. Per- 
 haps he did not feel inclined for so long a 
 walk as that proposed ; perhaps he did not 
 consider that his company was required. In any 
 case, having now retired to his bedroom, he drew 
 forth some documents from a private receptacle, 
 and determined to enjoy his afternoon in his 
 own way by devoting it to the accomplishment 
 of some dry, legal task. When his work was 
 done, as he said to himself, he would sally forth 
 in the cool of the evening, with a satisfied 
 conscience, and perhaps fall in with the walking- 
 party on their way home. 
 
 " I have said that it was summer. The temper- 
 ature was high, and the air, which had been 
 only partially relieved by the storm of the day
 
 22 THE NEW BORDER TALES. 
 
 before, oppressive. It seemed that there would 
 be more thunder to come. When Dalziel had 
 sat for some time over his papers, he felt so 
 drowsy that he determined to lie down for half- 
 an-hour. Accordingly he drew down the blind, 
 leaving the casement open, divested himself of 
 his coat and boots, and lay down on the bed. (I 
 may here point out that this part of the narrative, 
 which is concerned with his own particular 
 experience, was always, as might be expected, 
 the most circumstantial.) 
 
 " In a few moments he was asleep. How long 
 he slept he could not tell — it may have been an 
 hour, it may have been only a few minutes ; 
 neither was he able to say whether his waking 
 was natural or the result of some artificial cause. 
 But, almost immediately after his senses had 
 returned to him, and whilst his eyes were still 
 closed, a startling incident occurred. Within a 
 short distance of his ear, he distinctly heard a 
 voice, which was unknown to him, repeat the 
 following three sentences from the Liturgy of 
 the Church of England : 
 
 " ' Lord, have mercy upon us. 
 
 " ' Clirist, have mercy up07i us. 
 
 " ' Lord, have mercy upon tis! 
 
 " The accents were those of the deepest tribu- 
 lation, of an almost agonised supplication. When 
 questioned in after years as to whether he were 
 sure that he was not dreaming, he invariably
 
 THE CHIEF MOURNER. 2$ 
 
 replied that he was ready to make oath in a court 
 of justice that he had been awake some moments 
 at the time when the voice was heard, and, further, 
 that the said voice was actual, and no mere 
 creation of his somnolent fancy. 
 
 " For the first moment his blood was curdled ; 
 but, quickly recovering himself, he started up 
 from the bed, more puzzled than alarmed, and 
 began to look about him. He was alone in the 
 room. He opened the door and looked out — the 
 passage was deserted. He glanced from the 
 window — there was no person in sight Could 
 the sound have come from some adjoining room ? 
 Impossible — the walls at Silverwood, as he knew, 
 were too thick. Besides, was there any one in 
 the house who would be likely to put up such a 
 prayer, in such tones, at such an hour ? Deeply 
 impressed, and much perplexed, he lay down 
 once more to collect his thoughts. 
 
 " Strange as it may appear, he had not been 
 reclining long when he again fell asleep. His 
 second period of repose lasted probably consider- 
 ably longer than the first, but was attended by no 
 remarkable occurrence. At last, as he lay in an 
 uneasy doze, he experienced a dim and confused 
 sense of hearing men running and shouting on 
 the banks of the river, — which (as you know) flows 
 not far from the house. Then he awoke to full 
 consciousness. It was late in the afternoon. The 
 sweet summer air, grown somewhat fresher with
 
 24 THE NEW BORDER TALES. 
 
 the decline of day, gently lifted and let fall the 
 window-blind, and the shadow of the house had 
 begun to stretch far out upon the turf of the lawn 
 below. Oppressed by a vague sense of impend- 
 ing misfortune, which he vainly sought to reason 
 down, Dalziel arose and made his way down- 
 stairs. In the hall he was met by Lady D. 
 
 " ' Mr. Dalziel,' she exclaimed, in tones of 
 stronger emotion than any which the lawyer had 
 heard her employ before, 'have you seen any- 
 thing of the rest of the party? They should 
 have been at home for tea more than an hour 
 ago. I am afraid that something must have 
 happened ! ' 
 
 " Dalziel, surprised to see her ladyship so 
 much perturbed by what was apparently so 
 slight a cause, endeavoured to reassure her, and 
 spoke in tones of cheerfulness and security 
 which in his heart (he knew not why) he was 
 far from feeling. 
 
 " ' Depend upon it, my lady, the beauty of the 
 day has tempted them, tempted them and led 
 them astray, so that they have prolonged their 
 walk beyond what was at first proposed.' 
 
 " But at that very moment, as if to give the 
 lie direct to his words, the sky became overcast 
 — darkening the hall, which was lighted by a 
 skylight — and the low mutter of distant, long- 
 expected thunder at last made itself heard. 
 
 " Her ladyship glanced upward toward the
 
 THE CHIEF MOURNER. 2$ 
 
 threatening heaven. 'You must go and meet 
 them at once, Dalziel. And pray carry a cloak 
 with you — Johnina takes cold easily, and is 
 unaccustomed to this treacherous climate.' 
 
 "When the lawyer left the house, the sky 
 overhead was overcast by a heavy cloud, beyond 
 the margin of which the beams of the sun still 
 penetrated with what seemed a preternatural 
 brightness. As he proceeded, the first few 
 swollen drops of the approaching rain-storm 
 fell. 
 
 " Taking his way through the shrubberies, he 
 made in the direction of the river. All of a 
 sudden the wind, which had lain still all day, 
 got up, and moaned, and lifted the leafage. It 
 began to grow dark, as though the twilight hour 
 were anticipated. Then, at the end of one of 
 the walks before him, Dalziel caught sight of a 
 figure flying fast in his direction. It was Sir 
 George, hatless, his grey elf-locks streaming in 
 the air. Without pausing in his swift career, he 
 passed close to the lawyer, with never a word or 
 sign of recognition. This was most unlike his 
 ordinary behaviour. ' I suppose he must be 
 hastening in to escape the rain,' surmised the 
 disingenuous Dalziel. 
 
 " He knew then, in his heart, that it was not 
 so; and a few moments more revealed the 
 nature of the catastrophe which had occurred. 
 Turning an angle in the walk which he was
 
 26 THE NEW BORDER TALES. 
 
 following, he came full in view of that which 
 soon told him the worst. A singular procession 
 was advancing, at a melancholy pace, to meet 
 him. At the head of it, uncovered, his head 
 bowed, his hands clasped before him, in an 
 attitude of despair, walked Beaumont — than 
 whom, but an hour before, none had borne 
 himself more erect Next came two of the 
 gardeners, who bore between them one of those 
 hand-barrows which are used in gardens for 
 transporting pot-plants. The wood of this 
 barrow was stained with moisture, and upon 
 it lay what seemed at first sight to be a heap 
 of white drapery — like clothes carried from a 
 bleaching-green or laundry — from among the 
 folds of which ran and dripped water. Behind, 
 with a strange, awe-struck, reverent air, came — 
 slowly, notwithstanding the on-coming storm — 
 young Pringle and two or three others. When 
 Dalziel saw this his heart sank; but his bewil- 
 dered brain did not at once take in the situation. 
 
 " ' Mr. Beaumont,' he cried, hurrying forward, 
 ' what has happened ? ' 
 
 " Beaumont lifted a face which the lawyer 
 scarcely recognised, so strangely and sadly was 
 it altered. At the same moment the truth 
 flashed across him, and glancing hastily at the 
 barrow, he now too surely discerned in the mass 
 of drenched draperies the lifeless form of the 
 hapless Johnina.
 
 THE CHIEF MOURNER. 27 
 
 " ' How did it happen ? ' 
 
 " ' God knows ! Will you go forward, Mr. 
 Dalziel, and assist Sir George to prepare her 
 poor mother ? I am not equal to the task.' 
 
 " The lawyer did as he was requested. But 
 first he gently covered with the cloak which he 
 had brought with him for her use the cold limbs 
 and pale, still lineaments which were all that 
 now remained of the unfortunate Miss D. 
 
 " The circumstances of her death, at first 
 unknown to her friends, were in time brought to 
 light, and were as follows. It may be remem- 
 bered that, at setting out from the house, 
 Johnina had been in a somewhat pettish temper 
 — the result of her disappointment in the 
 matter of the water-party. In immediate 
 attendance upon her, as she walked, were 
 Pringle and Beaumont. At first she had 
 addressed herself to the task of persuading the 
 young men to disregard her father's expressed 
 wishes, and had brought all her feminine 
 artillery of wiles, blandishments, and affected 
 displeasure to bear upon them with this object. 
 But the men had stood their ground — Beaumont 
 being a young fellow of a very upright and 
 single-minded disposition, besides knowing well 
 with whom he had to deal, and Pringle being 
 guided by his example. It was an unfortunate 
 circumstance, however, that the former allowed
 
 28 THE NEW BORDER TALES. 
 
 himself to be entrapped into an admission that, 
 apart from Sir George's injunction, he saw no 
 reason (arising from the state of the river) why 
 they should not venture upon it. Seeing that 
 she was not to have her way, Johnina at last 
 desisted from her importunities, and abruptly 
 directed her efforts toward the entertainment of 
 her companions by her conversation, in which 
 she succeeded to admiration. All at once, how- 
 ever, she began to bewail an oversight by which 
 she had com.e away from the house leaving a 
 certain vinaigrette, which was indispensable, 
 behind her. The willing Beaumont at once 
 offered to return and fetch it — which, after some 
 feigned reluctance, Miss D. permitted him to do. 
 But no sooner was his back turned, than she 
 once more began to assail Pringle with entreaties 
 that he would give her an outing on the river. 
 But Pringle, even when deprived of Beaumont's 
 support, showed himself proof against all the 
 ruses of her coquetry; and, after a time, the 
 young couple walked onward again in silence. 
 Presently they came to a place where the path 
 divided — to re-unite, as they knew, at some 
 distance further on. There the volatile Johnina 
 proposed a race to the point of junction, Pringle 
 being to take one of the branch paths, and she 
 the other. The young man accordingly set off; 
 but not so his companion. It was a character- 
 istic of poor Miss D. that the considerable
 
 THE CHIEF MOURNER. 29 
 
 degree of persistency with which she was 
 endowed was excited always, and alone, by 
 opposition. She was determined not to be 
 baffled now. No sooner, therefore, was Pringle 
 out of sight, than, instead of advancing in the 
 direction which he had taken, she must, it 
 seemed, have retraced her steps, making for the 
 spot on the river-bank where the boat was 
 moored. Here she again came under observa- 
 tion. An old man tending cattle among the 
 ruins of Roxburgh Castle, on the other side, 
 was the witness. He saw her bend for some 
 moments over the moorings, and finally enter 
 the boat. Fearing for her safety in the 
 flooded state of the river, he shouted to warn 
 her. She must have heard him, for she waved 
 her little hand, no doubt in provocation, and 
 then proceeded to cast loose. The river, as has 
 been said, was in half-flood, — that is, an able- 
 bodied man, accustomed to the use of oars, would 
 have incurred no great danger in managing a boat 
 upon it. But Johnina was weak, and a town-bred 
 girl who knew nothing of boats or the like. In- 
 deed (so incredible was her folly!) it is doubtful 
 whether she had ever rowed before. The boat 
 was carried out into the stream. For a moment 
 or two she seemed to enjoy the motion, for she 
 let go the oars and clapped her hands. But, a 
 second or two later, when the boat reached the 
 centre of the stream, the motion so increased as
 
 30 THE NEW BORDER TALES. 
 
 to become terrifying in its rapidity and unsteadi- 
 ness. Frightened out of her wits, the poor 
 child now seized the oars, to return, as she 
 imagined, to the shore. But she was unskilful, 
 she had lost her head, and she only succeeded in 
 getting the boat * broadside on ' to the rapidly 
 racing billows, where in a few moments it was 
 overturned with herself beneath it. So de- 
 liberate was the process of her unintentional 
 self-destruction, that I have been told that the 
 common people spoke of her, after her death, as 
 having been ' possessed,' or ' fey ' — a term which 
 they apply, hereabouts, to a state of infatuation 
 in which a person walks deliberately, and with 
 his eyes open, to his own doom. 
 
 "The cow-herd on the further bank, being 
 without a boat, was powerless to attempt render- 
 ing assistance, and it was long ere his distracted 
 cries were heard and the alarm was given. 
 Johnina's body, which had been lodged against 
 a point of land at a bend in the river some way 
 down, was recovered without difficulty. But it 
 was brought ashore only that the discovery might 
 be made that life had been for some time extinct. 
 
 " On the day following the funeral, Sir George 
 D. and his lady took their departure from Silver- 
 wood, never to return. They are said never to 
 have recovered from the shock of their daughter's 
 terrible death ; and the rest of their lives was 
 spent partly abroad, partly at Cheltenham. This
 
 THE CHIEF MOURNER. 3 1 
 
 house stood empty for some years, after which 
 it was made over as his residence to my grand- 
 father, afterwards Sir John, who had at that time 
 just married a young wife, and retired from the 
 army. The youthful couple entirely dispelled 
 the gloom which had gathered round the place, 
 and themselves became celebrated for their 
 hospitality, and for the lavish style of living 
 which they kept up, — for which I, by the way, 
 am still paying. But before Sir George left 
 home, he communicated to Dalziel what had 
 passed between Miss Euphame and himself in the 
 long private interview which he had had with her, 
 after the French breakfast, on the forenoon of that 
 memorable day. His statement was to the effect 
 that, on entering her apartment, he had found 
 the old maiden-lady much disturbed in mind, 
 and labouring under a painful and characteristic 
 delusion. In one word, she believed that she 
 was fated to die that day ; and so firmly seated 
 was this belief, that, in the course of the inter- 
 view, she even went so far as to give her kinsman, 
 who was to act as her executor, certain minute 
 testamentary instructions. Expostulated with 
 upon the groundlessness of her fears — for, though 
 advanced in years, her constitution, originally of 
 iron, was scarcely impaired — and questioned as 
 to how she had come to entertain them, the old 
 lady solemnly made this communication to my 
 great-grandfather.
 
 32 THE NEW BORDER TALES. 
 
 " From time immemorial (as, no doubt, you 
 have heard) some few old Scottish families 
 have claimed to have their deaths foretold 
 by what is called a ' Warning,' or harbinger. 
 Well, among these families, as Miss Euphame 
 now averred (though my great-grandfather does 
 not seem to have known it), were the D.'s, The 
 tradition of the D. apparition, as she went on to 
 state, represented it as a figure of a forbidding 
 aspect, attired in the old-fashioned garb worn by 
 a chief mourner at a funeral. So that there was 
 no room for doubt in the old lady's mind that 
 the figure so unexpectedly seen by Johnina in 
 the attic had been the family Warning. From 
 this it was plain that a death in the family was 
 about to occur; and though not herself the ghost- 
 seer, being a member of the house of D., and 
 certainly by many years the oldest of the 
 party assembled in the house. Miss Euphame 
 had made up her mind that the apparition had 
 reference to her own demise, and, in short, that 
 her hour was come. (I may observe in passing, 
 that, as a matter of fact, she lived long after 
 these events, dying, at last, in Edinburgh, at an 
 age of upwards of ninety, and having retained 
 the use of most of her faculties until very near 
 the end.) 
 
 " After hearing what his elderly kinswoman 
 had to say, Sir George had at first begun by 
 pooh-poohing alike her superstitious tenets and
 
 THE CHIEF MOURNER. 33 
 
 the fears which they inspired. But finding 
 speedily that, instead of reassuring her, this 
 course merely produced the effect of disturbing 
 her further, by rousing her to energetic protest, 
 and at last to anger, he had adopted a soothing 
 and conciliatory tone, judging it best to let her 
 have her way, and had thus readily consented to 
 give the promise which was required of him. 
 (He was not himself a superstitious man, and it 
 was only when he viewed it by the light of 
 subsequent events that it occurred to him to see 
 anything unusual in the fact of his daughter's 
 having been confronted by a figure wearing 
 mourning clothes. And by that time the oppor- 
 tunity for thoroughly, and with certainty, investi- 
 gating the question of the figure's identity had 
 gone by.) My great-grandfather, therefore, 
 having done his best to calm the old gentle- 
 woman, pressed her to take some rest, and 
 saying to himself that decay had at last set in 
 upon her faculties, left her to return to his guests. 
 What followed you already know. It now only 
 remains for me to add that, in the list of lives 
 wrecked by Johnina's death, may be included 
 that of Beaumont Unreasonable as it seems, 
 he was never able in his own mind to acquit 
 himself of a certain share of blame and responsi- 
 bility in that occurrence. This preyed upon 
 him so that he grew depressed and melan- 
 choly. He never married ; and being the sole 
 
 3
 
 34 THE NEW BORDER TALES. 
 
 representative of his race, his name, at his death, 
 became extinct in the neighbourhood. 
 
 " Such is the Silverwood ghost-story, as 1 
 might call it — you may make of it what you 
 please. For my own part, I must confess that, 
 for a long time, I was rather inclined to believe 
 in it — to believe in it as a ghost-story, of course, 
 I mean. But this may have arisen from its being 
 concerned with my own house and with members 
 of my own family. Nevertheless it has certain 
 points in its favour : the comparative nearness of 
 the occurrence, the directness of the testimony, 
 the 'dry light' of the chief witness, — the old 
 lawyer's brain. However, by the expenditure of 
 a little common sense, I think I have at last 
 succeeded in resolving the whole fabric into the 
 elements which are recognised by science. I 
 will give you my explanation. 
 
 " As you will at once observe, it is only when 
 they are taken in combination that the so-called 
 supernatural incidents of the story are in any 
 degree remarkable. In other words, it is one of 
 those enigmas which may be resolved by the 
 key of coincidence. Suppose Johnina to have 
 seen a man in mourner's garb and thought he 
 was a spectre, and nothing to have followed upon 
 this, no more would have been thought about 
 the matter. Miss D. could not yet have had 
 time to get to know all the servants in the house
 
 THE CHIEF MOURNER. 35 
 
 by sight. Servants in Scotland are very ten- 
 acious of their supposed right to attend the 
 funerals of their friends, and never scruple to 
 take a holiday for that purpose. From which it 
 results that I have not the slightest doubt that 
 the figure seen by Johnina was no ghost, but 
 simply that of some servant on his way to attend 
 a funeral. But for Miss Euphame, it would 
 never for a moment have been considered to be 
 anything else. But it so happens that we have 
 staying in the house where the figure is seen an 
 old lady, whose mind is an acknowledged 
 museum of superstitious notions. Seen through 
 the magnifying and distorting medium of this 
 mind, an incident which in reality is a very 
 simple one, assumes a different complexion. 
 And, as one fool is known to make many, so no 
 doubt the fool of this party inoculates every one 
 of her fellows with some touch of her crazy in- 
 fatuation. By a coincidence so remarkable as 
 almost to challenge belief, a violent and sudden 
 death does occur at precisely the time when the 
 old lady has predicted it — though it is not, as you 
 will observe, the death of the person on whose 
 behalf her fears had been aroused. The minds 
 of the onlookers are excited by the calamity, 
 and they at once connect two occurrences which 
 are in reality wholly distinct, attributing to them 
 the relation of cause and effect. By which simple 
 means you have your ghost-story."
 
 36 THE NEW BORDER TALES. 
 
 " But the phenomenon of the voice heard in 
 prayer by Dalziel — your theory does not account 
 for that ? " 
 
 " That voice, as I have no kind of doubt, was 
 Miss Euphame's. In all probability she occupied 
 the next bedroom to the lawyer's, and in ex- 
 pectation of her approaching dissolution, whilst 
 he lay in slumber, was engaged in devout prayer. 
 It is true that the walls here are too thick to 
 permit such sounds to pass through them ; but 
 you will remember that Dalziel states particularly 
 that he had left his window open. As the 
 weather was so hot. Miss Euphame had no doubt 
 done likewise — with the result that the sound 
 was so transmitted. Dalziel, I believe, was fond 
 of giving it as his belief that he had heard the 
 voice at the precise moment when poor Johnina 
 had been engaged in her death-struggle. Rut 
 he had no possible means of proving that ; and 
 I am, therefore, inclined to regard it as his one 
 artistic addition to what is otherwise a plain 
 narrative of facts. Now, S., I hope that you are 
 satisfied ? " 
 
 " With your story, yes ; with your explanation, 
 no.
 
 AN EXODUS FROM RAT HALL. 
 
 " Rats leaving their usual haunts in your houses, 
 barns, and stackyards, and going to the fields, is 
 an unfortunate omen for the person whose abode 
 they leave." So wrote one Wilkie of Bowden, the 
 author of a manuscript collection of old Border 
 customs and superstitions, compiled in the com- 
 mencement of the present century for the use of 
 Sir Walter Scott. The following incident illustrat- 
 ing the belief is related as having occurred upon 
 the estate of the present writer. In the early 
 years of the present century, the farm of Maison- 
 dieu was tenanted by a family named Fortune, 
 who had been for several generations in occupa- 
 tion, and were reputed to have held land in the 
 neighbourhood for above two hundred years. 
 The name Maisondieu, it may be stated in 
 passing, was derived from a religious house, or 
 hospital, " for the reception of pilgrims, the 
 diseased, and the indigent," which had formerly 
 stood upon the present farm lands. 
 
 At last a crisis in the history of the Fortune 
 family arrived. The old farmer died, leaving a
 
 38 THE NEW BORDER TALES. 
 
 son of some three or four and twenty years of 
 age to succeed him. Robert Fortune, the 
 younger, was a fine young man, who lacked not 
 spirit or ability so much as principle and steadi- 
 ness. Left to his own devices, with money in 
 his pocket, and without guide, monitor, or con- 
 troller, he seemed to have set himself to dissipate 
 alike the reputation and the fortune which had 
 been acquired through the prudence and good 
 conduct of his forebears. He had enrolled 
 himself a member of a local corps of Yeomanry 
 Cavalry, which had been raised in the expecta- 
 tion of a French Invasion ; and he was bent 
 upon cutting a dash. He prided himself upon 
 the horses he rode ; and many were the scenes 
 of midnight carousal, and of hare-brained 
 prank and horse-play, enacted by himself and 
 his hot-blooded, would-be fire-eating companions 
 in the old farm-house at this period. For a brief 
 time things went as merrily as the marriage 
 bell of the proverb ; but then a change set in. 
 Peace was proclaimed, and farmers' prices, which 
 the war had kept high, fell. A succession of 
 bad seasons followed; and, instead of meeting 
 them by retrenchment, young Fortune turned 
 for consolation in the troubles which they 
 brought him to a still more reckless extrava- 
 gance. His elders shook their heads, and 
 people began to say, when his back was turned, 
 that he was going to the dogs. In time, the
 
 AN EXODUS FROM RAT HALL. 39 
 
 pinch of poverty began to be felt at Maisondieu. 
 The Yeomanry had been disbanded, and Robert 
 now sat alone by his black hearth. To drive 
 out the cold, and raise his spirits to the pitch 
 which they had known in happy bygone days, 
 he resorted to the bottle. This, of course, made 
 matters worse. He neglected his business, his 
 accounts were not kept, and his affairs became 
 disordered. The house fell into a state of 
 disrepair, which, being allowed to continue, grew 
 rapidly worse; and the servants, observing their 
 master's weakness, ceased to respect him, and at 
 last, being gained upon by a feeling that he was 
 a man who was going fast down the hill, took to 
 scamping their work or shirking it. 
 
 But, if he found himself deserted by his boon 
 companions — friends of a summer day — a new 
 set of associates began to gather in force about 
 poor Bob. If, instead of describing him as 
 going " to the dogs," people had said to the 
 "rats," it would have been more literally cor- 
 rect. Only it was the rats who came to 
 him. They had long infested the farmyard, and 
 now, in the general relaxing of former strictness, 
 they had succeeded in effecting an entrance 
 into the house. And having once entered, 
 they held the advantage they had gained. At 
 first their presence was only made known at 
 night, after the lights had been put out, and the 
 inmates of the house had withdrawn to bed.
 
 40 THE NEW BORDER TALES. 
 
 Then, indeed, they held high revels in the kitchen 
 — as a continual sound of skurrying feet, the 
 occasional whisking of a tail upon the wainscot, 
 the overturning with a clatter or a crash of some 
 vessel of tin or earthenware, or the bold bounding 
 of some more than commonly intrepid adventurer, 
 allowed all men to be aware. So long they were 
 heard, and their devastations were felt ; but the 
 devastators were not seen. But, in course of 
 time, finding themselves masters of the situation, 
 they grew bolder, and ventured abroad by day- 
 light too. Then it came to be no uncommon 
 sight to see a rat cross the passage in front of 
 you ; or, on entering the kitchen, to catch sight of 
 one suspended by his fore-feet, his tail depend- 
 ing behind him, sampling the contents of some 
 butter-jar, or dripping-pot, which had been left 
 unlidded on the table. When he saw himself 
 detected, the rat would beat a leisurely retreat, 
 and there was insolence in his carriage and in 
 the sweep of his tail, as though he knew his 
 adversary's weakness. It was observed at this 
 time that though the farmer, his man, and maid, 
 grew lean, the rats on the farm grew fat. At last, 
 with high living and impunity, their boldness 
 grew beyond all bounds, and from the kitchen 
 they extended their playground so as to comprise 
 the whole house. Then it became a common 
 occurrence for a rat to run across you whilst you 
 lay in bed ; or, if your toes peeped out at the
 
 AN EXODUS FROM RAT HALL. 4I 
 
 foot of a short coverlet, for you to feel one 
 nibbling at them. Or a rat might even hang 
 feeding on the draught-blown, guttering candle 
 at the farmer's very elbow, whilst he himself sat 
 late into the night, plunged in a heavy reverie, 
 the result, in equal parts, of his troubles and 
 his potations. So is it with a certain class of 
 humanity, who feed and flourish amid the mis- 
 fortune and the decline of their betters. The 
 depredations committed were enormous ; for 
 when they could not spoil or devour food or other 
 property, the rats would carry it away. No 
 contrivance was of the smallest use against them, 
 for they soon understood the nature of the most 
 ingenious trap, whilst poison failed to tempt 
 them. Thus, whilst increasing in size, they in- 
 creased so amazingly in numbers that — its owner 
 being by this time so down in the world as to 
 appear a safe butt for insolence — the old and 
 formerly much respected house of Maisondieu 
 now received from the profane the nickname of 
 " Rat Hall." 
 
 It was about this time that the remarkable 
 incident with which my story is concerned was 
 witnessed by an old shepherd in Fortune's 
 service. The family of Hall, a race of shepherds, 
 had been long associated with that of Fortune 
 upon the farm of Maisondieu, and old Bauldy, 
 its present representative, was now, in its own 
 phrase, " the fourth generation serving the fourth
 
 42 THE NEW BORDER TALES. 
 
 generation." Greatly older and by nature more 
 thoughtful than his master, he, of course, viewed 
 the state of matters on the farm with a heavy 
 heart, and looked forward with the gloomiest 
 forebodings to the time when, as it seemed, he 
 must inevitably be separated from that master, 
 whom, in spite of faults, he loved, and from the 
 spot where he had spent a long and happy life- 
 time. Well, one night in spring-time, he was 
 sadly returning to the onstead after a visit to 
 his lambs. A brilliant moon rode in a clear sky, 
 and as he skirted an old hedge which separates 
 the farm premises from a field, at that time in 
 grass, he saw before him a single rat. 
 
 " Bad luck to you ! " he murmured, under his 
 breath, " for ye have brought bad luck on us." 
 
 The rat, which had come out of a rat-hole in 
 the bank (which was perfectly riddled with them), 
 now seemed to look about him. The shepherd 
 watched it. Returning to the hole, it re-appeared, 
 accompanied by a second rat. They in turn 
 looked about them, and perhaps compared notes 
 as to what they saw, for this time one only 
 retired to the hole. It was absent during some 
 moments, and then returned, bringing with it a 
 very large old rat, which it piloted with care. 
 The hair upon the face of the old rat was 
 white with age ; and the shepherd observed 
 that it was blind. His interest was by this time 
 thoroughly aroused, and grasping his tall crook
 
 AN EXODUS FROM RAT HALL. 43 
 
 with both hands, he rested his cheek against 
 his arms and watched, intently and in silence, 
 from the black shadow of the hedge. And now 
 he witnessed what amazed him. From each of 
 the innumerable rat-holes in the hedge-row, 
 as if by magic, as if from a child's toy, 
 there had started forth a rat, which now 
 crouched, motionless and listening, before the 
 entrance to its cave. Their number, and the 
 uniformity of their action, gave to the effect pre- 
 sented the dignity of impressiveness. It was 
 quite clear that they were acting, not by chance, 
 but in the prosecution of some well-thought-out 
 plan, upon some preconcerted signal. As he 
 watched them. Old Bauldy scarce drew his 
 breath. The night was still ; and when they 
 had apparently satisfied themselves that the 
 coast was clear, the rats advanced a little way. 
 And as, in doing so, they brought their tails and 
 hind-quarters clear of the mouths of the rat- 
 holes, they disclosed the nozzles and bright 
 bead-like eyes of other rats behind them. If it 
 had been curiosity which had at first kept the 
 shepherd motionless, it was the instinct of self- 
 preservation which did so now. An army of 
 rats such as he now beheld might well inspire 
 uneasiness, nay, terror, in a braver man ; and, as 
 he gazed, its numbers were being every moment 
 reinforced. For now, above the living silence of 
 a country landscape contemplated by night, a
 
 44 THE NEW BORDER TALES. 
 
 low, but ever gathering and growing rumour was 
 gradually making itself heard. It came from 
 underground, and it was produced by the beat- 
 ing of many thousands of little feet upon the 
 trodden earth of the runs. And, at last, whilst 
 the sound increased in volume, by a hundred 
 mouths the earth began to disgorge its living 
 burthen. Rats! They were of the Norway 
 breed, and first in order came the great males. 
 These are used to live alone ; if hunger presses 
 them they will prey upon their own brood ; they 
 justly inspire terror. The less formidable females 
 followed, each accompanied by her young. 
 And ever as they swarmed in momentarily 
 increasing numbers, as in the remote historical 
 or mythical Migration of the Nations, the rear 
 rank pushed the front rank before it, till the rats 
 spread far afield, and the very ground seemed 
 alive and moving with their multitudes. Trans- 
 fixed in the attitude which he had at first 
 assumed, the shepherd watched the spectacle — 
 standing like a man who has been turned to 
 stone, whom no earthly power could have in- 
 duced to stir a finger. To say that never in his 
 life before had he seen so many rats would be to 
 utter idlest words. In no agonised vision of the 
 night, lying stretched upon his pallet of " cauf," 
 whilst his breath froze, and his enemies disported 
 themselves triumphantly, insultingly, upon the 
 bare boardii of the loft, peeped iu on by a
 
 AN EXODUS FROM RAT HALL. 45 
 
 mischievous moon, had he ever dreamed of so 
 many ! 
 
 As has been said, during all this time it had 
 been amply apparent that the rats were not 
 acting without some plan of their own. Instead 
 of following each one his own bent, they moved 
 with the regularity and the discipline of trained 
 forces manoeuvring in order. Nothing could 
 have less resembled the blind infatuation of 
 their fellows and predecessors, who had frisked 
 at the heels of the Pied Piper through the 
 streets of Hamelin to their doom. They had 
 far more in common with the grim determina- 
 tion of the instruments of vengeance against 
 Bishop Hatto. But their demeanour, if a little 
 stern, was calm as well as resolute, as, inspired 
 by a single purpose, controlled by a single will, 
 they advanced, marching shoulder to shoulder. 
 There were few stragglers, few weak places in 
 their ranks. Their morale was very nearly 
 perfect. 
 
 And now, when they had wheeled into the 
 field, a touching incident occurred. The old 
 hoary-faced rat had undoubtedly in his youth 
 been marked by nature for a leader. But times 
 were changed ; he was old and blind, and for a 
 moment he stood helpless before his people. 
 For a moment, but no longer. Grasping the 
 position of affairs, the rat who had been the 
 first to appear, stepped forward to the rescue,
 
 46 THE NEW BORDER TALES. 
 
 and saved the situation. In his mouth he was 
 observed to hold, by one of its ends, a straw — 
 the other end of which he now dextrously 
 inserted betwixt the jaws of the Patriarch, so as 
 to form a sort of leading-string. And, thus 
 coupled, the two rats moved off, and were 
 followed by their thousands, — the old rat, 
 through the graceful intervention of the young 
 one, still preserving every tittle of his dignity as 
 a king and father of his people, into whose 
 mouth, in this momentous crisis of his reign, the 
 poet might well have put the words : 
 
 " Quo nos cunque feret melior fortuna parente 
 Ibimus, o socii ! " 
 
 The shepherd watched the moving mass, as it 
 passed across the moonlit surface of the field, 
 like the shadow of a cloud, until at last it was 
 lost to sight beyond a rising ground. 
 
 Then, and not till then, did he stir. Pulling 
 himself hastily together, he made for the farm- 
 house, and with the freedom allowed to an old 
 servant, burst into his master's room. Fortune 
 was seated at the table, his face buried in his 
 hands. A sheet of printed paper lay before 
 him. 
 
 " Bob ! Bob ! " cried the old man, " we are 
 presairved — the rats are gone ! " 
 
 But Bob only lifted a heavy head and pointed 
 without speaking to the paper which lay before
 
 AN EXODUS FROM RAT HALL. 47 
 
 him. It was an announcement that a "dis- 
 plenishing sale" would shortly be held at 
 Maisondieu. 
 
 " Lord ! and has it come to this ? " 
 
 " It has, indeed ! I had not the heart to 
 break it to you before, Bauldy." And then he 
 added with bitterness, "We must have the 
 usual jollification, I suppose. Well, there will 
 be meat for many to provide that day; but I 
 doubt 'twill be the poison of one." 
 
 And so, sure enough, ere the Whitsuntide 
 term-day arrived, the furniture and fittings of 
 Maisondieu farm had fallen to the auctioneer's 
 hammer ; and Robert Fortune and his old and 
 faithful shepherd had gone forth homeless, and 
 in opposite directions, to face and fight the 
 world. 
 
 It only remains to add that this story, Vv'ild as 
 it may appear, is, in its main facts, currently 
 related at the present day among the country- 
 people of Roxburghshire.
 
 THE BRITHER STANES. 
 
 Stories of fraternal enmity are not uncommon 
 throughout the country. In the Lammermuir 
 hills, the Twinlaw Cairns are said to commemor- 
 ate two brothers, who meeting by chance, after 
 long separation, in the opposing ranks of a battle, 
 fell by each other's hands. Again, the farm- 
 house of Hallow Down, situated to the north- 
 west of the only seaport of the Merse, is the 
 reputed scene of a wild tale of smuggling adven- 
 ture and of brotherly treachery which has been 
 made the subject of a play. At the root of such 
 popular stories and traditions there often lies a 
 human truth of the deepest and best ascertained 
 kind. In the physical world extremes meet ; 
 does this axiom also hold good in the world of 
 mind and feeling ; and is it true that the extreme 
 of nearness may, with perilous ease, become the 
 extreme of opposition ? Upon the rough ridge 
 of a moor or hill, in the parish of Mertoun, are 
 to be seen, confronting each other a short way 
 apart, two upright blocks of whinstone. They
 
 THE BRITHER STANES. 49 
 
 are known to the country people as the Brothers' 
 Stones, and they also commemorate a tragedy. 
 
 Ninian Cranstoun, of Third, a small landowner, 
 representing a younger branch o( a local family 
 which had once been powerful, was in his day 
 notorious for his overbearing temper and high- 
 handed ways. His disposition tended to the 
 roistering and convivial ; but so ungovernable 
 were his passions, especially when inflamed by 
 drink, so impatient was he of the smallest cross, 
 that, whilst still in the prime of a vigorous man- 
 hood, he had already quarrelled beyond hope of 
 a reconciliation with almost every one of his 
 friends and neighbours. The isolated life which 
 resulted from these alienations did not agree 
 with him, and his exacerbated temper wreaked 
 itself upon his dependents and inferiors, whom 
 he bullied and domineered over daily more and 
 more. At last one night, when he had been 
 attending St. Boswells' Fair, he failed to return 
 home ; and next morning his body was dis- 
 covered by the wayside, where it had manifestly 
 been made the subject of a brutal murder. 
 Little of surprise and less of regret were felt in 
 the popular mind when the news became known; 
 and, in further proof of the degree in which the 
 murdered man had been hated and detested, it 
 may be stated that the perpetrators of the out- 
 rage were never discovered. There were marks 
 upon the road of a prolonged and violent 
 
 4
 
 50 THE NEW BORDER TALES. 
 
 struggle ; and the spot where the crime was 
 committed was close to a corner of the fair 
 ground, where the cries of the victim for help 
 must have been heard. This corner of the Green 
 was, however, that occupied by the gipsies, who 
 attended the fair in large numbers. Laird 
 Cranstoun was known to have incurred the wrath 
 of these vagrants, and suspicion at once attached 
 itself to them. But though a reward for the 
 detection of the criminal was offered, and though 
 there were probably several hands concerned in 
 the crime, and no less probably many accessories 
 after the fact, a tacit freemasonry seemed to 
 shield the murderers from discovery, and (as has 
 been already said) they were never brought to 
 justice. 
 
 All this, however, is incidental. What con- 
 cerns us here is a scene which was enacted at 
 the Third when the murdered man's body was 
 brought home. The corpse had been placed on 
 a rude, improvised bier ; and, covered with a 
 sheet, was borne along homeward by four labour- 
 ing men. As they passed by, the rumour of the 
 deed of violence (which had preceded them) 
 attracted the gossips to the wayside ; where, 
 seeing that the bier was already followed by 
 idlers from the fair, many of them also were 
 impelled to join the procession. For this pur- 
 pose, as if attracted by a fascination which they 
 could not resist, hinds and bondagers left their
 
 THE BRITHER STANES. 5 1 
 
 labours in the fields, and women, who had come 
 with their children to the cottage door, their 
 dwellings. So, as it proceeded, the procession 
 swelled and grew. No person seemed to regard 
 distance. And the feature which gave its 
 special character to the crowd was its essential 
 unconcern. There was plenty of interest 
 manifested, plenty of gluttonous curiosity ; but 
 of horror, or of sorrow, so far, none. 
 
 At last the transit was accomplished, and the 
 bearers set down their burthen in the vestibule 
 of the house of Third. A few of the followers 
 had ere this dropped off; but many persevered. 
 These now availed themselves of the confusion 
 to push through the unclosed door and edge 
 their way into the house. The deceased man's 
 widow was coming down the stairs, and when 
 her eye fell upon the sheet (which was blood- 
 stained), and upon the partially defined outline 
 of that which it covered, she shrieked aloud. 
 Then, all at once, the women raised a sym- 
 pathetic cry — 
 
 " Och, how ! Och, how! 'tis cruel wark." 
 But, at that very moment, a cry of a different 
 and more alarming character diverted their 
 attention. It proceeded from an adjoining 
 room. One of the bystanders, a woman who 
 was standing nearest, hurriedly went out and 
 returned bearing in her arms a boy of eight or 
 nine years. The child's face was suffused with
 
 52 THE NEW BORDER TALES. 
 
 blood which flowed from a wound near the left 
 temple. Instantly the corpse was forgotten, 
 and attention centred on this new disaster. 
 The boy was Walter, the younger of the twin 
 sons left behind by Ninian Cranstoun; and it 
 was discovered that the wound on his forehead 
 had been received whilst he was wrangling with 
 his brother. Upon examination it promised to 
 be nothing worse than a severe cut, which would 
 probably leave a permanent scar; but all the 
 volunteering nurses and advisers were agreed 
 that, had its position varied by half an inch or 
 so, it would certainly have been fatal. After 
 consternation and sympathy on the part of the 
 gossips, came indignation. The foolish, emo- 
 tional women had already had their feelings 
 worked upon, and as soon as the injured child 
 had begun to receive attention, those of them 
 who were not otherwise employed turned upon 
 the elder boy, who had been instrumental in in- 
 flicting the injury. He stood by with a callous air. 
 
 " He cannot let his brother be ! " exclaimed 
 one of the women, who was a neighbour; "day 
 and night he's forever tormenting him." 
 
 " He'll be the death of the poor callant one o' 
 these days," returned a second. 
 
 " Sure the devil's in ye, boy." 
 
 Many more such speeches were delivered. 
 Meanwhile the object against whom they were 
 directed struggled manfully to preserve a pro-
 
 THE BRITHER STANES. 53 
 
 vokingly unconcerned demeanour. But that 
 this was not a true index to the state of his 
 mind was apparent from the way in which the 
 veins in his forehead had grown dark and stood 
 out, and from the nervous persistency with 
 which he nicked with a knife at a stick which he 
 held in his hand and was whittling. Perhaps 
 he felt the injustice of the obloquy directed 
 against him ; for, though it was true that he had 
 been engaged in a struggle with his brother at 
 the time when the injury was inflicted, still it 
 was no less true that the nature and extent 
 of that injury were entirely the result of accident. 
 As the two boys wrestled together, they had 
 fallen to the ground, and the head of the 
 younger, as he fell, had come in violent contact 
 with the sharp corner of a piece of furniture, 
 which had done the mischief. But women, 
 when their feelings are aroused by the sight of 
 supposed barbarity, are not inclined to inquire 
 into the facts of a case; and young Ninian, who 
 had inherited his father's temper, as well as his 
 name, would have died sooner than condescend 
 to open his lips in self-justification. 
 
 As the women continued to relieve their 
 feelings at the boy's expense, there was one 
 speech of sinister foreboding uttered which, 
 being heard by many, was in after days recalled. 
 The speaker was a certain elderly woman named 
 Magdalen, or more familiarly Mause, whose
 
 54 THE NEW BORDER TALES. 
 
 height of stature and strength of character had 
 combined to give her some authority in the 
 neighbourhood. On the other hand, partly 
 because she pretended to knowledge which 
 other people had not, partly because her dwell- 
 ing stood apart from others, she had in some 
 quarters come to be looked upon as a witch, and 
 suspected of holding communication with the 
 Evil One. This was a character which she did 
 not seek to repudiate. 
 
 "There will be mair bluid spilt, mair life 
 ta'en, yet," quoth this gaunt, grey-haired sibyl, 
 when she had glanced significantly on the bier. 
 " 'Tvvas fated sae to be, and ilk ane maun dree 
 his weird." 
 
 There was not a bystander present but at 
 once understood her allusion. Her words had 
 reference to a saying to which no other person 
 present would have had the hardihood to allude ; 
 and in being the one to do so, Mause was con- 
 sistent to her system of showing herself superior 
 to vulgar prejudice. In those days a sufficient 
 belief still clung about the popular sayings or 
 " prophecies," which are commonly (though no 
 doubt mistakenly) attributed to Thomas the 
 Rhymer, to bring it about that such of them as 
 are of ill omen should by general consent be 
 tabooed. Now there is one of these sayings 
 which declares that Cranstoun s hand is against 
 Cranstoun.
 
 THE BRITHER STANES. 55 
 
 By this time the forehead of the wounded boy- 
 had been bathed and dressed ; and, soothed upon 
 his mother's knee, his plaint was stilled. The 
 on-lookers felt that they had now no longer any 
 pretext for remaining, and lingeringly, and with 
 many a last word, they withdrew and dispersed 
 in the directions of their homes. 
 
 II. 
 
 After her husband's death, Mrs. Cranstoun 
 continued to live on at the Third, and to bring 
 up her sons. Her task was not an easy one. 
 Each of the boys had inherited a considerable 
 share of his father's disposition, Walter re- 
 sembling him most in his high spirits and love 
 of wild pranks, Ninian in the moro.^'e and sullen 
 moods to which the elder Cranstoun had in his 
 later years been subject. Mrs. Cranstoun loved 
 her sons equally ; but it is needless to say which 
 of the two boys was the favourite with the rest 
 of the world. In addition to possessing superior 
 social qualities, though the two young men were 
 much alike, Walter was rather better-looking 
 than his brother, and had also slightly the ad- 
 vantage of him in stature. Hence there arose 
 between them that particular kind of rivalry, not 
 to say jealousy, which is met with when, of two 
 brothers, one is the favourite and the other is 
 the heir. As boys they had at times shown 
 signs of cherishing the peculiar fervour of mutual
 
 S6 THE NEW BORDER TALES. 
 
 attachment and of experiencing the singular in- 
 tensity of mutual sympathy which are peculiar 
 to twins. But even as boys they had exchanged 
 many more blows than caresses. Walter still 
 bore on his left eyebrow a small white angular 
 scar, over which the hair did not grow, to keep 
 him in mind of the injury which he had received 
 when a child. And, as the lads grew up, their 
 mother saw with grief and with a sense of fore- 
 boding, that an estrangement was springing up 
 between them. They still shared each other's pas- 
 times, but the superior skill of Walter in all manly 
 sports was a source of constant annoyance to his 
 brother. And to make matters worse, Walter was 
 a boy who took a mischievous pleasure in torment- 
 ing others, whilst Ninian's was a disposition in 
 which a slight, or injury, rankled — so that often, 
 after receiving some perhaps merely fancied 
 ground of offence, he would allow days to pass 
 before he would again speak to his brother. 
 
 At last, one fine spring morning, Walter, 
 sauntering aimlessly about the precincts of the 
 farm, encountered Ninian and accosted him. 
 There had recently been a disagreement between 
 them, and they had not spoken to each other for 
 some days. Whether it was in the spirit of 
 provocation or of conciliation that Walter now 
 spoke is not clear. But if his intentions 
 were friendly, his choice of an overture was, 
 to say the least of it, ill-advised ; for, though
 
 THE BRITHER STANES. S7 
 
 he well knew (had he troubled to reflect) both 
 his brother's dislike to being beaten and his 
 own superiority in the game, he now proposed 
 a match at stone-chucking. Ninian, who had a 
 book in his hand, declined the challenge civilly 
 enough ; whereupon Walter proposed a trial of 
 skill at quoits instead. But Nean (as he was always 
 called for short) did not wish to play at quoits 
 either. However, Walter was not to be said nay. 
 His temper disposed him to mischief, and he 
 continued to importune his elder brother, hoping, 
 either by coaxing or by taunts, to tease him into 
 compliance with his wishes. Nean was by no 
 means one who could stand much teasing ; how- 
 ever, this morning he kept his temper better 
 than usual, and at last, when he saw that Walter 
 was not to be beaten off, agreed to meet him in 
 a match, not of stone-chucking or of quoiting, 
 but of wrestling. This choice was again an un- 
 lucky one ; for, whatever may be said to the 
 contrary, it is never an easy task to maintain 
 perfect coolness and composure in a keenly 
 contested match either of boxing or of wrestling. 
 
 "Juego de manos, 
 Juego de villanos," 
 
 says an old Spanish proverb. 
 
 The match being agreed upon, the two youths 
 straightway walked off in silence, side by side, 
 through the beauty of the May morning. They
 
 $8 THE NEW BORDER TALES. 
 
 came to a green field, lying near the house and 
 below it This field is bounded by a little 
 babbling brook, which has a singularly zig-zag 
 course. The ground on the banks is uneven ; 
 and the brook is shaded by a grove of old 
 trees, of which one or two are broken, 
 whilst others have had their roots laid bare 
 by the action of the water. This was the 
 scene of many a boyish contest ; and here, 
 selecting level ground, with one consent, they 
 paused. Nean then divested himself of his 
 tunic and belt ; but it so happened that Walter, 
 who had assumed a slight air of bravado, kept 
 his belt on. In this belt — in accordance with 
 a fashion which was common among spirited 
 young men of that day — he carried, in its sheath, 
 a little dirk. The brothers then confronted each 
 other. They were two fine muscular young men, 
 and in a wrestling bout were less unequally mated 
 than elsewhere ; since if Walter had the activity 
 and the science, the advantage in weight and 
 strength was on the side of his brother. 
 
 Falling vigorously to the play, Ninian at once 
 grasped his adversary low down upon the waist ; 
 but Walter, feeling that he was had at a dis- 
 advantage, wisely delayed taking hold. In this 
 manner some minutes had been spent in in- 
 effectual fumbling, and Nean, whose patience was 
 beginning to be taxed, had insensibly allowed 
 his grasp to slip somewhat higher up his brother's
 
 THE BRITHER STANES. 59 
 
 back, when with a sudden hitch — a ram-like 
 movement — Walter grappled with him. They 
 were now " in grips." But Nean's arms, deprived 
 suddenly of their support, had slipped close to his 
 brother's neck. Swift as thought, Walter seized 
 his opportunity, wheeled, and executing an 
 almost complete revolution, employed the throw 
 which is known as the " buttock," — lifting his 
 brother clean off the ground, and throwing 
 him head over heels. Nean fell heavily on his 
 shoulder, and arose considerably shaken. 
 
 The brothers faced each other again, and this 
 time Walter, reversing his former tactics, grap- 
 pled immediately, and almost as soon threw his 
 antagonist — drawing him on to his knee by 
 means of what is called in the game a " snap," — 
 a trick which is accounted somewhat dubious 
 wrestling. 
 
 Once more the two young men confronted each 
 other, panting. His heavy fall, followed by this 
 questionable piece of play, had roused the less 
 vivacious elder brother, and put him on his 
 mettle. He seemed determined not to be flung 
 again, and the third bout was by far the longest 
 of the three. In vain did Walter essay the 
 "hipe," the " inside cleik," the " outside stroke " ; 
 his brother, now upon the defensive, was wary and 
 stood his ground. At last, when it seemed that 
 Walter must be about wearied out, Nean prepared 
 to try the throw which his superior power and
 
 6o THE NEW BORDER TALES. 
 
 weight had made his favourite and most success- 
 ful one. Putting forth his strength, and lifting 
 his younger brother fairly off the ground, he 
 swung him round in his arms like a child. But 
 Walter's science was too much for him. Keeping 
 his feet, whilst in the air, extended as far as they 
 would go, he avoided being tripped upon being 
 set down ; whilst no sooner had he touched the 
 ground than he quickly had recourse to the 
 "back heel," — throwing his brother heavily 
 on his back, and himself falling on the top of him. 
 
 But the cry which burst from Ninian's lips, as 
 he touched earth, was not that of a mere defeated 
 athlete. Bounding to his feet, Walter saw at 
 a glance what had happened. In his whirling 
 flight through space, the little dirk which he wore 
 at his thigh had escaped from its sheath, and 
 when the wrestlers fell together its blade had 
 been pressed against the side of the undermost 
 of them, inflicting a wound from which the blood 
 was now flowing freely. Ninian lay back upon 
 the grass, and uttered no reproach. 
 
 Overcome with horror, Walter cast about for 
 some means of succouring the wounded lad. To 
 run back to the house would take too long, so 
 tearing a strip from his own shirt, he knelt down, 
 and supporting his brother's head, endeavoured 
 to bind up the wound. But his unskilful efforts 
 were of no avail. The blood flowed on ; the 
 bandage was saturated.
 
 THE BRITHER STANES. 6l 
 
 Ninian spoke. 
 
 " Try to stanch the blood." 
 
 Then Walter tore off another strip of shirt, 
 crumpled it up, and pressed it firmly to the 
 wound. But, after a moment, the dark fluid 
 stained it. 
 
 Nean lay back motionless ; but the love of life 
 still fought in him. 
 
 "Watty, take my hat, and fetch water from 
 the burn, and bathe the wound." 
 
 In an agony of haste, Watty flew to obey. 
 He bathed the wound; but the blood flowed ever. 
 
 " It is of no use." 
 
 There was silence. Ninian lay back, patient 
 with the pathetic patience of growing weakness. 
 Watty, seated behind him on the grass, tenderly 
 supported the sinking form against his shoulder. 
 The sun shone, the breezes blew, the water 
 flowed. A bird spoke sweetly from a tree. 
 
 " Water." 
 
 That thirst which follows hemorrhage, and is 
 ofttimes the precursor of death, had invaded the 
 sinking man. Gently Walter laid him down, 
 fetched water, and set it to his lips. Even as he 
 did so, a film seemed to pass over his brother's 
 eye, and he felt that this was death. He could 
 support no more. Stooping, he pressed his lips 
 with an agonised fervour to his brother's, a 
 single sob convulsed his frame, and he fled 
 across the fields towards home.
 
 62 THE NEW BORDER TALES. 
 
 His mother was seated in the parlour. From 
 her window she had that morning beheld her 
 sons go forth in amity, for the first time for 
 many a day ; and she now nursed pleasing 
 delusions, the offspring of the sight, 
 
 " Is that you, Walter? " said she, as the boy 
 came in, " I am glad to see you. Where is your 
 brother?" 
 
 "Am I his keeper? " 
 
 The words and the tone of the reply startled 
 her. 
 
 " Why, no ! " she answered, commanding 
 herself so as to smile, " certainly you are not 
 his keeper, but I saw you go out together an 
 hour agone." 
 
 " Well, mother, Nean is in the cow pasture, 
 and he wishes you to go to him." 
 
 " I will. What is he doing ? " 
 
 Walter paused for a moment before replying. 
 Then he said : 
 
 " Mother 1 by now, he is asleep." 
 
 Filled with a vague sense that the hour she 
 had lived in dread of had come at last, Mrs. 
 Cranstoun hurriedly left the house. And as 
 she left it by one door, Wat left it by another. 
 
 III. 
 
 As the result of the accident in the wrestling- 
 match, Mrs. Cranstoun lost one of her sons ; 
 but not the elder. Ninian's wound was not
 
 THE BRITHER STANES. 63 
 
 mortal, and after hovering between life and 
 death, his mother's care at length restored him 
 to health. But from the time of her brief inter- 
 view with her second son, after the accident, 
 Mrs. Cranstoun saw Walter no more. Firmly 
 believing that his brother, if not already dead, 
 lay at the point of death, on leaving the house 
 he had fled from the neighbourhood. An agony 
 of remorse for his unintentional act drove him 
 forth. Perhaps, also, his feelings were compli- 
 cated by a dread of being suspected of having 
 murdered his brother. Appearances were 
 against him ; his temper was known to be 
 violent, and the relations which had subsisted 
 between the two lads were known to be strained. 
 In any case, he was seen no more at Third, 
 nor were tidings of him received there. Even 
 before the occurrence of the unfortunate incident 
 which had driven him to flight, he had shown 
 signs that he was growing tired of home, and it 
 remained to be surmised that that incident had 
 been the means of suddenly developing a roving 
 disposition in him. 
 
 Years passed. Mrs. Cranstoun died, and her 
 elder son lived on upon his patrimony. And his 
 onward course in time was a downward course 
 in character. In the conditions of his life there 
 were met three factors, regarding the con- 
 currence of which the present writer, when in 
 the course of these tales he shall come to tell
 
 64 THE NEW BORDER TALES. 
 
 the story of the Seamy Side of Country Life, 
 will have enough to say. In the meantime 
 suffice it to state that these three factors are : 
 solitude; lack of occupation ; and a competency. 
 Taken together they have proved too much for 
 many a better man than Cranstoun. As he had 
 grown older and become his own master, the 
 moroseness and violence of his temper had 
 increased. He had shunned the salutary cor- 
 recting influences which act upon the man who 
 leads his life as one in a community, and his 
 faults had become confirmed. Time and favour- 
 ing circumstance had brought out the hereditary 
 faults in his character, which showed themselves 
 now, not only in violence, but in intemperance 
 and the passion of the gamester. 
 
 Some thirty years had passed since the scene 
 in the cow-pasture, when, one afternoon, the laird 
 of Third was returning home from a distant 
 village whither some transaction of farmer's 
 business had called him. He was on horseback. 
 The season was autumn, and the day was dull, 
 with gusts of wind and passing showers. But 
 the heaven of the rider's mind was yet more 
 sombre and clouded than the sky. He was 
 suffering from the painful depression, compli- 
 cated with irritability of the nerves, which often 
 follows excessive drinking. 
 
 In the course of his homeward way he had to 
 pass over a wide open green or common. It
 
 THE BRITHER STANES. 65 
 
 was the spot where, many years before, his 
 father had been murdered. Here, in one of 
 the angles formed by a cross-road, opposite 
 a finger-post, there was a little inn, or change- 
 house. Cranstoun had been looking forward 
 to the refreshment which was to be obtained 
 there, and when he got to the door he shouted. 
 But the old man who kept the place had been 
 called away on some business of his own, and 
 there was no reply. However, the thirsty cus- 
 tomer was not baffled. He alighted, tethered 
 his mare to the post, and then, finding that the 
 inn-door was locked, broke a pane of glass, 
 pushed back the window-bolt, and entered by 
 one of the windows. 
 
 As a patron of the house, he knew where the 
 landlord kept his liquor, as well as where the 
 key of the receptacle was hidden when he was 
 away. So he was soon seated at a table with 
 a bottle and glass before him. The drink — 
 Hollands, landed duty-free at Eyemouth — was 
 sound and potent ; and as Cranstoun sat on over 
 it, the dim light of the autumn afternoon faded 
 imperceptibly from the sky. His attitude was 
 that of a man thinking deeply. Meanwhile his 
 beast, exposed to spirts of rain and to the blasts 
 of a wind which toward nightfall had grown 
 blustering, grew fidgety and champed her bit. 
 
 The roads leading north, south, east, and west 
 were little travelled that day. At last, however, 
 
 5
 
 66 THE NEW BORDER TALES. 
 
 the toper was startled from his reveries by a 
 double knock at the door. 
 
 "What ho! within." 
 
 His first impulse had been to disregard the 
 summons ; then he thought differently. When 
 he had drawn the bolt, he found himself face to 
 face with a tall and powerfully built stranger in 
 a flowing cloak, who, mistaking him for the land- 
 lord, swore at him for keeping the door locked. 
 Cranstoun, who was taciturn, did not explain 
 the mistake. The stranger appeared to be some 
 swaggerer who affected an extravagant style in 
 his discourse. 
 
 " Mine host of the Garter ! " was his exclama- 
 tion, on gaining admittance. "Ha! and, for lack 
 of custom, engaged in proving his own vintages. 
 This is of good omen — take a traveller's word 
 for it ! My friend, I am not yet at my journey's 
 end, but I'll bear ye company a while." 
 
 Still without speaking, Cranstoun pushed a 
 drinking-horn towards him, which the new- 
 comer filled from the bottle, drained and filled 
 again. 
 
 " The road is lanesome, dark the night, 
 And cauld the welcome there, my jo ! " 
 
 sang he ; " but 'tis the liquor, the h'quor, that's 
 the thing." 
 
 And then, breaking off to complain of the 
 darkness, the intruder called for a light. Crans-
 
 THE BRITHER STANES. 67 
 
 toun, who for some reason chose to fall in with 
 his humour, set the wick of a candle to the 
 " gathering coal " in the grate, and placed it on 
 the table. Then he made out — what he had not 
 noticed before — that the chance comer wore a 
 soldier's uniform. And to judge from its patched 
 and tattered condition, as well as from the wearer's 
 seamed and sunburnt aspect, he appeared to 
 have seen much military service. Probably he 
 was one of those soldiers of fortune, of whom 
 Dalgetty is the type, who, two hundred years 
 ago, made war their trade — the element in which 
 they lived. And perhaps he was now returning 
 to his home ; but if any " Cousin Jean " chanced 
 to await him there, that lady could never be 
 blamed did she obey her instinct and shut the 
 house-door in the face of a "stoure carle" so 
 questionable of aspect. But Ninian suffered no 
 recoil from the stranger ; indeed, he had no right 
 to do so, for the twin silhouettes now thrown by 
 the candle-flame upon the wall resembled each 
 other strikingly. 
 
 " Well ! " quoth the soldier, as he set his cup 
 down, " time is time, and I must be travelling. 
 How dark it is grown ! but 'twould take a darker 
 night than this to make me miss the way. Why, 
 brother, I were born an' bred i' these parts — tho' 
 there was no inn here, I think, in those days. 
 It is a wish to visit the old scenes again which 
 now brings me back."
 
 68 THE NEW BORDER TALES. 
 
 " You have kin hereabouts, no doubt ? " asked 
 Ninian. 
 
 " No, no. They're dead — they must be dead," 
 returned the other softly. 
 
 The reckoning now falling to be paid, the 
 soldier drew out a coin to discharge it with ; 
 but, on a second thought, proposed a hazard. 
 Cranstoun assented, the coin spun, and the 
 soldier won the toss ; as he did again when 
 they tossed for double or quits. The loser cursed 
 his luck and laughed. 
 
 " I know a game worth two of that," remarked 
 the unknown, " if I'd only time to stop and play 
 it" 
 
 " What is your game? " 
 
 Without speaking, the wanderer drew a chest- 
 nut from his pouch, removed the shell, and with 
 the aid of a knife began to fashion from the 
 kernel a small neat cube. Seeming by intuition 
 to divine his intention, the other meantime 
 charred a stick, which he had previously pointed, 
 in the candle-flame. The cube, when duly 
 branded with the stick, formed a rude die. 
 Using one of the two horn tumblers as a dice- 
 box, the men tested it. It was true. 
 
 " Just one main," said Ninian. Thereupon they 
 took seats facing each other at the table, and 
 the game began. It soon became plain that 
 each of the players possessed the true gambler's 
 spirit. The game progressed with varying for-
 
 THE BRITHER STANES. 69 
 
 tune, but on the whole the soldier won. When 
 the two men had sat down (had it been known), 
 he had had but one guinea in his posses- 
 sion; whilst Cranstoun had with him a bagf 
 containing thirty guineas — the price of some 
 cattle he had just sold. But, at the end of an 
 hour's play, the financial positions of the players 
 had been precisely reversed. Then Ninian 
 staked his last guinea and lost. Then he staked 
 the saddle and bridle on the horse which stood 
 at the door; and, losing again, risked the animal 
 herself. 
 
 " This must be my last stake." 
 
 " Why so ? You've other property in the 
 house." 
 
 "Damn you — I am not the owner of the 
 house." 
 
 " Who the devil are you then ? " 
 
 " A customer like yourself." 
 
 This time Ninian won the throw, and luck's 
 turning-point seemed to have been reached, for 
 he now won back his saddle, won back his bridle, 
 and began to win back his guineas. As the 
 gamblers played, they found frequent excuses for 
 drinking, — the winner toasting his success, the 
 loser resorting to artificial means to keep him 
 from losing heart as well as money. And, as 
 one of the horns was in use as a dice-box, they 
 drank from the same cup. It was not the first 
 time in their lives that they had done so.
 
 70 THE NEW BORDER TALES. 
 
 Now, except for such as have been schooled 
 in polished society, to gamble heavily without 
 loss of temper is almost as difficult a thing as to 
 wrestle or to box ; and more than one hazardous 
 remark had already passed between the players. 
 Chance was now consistently favouring Ninian ; 
 and at last, finding that he had won back half 
 the sum which he had originally lost, and 
 wishing to end the game, he proposed to stake 
 this sum upon a single cast of the die against 
 what remained of the soldier's winnings. 
 
 " Done with you." 
 
 Ninian was the first to throw. He threw a 
 five. 
 
 " One chance remains," exclaimed the soldier, 
 fingering the die, "and one only. Now, Goddess 
 Fortune, befriend your votary ! " 
 
 In the desire to appear calm, he had resumed 
 his mock-heroic tones; yet, as he spoke, he 
 trembled. Ninian, confident that the game was 
 his, looked on without caring. The die rattled 
 in the box, fell, and sure enough, as if the 
 soldier's prayer had been heard, it turned up six. 
 
 " Fortune's a woman after all," said the winner 
 blandly, "and woman is the soldier's friend as 
 well as his divinity. Hand over the stakes." 
 
 But he had exulted too soon. His rival had 
 already snatched up the die, and was scrutinising 
 it. His suspicions proved well grounded. Into 
 the yielding substance of which it was com-
 
 THE BRITHER STANES. 7I 
 
 posed, exactly upon the brand which marked 
 the ace, had been pressed a pellet of sparrow 
 shot. Its weight had sufficed to turn the scale, 
 and, as Ninian now saw, the soldier had won the 
 last throw by foul means. 
 
 " Scoundrel ! " 
 
 The dishonest player was knocked backward 
 in his seat, his head struck the wall, hands 
 grasped his throat. Then the two men glared 
 at each other face to face, and as they did so the 
 filmy, fluctuating veil which had hung between 
 them melted. It was too late. All the evil 
 passions in the brothers' breasts were roused. 
 Pinned to the wall, the soldier gasped and 
 choked. His eyes were starting from his head. 
 Then, with a sudden active movement — an ex- 
 piring effort — he started aside and was free. 
 The jerk threw Ninian forward, and his face 
 struck the wall. The horn-handled knife which 
 had been used during the evening, lay on the 
 table. The stranger swept it into his hand. 
 There was a swift movement, a grating sound, 
 a maddened cry; and, like a man bitten by a 
 reptile, Cranstoun bounded to his feet and fled 
 for his life round the narrow room. Catching 
 up a three-legged stool with which to finish him, 
 and raising it over his head, the soldier pursued. 
 But at that moment an unexpected diversion 
 was created. A weird sound, between a sigh 
 and a gasp, which proceeded from neither of
 
 72 THE NEW BORDER TALES. 
 
 the men, was heard by both of them. To the 
 soldier, it seemed to come from behind him, 
 and he turned his head. 
 
 The sigh, or suppressed cry, had been uttered 
 by a woman, a homeless and benighted wanderer, 
 who, attracted like a night-bird or a moth to the 
 lighted window-pane, had gazed for an instant 
 on the horrible picture within and then fled 
 away. But her terror-frozen cry changed the 
 fortune of the day. Peering over his shoulder 
 as he stumbled forward, Ninian saw his pursuer 
 turn his head. He recognised his opportunity. 
 The heavy stone bottle, or greybeard, which had 
 held the drink, remained on the table. He 
 seized it by the neck, and, using it like a club, 
 dealt a blow with all his force on the back of his 
 pursuer's head. Without a cry the soldier fell ; 
 nor did he stir again. Then Cranstoun raised 
 the candle, and gazed in his face. There were 
 several scars there, and among them was one 
 small white one of angular form, at the eyebrow, 
 over which the hair did not grow. Cranstoun 
 set down the candle, turned away and left the 
 house. His horse still stood at the door. He 
 unfastened the tether, and as he did so he 
 lurched against the finger-post. 
 
 " The night air after the liquor ! " were his 
 words. 
 
 He mounted. The horse, which was a young 
 one, chilled by waiting, and impatient for her
 
 THE BRITHER STANES. 73 
 
 stable, fretted and chafed beneath him. The rider 
 found it necessary to restrain her, for the night 
 was very dark. But, presently, his eyes seemed 
 to have grown accustomed to the darkness. 
 The little mare broke into a trot, and from a 
 trot into a canter, and from a canter into a 
 gallop. She knew the way home, and the rider 
 had given her the rein. But when, next morn- 
 ing, at the Third, she whinnied to the early 
 labourer, the body of Ninian Cranstoun dragged 
 behind her from the stirrup. Life was extinct, 
 and among the many lesser injuries and dis- 
 figurements which the body bore, there was one 
 deep-cut knife-wound in the back, which had 
 clearly been the cause of death. The story of 
 the murder of the previous laird of Third was 
 brought to mind, and was at first connected with 
 this tragedy. But another story soon floated 
 through the district. It originated with the 
 female vagrant, but the origin of such stories is 
 soon lost sight of. The body found in the ale- 
 house was, however, identified as that of the 
 long-lost Walter ; and the credulous vulgar, 
 which delights in nothing more than in supping 
 its fill of horrors, received with avidity the tale 
 of the internecine battle between the brothers, — 
 to commemorate which some hand now for- 
 gotten raised the stones on the hill above Third. 
 The spot where they stand to the present day 
 bears the name of Brotherston.
 
 74 THE NEW BORDER TALES. 
 
 The Borderers of a few generations back were 
 scarcely less elemental in their passions than 
 were the Greeks out of whose traditions ^schylus 
 made his tragedies. Only they were more 
 moody and fantastic than the Greeks. Re- 
 flecting upon the story just told, we may almost 
 enter into the old dark pagan belief in "some 
 god" — a blind force working in circumstance. 
 And so, in life, we may sometimes see, if we 
 look about us, as it were, something trying to 
 happen. And at last, sometimes, it does happen.
 
 JOHN BUNGLE. 
 
 By no means particularly early one fine summer 
 morning John Buncle, a day-tale labourer of Fogo, 
 in the Merse of Berwickshire, betook himself to 
 his work of breaking stones at the roadside. 
 John had been drinking the night before, and was 
 out of sorts ; so that everything seemed to go 
 amiss with him this morning. He set to his work 
 in a feckless, perfunctory manner, not troubling to 
 find the right side of the stones — the way they 
 break most easily; so that, through his own care- 
 lessness, his labour was materially augmented. 
 Then, his hammer struck awry, and the flies 
 settled on his face and neck and tickled him ; 
 whilst, as the sun rose in the heavens and its 
 rays beat down more directly upon him, he grew 
 ever warmer and warmer until the sweat simply 
 poured from his brow. At last, in a fit of irrita- 
 tion, he flung down his hammer upon the heap 
 of broken road metal, and venting an impre- 
 cation, cursed his own lot in particular and that 
 of humanity in general. 
 
 "An' when I mind," continued he, "that, but
 
 ^6 THE NEW BORDER TALES. 
 
 for ae bite out o' an aple grown in Eden, these 
 things waud not ha' been — od ! but it makes 
 me mad. Ill-luck to ye, Yeddy, says I ! What 
 took ye to be guided by the weemen-folk, 
 that ye s'ould pree ? Weel may ye now think 
 shame on yoursel', that hae brought misfortun' 
 and hardship on thousands o' puir harmless 
 bodies, like mysel'. Sure ye might ha' known 
 better ; or a better man might hae been set in 
 your place. Then we s'ould all hae been lead- 
 ing the life o' lairds at this day, and the sweet 
 o' the brow — my ban upon it ! — wad ne'er ha' 
 been heard o' ! " 
 
 This soliloquy was spoken aloud, for John 
 believed that nobody was within earshot. He 
 was startled, therefore, and a little disconcerted, 
 when he heard himself accosted in reply. The 
 voice which addressed him was a mild one, the 
 words spoken were polite ; and, looking round, 
 he beheld a person who had evidently come 
 along the road unnoticed whilst his back had 
 been turned. The stranger was plainly dressed, 
 in a dark suit ; his hair was silvered by age ; and 
 his appearance and expression generally were 
 venerable and benign. After two or three intro- 
 ductory remarks, he assumed a firmer tone of 
 voice, and in a manner which was pitched 
 exactly midway between jest and earnest, took 
 the stone-breaker to task, as well upon the 
 strength of an expression which he had used
 
 JOHN BUNGLE. TJ 
 
 as upon the injustice of the impeachment which 
 it had preceded. John — who, to give him his 
 due, was not a bad sort of a fellow — entered 
 readily into the vein and spirit of his chance 
 acquaintance, and endeavoured in his own par- 
 ticular way to turn the laugh against his inter- 
 locutor. But, though he had always rather 
 prided himself upon his mastery of the resources 
 of rustic wit and banter, he soon found that, upon 
 this occasion, he had met his match. There was 
 an unexpected vivacity concealed beneath the 
 quiet dignity of the modestly-attired stranger 
 which enabled him to hold his own with ease in 
 the encounter. 
 
 There now came into view, round a turning in 
 the road, a handsome coach drawn by a fine pair 
 of horses. It drove up at a leisurely pace, and 
 stopped near the spot where the stranger and 
 Jock were standing. Then a smart footman 
 descended from the box, touched his cockaded 
 hat to the old gentleman (to whose service he 
 evidently belonged), and held the door of the 
 carriage open that he might enter. Upon 
 apprehending that the man to whom he had 
 been talking was the owner of so stylish a turn- 
 out, the master of servants in livery, our Jock 
 all at once grew "shamefast." But, to his 
 surprise, the gentleman pointed to the carriage, 
 and adopting a tone which was at once more 
 friendly and more peremptory than that which
 
 78 THE NEW BORDER TALES. 
 
 he had used before, invited him to " jump in." 
 " I shall be glad if you will come home with 
 me," he added, " to see my house. And when I 
 have shown you that, I promise you the very 
 best dinner you ever had in your life ! " 
 
 John wondered, but said nothing. The two 
 then took their places in the carriage, which 
 drove off. After traversing a few miles of 
 country road, they drove in at the lodge-gates of 
 a gentleman's park and up an avenue a mile 
 long, and a hundred yards broad, which was 
 planted with fine timber trees, and finally 
 came to a standstill before the door of a 
 stately mansion, where they alighted. The 
 time while dinner was preparing was spent in 
 viewing the interior of the house, which con- 
 tained a fine picture-gallery ; and the charming 
 gardens and pleasure-grounds attached to it. 
 John saw, and was a good deal impressed ; but 
 in his modesty he spoke very little. There were, 
 of course, many things there which he did not 
 understand, and his host had the tact not to 
 weary him with too detailed a survey. At last 
 the owner of the house (who had all along 
 behaved to his guest with a courtesy and a 
 kindness rather more delicate than what might 
 be shown to an equal) conducted the stone- 
 breaker to the dining-room. Here there was set 
 forth a repast which was at once appetising to 
 the palate and delightful to the eye. In the
 
 JOHN BUNCLE. 79 
 
 coup d'ceil presented by the table, rich silver 
 plate took a tone of greyness by contrast with 
 the surrounding snow-white cloth ; whilst the 
 element of bright and varied colour was sup- 
 plied by rare hot-house flowers of waxen, or yet 
 finer, texture. Some lacqueys stood round in 
 attendance ; but these, as their presence would 
 only have incommoded his guest, their master 
 with a wave dismissed. He then, in these 
 words, addressed the bewildered son of toil : — 
 
 " My friend, you see before you a table set out 
 with every delicacy which study, travel, and a 
 natural aptitude, have in a long lifetime revealed 
 to a devoted mind. There is everything here, I 
 might add, which money can buy ; but mere 
 wealth, ^.'s, factitious, I have always on principle 
 contemned. (To know what you would buy if 
 you had the money — that is the one thing 
 needful : that you have it, or not, is of no 
 moment. But you will not follow me here.) 
 This repast, John Buncle, I have had prepared 
 especially with a view to your enjoyment. Eat, 
 therefore, and welcome, of whatsoever may seem 
 good to you — with one solitary exception." 
 Here the speaker paused, and laid his hand 
 upon a silver dish-cover. " From this dish, and 
 from this alone," he proceeded, " I desire you to 
 abstain — understand me, it is reserved. Of it, I 
 forbid you not only to eat, but even to examine 
 the contents. But I do so with the less reluct-
 
 80 THE NEW BORDER TALES. 
 
 ance that it contains nothing which could 
 possibly be beneficial to you." So saying, and 
 wishing his guest good appetite, the master of 
 the house withdrew. 
 
 Left to himself, our good clown at once 
 regained his ease. He laughed aloud. This, he 
 protested, was the rummest start he had ever 
 met with in his life. He couldn't understand it 
 at all. Then, without more delay, he fell to 
 examining the victuals and tasting of this and 
 that. The dishes contained the appetising, far- 
 fetched, concoctions of a Parisian cordon bleu. 
 The flasks were filled with the choicer vintages 
 of France, — in perfume, like to violets or the 
 rose ; in colour, amber-clear, or dark with ruby 
 lights; cool to the gullet, sparkling, — liquid 
 inspiration, poetry, — the soul, or finer essence, 
 in a bottle ! The weather, as I have mentioned, 
 being warm, some of these drinks wer&frapp^s. 
 
 Our John did not stand upon ceremony. He 
 dipt his fingers where he pleased, spoiled what 
 he chose; and Christopher Sly himself, in the 
 mansion of the rich lord, did not run a more 
 glorious riot. But— alas ! for Nature's homely 
 plan — the feast was thrown away upon him, — 
 his rude gullet resembling the trained palate of 
 his patron no more than did his honest horny 
 hand (off which you might have cut corns with 
 a knife) the delicate palm of a lady. However, 
 to do him justice, he did his best to rise to the
 
 JOHN BUNGLE. 8l 
 
 occasion ; and what was wanting in refinement of 
 appreciation was made up for in gross amount. 
 
 But whilst he fed (for this is not eating), the 
 "crumpled rose-leaf" was not absent from his 
 couch. In the midst of the fountain of dainties, 
 as the Latin poet sang, there arose a something 
 which vexed him. It was this. From the first, 
 the solitary dish-cover under which he had been 
 forbid to pry had piqued his imagination; and 
 now, in proportion as the appetite of the body 
 became satisfied, the appetite of the mind grew 
 keen. He began to hover round, and to scru- 
 tinise the mysterious dish ; but he spared to 
 touch it At last, — when Nature had done her 
 utmost, and could no more, — his curiosity 
 reached a pitch at which it amounted well-nigh 
 to torment. "Why, in the name of justice," he 
 emphatically asked himself, "why, if he were 
 not to do as he pleased, had he been turned 
 loose upon the feast at all ? " It was not treat- 
 ing him fairly. He began to smart under a 
 sense of imagined injury, and felt that any 
 gratitude which might be due to his absent host 
 for the food which he had consumed disappeared, 
 entirely disappeared when weighed against his 
 just cause of complaint at having something 
 that he wanted to know kept back from him. 
 And, after all, what had he to be grateful for! 
 There had been nothing here to his fancy. 
 Collops, or a singed sheep's head, or a nice 
 
 6
 
 82 THE NEW BORDER TALES. 
 
 greasy haggis, followed by an appetising 
 beastin' pudding, such as his wife made when 
 the cow calved, would in his judgment have 
 beat all the foreign flummery which had been 
 set before him. As for the liquor, the three- 
 penny ale at The Three Tuns was worth the 
 whole of it ! And was it not likely that the 
 forbidden cover interposed betwixt himself and 
 the very thing (he knew not what that thing was) 
 which his heart desired ? 
 
 Impelled by an irresistible fascination, he 
 again approached the silver lid, and pored 
 intently upon it. But it kept its secrets well. 
 No savoury steaming odour came from beneath 
 it, to guide the fancy in picturing the hopeless 
 delicacies which it concealed. Jock bent nearer, 
 and sniffed again. No smell came from the 
 dish at all ; but hark ! most unexpectedly, in 
 place of a smell there was a sound. There was 
 something moving within. Our John could 
 restrain himself no longer. Seizing the handle 
 of the dish-cover, he raised it. Beneath he saw 
 a clean and empty dish ! But stay — 'twas not 
 empty ; for, upon the verge of it, gathered 
 up in fright, cowered a mouse, — which had pre- 
 viously been running round and round within 
 the cover in a vain endeavour to escape. 
 
 Apprehending the nature of the trap which had 
 been laid for him, John Buncle now anxiously 
 sought to replace the lid as it had been. But he
 
 JOHN BUNGLE. 83 
 
 was not quick enough ; for the mouse, having 
 speedily recovered herself, now sprang out of 
 the dish, and scampering across the table, on to 
 the floor, and along the wainscot, was quickly 
 lost to view in the folds of some heavy hangings. 
 At the same moment the door opened, and the 
 master of the house appeared on the threshold 
 of the dining-room. 
 
 Without his pausing to look beneath the dish- 
 cover, a single glance in the stone-breaker's face 
 sufficed to inform him how matters stood. See- 
 ing which, the faintest of all possible smiles 
 passed across his countenance, and stretching 
 out his hand towards his visitor, he thus 
 spoke. 
 
 "John Buncle, my brother! let me point the 
 moral of this tale. — An hour or two ago, I was 
 walking — alone with Nature, in the eye of heaven 
 — in the first hallowed freshness and purity of 
 a fair morning granted to us both from God. 
 And, as I walked, I silently gave thanks for 
 the blessings of life and health and happiness — 
 the boons of spirit and of sense, and strove to 
 bring my mortal mind for one hour into harmony 
 with the divine. The happy quiet of my orisons 
 was broken by your voice." The speaker paused, 
 and then resumed. " Profane swearing is, with 
 you, a trick more than a vice. Evil is not 
 meant, yet evil is spoken, — it is not in the heart, 
 why is it on the lips ? "
 
 84 THE NEW BORDER TALES. 
 
 Here the Epicurean Philosopher, or Deipno- 
 sophist, paused again, and John hung his head, 
 Hke a schoolboy caught in the act. 
 
 " But that is not all. A man of your shrewd- 
 ness, John, will have seen, long ere this, that, if 
 Adam yielded to temptation, there are others 
 who, placed in a similar situation and subjected 
 to a similar trial, would have acted precisely as 
 he did. Nay, there are some who would seem 
 to combine the curiosity of Eve with the pliancy 
 of our Common Father. Learn, therefore, to 
 bear without grumbling, or blaming others, such 
 trials as may fall to your lot; and refrain from 
 judging, or you yourself may chance to be 
 judged." 
 
 John, who still looked on the ground, shifted 
 a foot, but uttered nothing. The Philosopher 
 resumed. 
 
 " Finally, learn this also, — that Adam's curse 
 conceals a blessing. Ay, believe me, friend 
 John, there are worse ills in life than to eat your 
 bread in the sweat of your face. Health, with 
 sound sleep o* nights, hearty appetite, and a 
 quiet mind, are compensations which have turned 
 Adam's bane to our happiness ! — And now, go 
 back to your work ; and as you break your 
 stones, reflect upon these my words." 
 
 As he spoke, the old gentleman's tone was 
 grave, yet from his eye there beamed a kindly 
 sympathy; for he knew that no philosopher who
 
 JOHN BUNCLE. 85 
 
 is without an infinite tolerance for the petty 
 failings of a weak humanity can be worthy of 
 that honourable name. And when he had in 
 person conducted John Buncle to the door, and 
 taken his leave of him, there remained in the fist 
 of the latter a golden guinea. 
 
 John returned to his work. But whether the 
 lesson in wisdom which he had received was so 
 taken to heart as to lead him to amend his ways, 
 and so reduce the number of those surface faults 
 which had hitherto kept back a man who at the 
 core was sound and true from advancing in the 
 world, — this, deponent sayeth not* 
 
 * The outline of this rustic fable, or moral tale, was 
 narrated to me by George Dixon, a hedger in my employ- 
 ment. The narrator does not know its origin, but speaks 
 of it as a very old story, which has been familiar to him 
 all his life. It may possibly have been written down 
 before ; but I have not myself seen it in print. — G. D.
 
 A DARK PAGE FROM A FAMILY 
 HISTORY. 
 
 The friendship which subsisted between Lord 
 Bewcastle and Sir Ralph Gorrinberry was well 
 known throughout that part of Cumberland in 
 which they lived. It was matter of remark the 
 more, in that the Earl was young, spirited, and 
 self-willed, whilst the baronet was aged and 
 infirm, and of a querulous temper, — so that it 
 naturally seemed to the world at large that the 
 friends could have very little in common. 
 Nevertheless his lordship was unremitting in 
 his attentions to Sir Ralph, and a very frequent 
 visitor at his house. 
 
 Sir Ralph Gorrinberry's life had been spent 
 in the public service, in which he had held more 
 than one high appointment. He had seen men 
 and cities, sovereigns, camps, and courts. He 
 had been blessed with good natural powers of 
 observation, and had developed a certain acid, 
 cynical wit, which made him, on occasion — when 
 his gout was not too troublesome — a very 
 entertaining companion. After leading the life
 
 A DARK PAGE FROM A FAMILY HISTORY. 8/ 
 
 of a man of pleasure until age had compelled 
 him to abandon the role, he had contracted a 
 marriage with a handsome young woman of 
 obscure family ; who, when she became his wife, 
 having youth and strength upon her side, was 
 reported to rule him, and to do so with a rule 
 which was not by any means too gentle. 
 
 At length the old diplomatist succumbed to 
 his many infirmities, and the countryside was 
 not surprised when, after a decent interval, his 
 widow became Countess of Bewcastle. Sir 
 Ralph had had no children ; but, by her second 
 husband, the Countess became the mother of 
 one daughter. This child, who had been 
 christened Ruth, was from her earliest years 
 her father's idol. And, apart from a father's 
 passion for an only child, she was certainly 
 a strangely attractive little mortal. Of diminu- 
 tive proportions and of a delicate beauty, she 
 the more astonished those who saw her for the 
 first time by the fairy-like quickness of her wit. 
 The dominant characteristic of her disposition 
 was a winning, affectionate playfulness. With 
 her father she simply did what she pleased. 
 
 In course of time, whilst still in middle life, 
 the Countess (who was several years older than 
 her second husband) died, and father and 
 daughter were left alone together. Lady Ruth 
 was now growing up ; but the lowness of her 
 stature, the easy happiness of her experience in
 
 88 THE NEW BORDER TALES. 
 
 life, left her still in outward appearance, as in 
 many other respects, a child. It was about this 
 time that Lord Bewcastle introduced into the 
 house a young man a few years older than Ruth, 
 whose duties were to be those of secretary and 
 librarian to his lordship. The Earl informed 
 his daughter beforehand that Francis Damory 
 was the only son of an old friend of his. He had 
 been left an orphan, in poor circumstances, at 
 a tender age, and his education had been at 
 Lord Bewcastle's expense. Lady Ruth felt her 
 sympathies aroused by this description, and 
 when she came to see the librarian face to 
 face these sympathies received no check. In 
 character and appearance, Damory was the 
 perfect incarnation of an epithet once much in 
 vogue among novelists, but which would now be 
 voted d/mod/, — the epithet " interesting." His 
 handsome features, his gentle manners, his 
 reserve, his melancholy, were precisely such as 
 were calculated to appeal to the romantic 
 imagination of the age in which he lived. But 
 it was not in externals only that he merited 
 commendation, being in reality a high-minded 
 youth, and one who cultivated, amid loneliness 
 and sadness, a secret practice of virtue and 
 honour. He was, furthermore, a student of 
 some elegance ; whilst a certain air of mystery 
 which hung about him by no means diminished 
 the unconscious fascination which he exercised.
 
 A DARK PAGE FROM A FAMILY HISTORY. 89 
 
 Lord Bewcastle was disposed to treat him 
 kindly; but he encountered unexpected difficulty 
 in winning the confidence of one whose Hfe, so 
 far, had left him acquainted with little of 
 sympathy. 
 
 The post of librarian and secretary at Bew- 
 castle was not one of onerous duties. The Earl 
 was devoted to the pleasures of the chase, and 
 regarded not that fair tradition which, in its 
 delineation of ideal manhood, hung the lyre 
 beside the bow and quiver. His letters, which 
 were few in number, were short and to the 
 point; and he seldom entered his library. 
 It thus happened that the librarian found 
 much of his time thrown upon his hands. He 
 was, also, himself thrown much into the society 
 of his patron's daughter. Since his arrival at 
 the Castle, Lady Ruth had, indeed, shown 
 signs of developing a somewhat studious turn. 
 As one who had always had her own way, she 
 had as a child been suffered to some extent to 
 neglect her studies ; but now, as she grew older — 
 so she, in a conversation, informed the librarian 
 — she began to see the importance of remedying 
 those defects in her education which had resulted 
 from early light-mindedness. The young man, 
 who probably felt that his liberal salary was 
 being too easily earned, declared in reply that 
 nothing in the world would afford him greater 
 satisfaction than to do what might be in his
 
 90 THE NEW BORDER TALES. 
 
 power to forward her ladyship's studies. Ruth 
 thanked him very sweetly for his kind offer, 
 and said that she would take him at his word. 
 And so she did. And thus, day after day, as he 
 sat at work in the subdued light poured through 
 heraldic window-panes, in a recess of the library, 
 Lady Ruth would enter to him, bearing in her 
 arms some tome almost as big as herself, and 
 would join him in his researches. She proved 
 a wonderfully apt pupil ; but she interrupted his 
 studies sorely. He had agreed to teach her 
 Greek ; but, in exchange — without stipulation 
 made, and all for love — she taught him a lore of 
 which, poor fellow ! he was quite ignorant, yet 
 which is the one thing truly worth knowing in 
 the world. For poets, indeed, may deal in 
 golden words ; but every word — now arch, now 
 tender, now demure — which fell from those sweet 
 lips was to the finest gold what the living, blush- 
 ing, girl is to the statue. The librarian was not 
 quite so dull-eyed a bookworm as Cousin Modus; 
 and even Modus masters this lesson in the end. 
 
 The affair had reached this stage when Lord 
 Bewcastle got wind of it A thing so unheard 
 of as that the secretary should dare to raise his 
 eyes to his employer's daughter had never entered 
 his lordship's mind; and he did not guess that 
 in this case the initiative had come from that 
 daughter herself. He at once summoned Damory 
 to his presence, and summarily dismissed him
 
 A DARK PAGE FROM A FAMILY HISTORY. 9 1 
 
 from the Castle, Poor Francis did not question 
 the justice of this treatment, though, to give him 
 his due, he had entered upon the path of love — 
 a captive led in flowery chains — almost without 
 reflection, most assuredly without design. He 
 now felt that all the brightness was gone out of 
 his life, and, greatly downcast, he began to make 
 his preparations for leaving Bewcastle. 
 
 He had intended to take his departure without 
 bidding farewell to Lady Ruth. Poor and obscure 
 as he was, he was not without a pride of his own ; 
 and he must be forgiven if he told himself, in his 
 bitterness, that his absence would not long be 
 regretted. But, in so saying, he did his lady-love 
 grievous injustice. The news of her friend's 
 dismissal soon reached her, and at once all the 
 sympathy and generosity of a nature that was 
 singularly quick to feel was aroused and under 
 arms. Divining that the secretary's sense of 
 honour would lead him to leave the Castle with- 
 out seeing her, she paused not to consider, but 
 herself took the initiative and found him. Now, 
 although the youthful couple had travelled some 
 days' journey along the path of love, no explicit 
 declaration, nor anything resembling it, had, so 
 far, passed between them. They were both of 
 them very young and inexperienced, — Lady 
 Ruth being but sixteen, and Damory barely 
 twenty. But now, in the tumult of grief and 
 indignation, what had been vaguely dreamed of,
 
 92 THE NEW BORDER TALES. 
 
 hinted at, guessed, before, was in a moment 
 made plain. The lovers wept together, and 
 Lady Ruth consoled. 
 
 But her nature was not one to accept an 
 unwelcome situation without a struggle to im- 
 prove it. So, when she and her lover had mingled 
 their tears and bitter-sweet consolations for a 
 time, she set her nimble brain to work to see if 
 nothing could be done to alleviate their distress. 
 And, sure enough, in a very few moments, she 
 had devised an ingenious plan, which she pro- 
 ceeded to communicate to Francis. It was bold, 
 it was daring, it was difficult ; but Ruth Delaval 
 had inherited a share of her father's spirit, and 
 she was not one to stick at difficulty or danger. 
 With Damory it was different. He had scruples 
 where she had none ; and perhaps the hardest 
 part of the task she had set herself lay in over- 
 coming these scruples. However, Damory, though 
 high-minded, was but mortal ; and who that was 
 not more than mortal could have resisted the 
 persuasions, the arguments with so good a show 
 of reason, now employed by such a girl as Lady 
 Ruth? In fine, he allowed himself to be con- 
 vinced, and it was arranged between them that 
 her plan should be put into execution. 
 
 At the stated hour, the secretary took his leave 
 of the Castle for ever. In the course of the 
 afternoon Lord Bewcastle and his daughter met, 
 and his lordship was pleased to observe that
 
 A DARK PAGE FROM A FAMILY HISTORY. 93 
 
 Ruth's manner, if graver than usual, was per- 
 fectly composed, and that she made no reproach- 
 ful allusion to the incident of the morning. The 
 Earl thought he knew womankind, or at least 
 knew his own daughter whom he so dearly- 
 loved, — a delusion into which men of the simpler 
 sort and others not seldom fall. 
 
 Towards nightfall his lordship was informed 
 that Lady Ruth had not come in from her walk. 
 His fears were at once aroused in a degree which 
 struck the bystanders as being out of all pro- 
 portion with the trifling nature of the cause. 
 Inquiries were immediately set on foot, and sure 
 enough information was in time elicited that at 
 a late hour in the afternoon a cloaked and 
 hooded female figure of diminutive stature had 
 been observed to enter a strange carriage, which 
 was drawn up outside the park wall at a point 
 where there was a postern gate. The carriage 
 had, thereupon, driven rapidly away. 
 
 " In which direction did it drive ? " inquired his 
 lordship, almost suffocated as it seemed by rage, 
 or by some other feeling. 
 
 " Toward the setting sun, my lord." 
 
 " By heaven ! Then the villain has entrapped 
 my child, and they have fled to Gretna Green." 
 
 Whatever the lamentable deficiencies of his 
 speculative powers, the Earl was a man of 
 prompt and decisive action. Without losing a 
 moment, he ordered his carriage-and-four to be
 
 94 THE NEW BORDER TALES. 
 
 brought to the door, and taking two or three 
 attendants with him, and charging the coachman 
 to drive for his life, he set off in pursuit of the 
 fugitives. The last remains of daylight were 
 fading from the sky as they left behind them the 
 desolate region known as Spadeadam Waste. 
 Driving at full gallop wherever the road would 
 admit of it, they crossed the Roman Road and 
 emerged upon the high moors. Veiled in the 
 darkness to their left, lay the lovely and extensive 
 panorama which, from this point of view, is pre- 
 sented by the Vale of the Irthing. 
 
 " They cannot have much more than a couple 
 of hours' start of us," muttered the Earl, " and 
 we have four horses to their two." 
 
 Then he relapsed once more into his sombre 
 reverie, in the corner of the carriage, and only 
 spoke when he had orders to give. But from the 
 twitching of his hands, from the passion which 
 he betrayed when an unavoidable delay occurred, 
 the servants could judge how intense was the 
 impatience which consumed their ordinarily im- 
 perturbable master. 
 
 The distance to be traversed was not much 
 more than about twenty miles ; but, despite the 
 speed to which the horses were lashed whenever 
 it was possible, the inequalities of the road 
 rendered progress comparatively slow. A good 
 deal of time was also lost in making inquiries at 
 lonely wayside cottages. For the cottagers had
 
 A DARK PAGE FROM A FAMILY HISTORY. 95 
 
 generally been bribed to silence by the fugitives ; 
 and, though a larger bribe untied their tongues, 
 they were so long in answering to the Earl's 
 summons — pretending to be slumbering heavily 
 — that he soon made shift to dispense with their 
 information, and directed his servants to push 
 on without pause for Gretna. There was no 
 opportunity on this cross-country road of ob- 
 taining fresh horses until they reached Long- 
 town, by which time they were so near their 
 destination as to make a change not worth 
 while. 
 
 They were now upon comparatively level 
 ground ; and, jaded though the horses were, 
 the travelling-carriage flew along at a terrific 
 rate. The night was of an almost sensible 
 darkness ; and the momentarily-illumined leafy 
 boughs of trees swept the windows of the car- 
 riage as it swayed in its mad career. For, ever 
 and anon, the Earl kept shouting to his men to 
 make yet greater speed. At last the river Sark 
 was crossed, and the village passed, and the 
 Marriage House stood before them. There were 
 no lights in its windows. Dashing up the short 
 approach to the house, the carriage drew up 
 before it, and Lord Bcwcastle and his servants, 
 alighting, thundered on the door. No answer 
 came to their summons. Still and dark, the 
 house seemed like a mansion of the dead. 
 
 " This is all of a piece with their knavery ! "
 
 96 THE NEW BORDER TALES. 
 
 cried the exasperated nobleman to his com- 
 panions. " By God, if the door's not opened to 
 me in a minute, I swear I'll have ye break it in ! " 
 
 One of the men took a lamp from the carriage, 
 and by its light examined the gravel, 
 
 " They have not left the house," said he, 
 returning from his inspection, "unless they've 
 done it afoot. Them's the wheel-marks of the 
 brisky, and they lead to the stables and no 
 farther." 
 
 At last the sound of footsteps advancing over 
 the flagged passage inside came to their ears. 
 The bolt was withdrawn, and the door was 
 opened by the landlord in his nightcap. With- 
 out paying the slightest attention to the man's 
 acted astonishment, the Earl and his followers 
 pushed their way without ceremony into the 
 house, and began to search it. The ground-floor 
 rooms were dark and deserted ; but in one of 
 them the remains of a repast laid for two 
 attracted the attention of the searchers. Several 
 emptied glasses stood round about, as if a toast 
 had been drunk. Uttering a frightful impreca- 
 tion. Lord Bewcastle snatched a light and 
 rushed upstairs. The attendants followed, with 
 plenty of clatter and tramping. As they reached 
 the landing, a door at the end of the passage 
 opened, and the secretary stood before them. 
 Instead of falling upon him with violence, or 
 storming at him, as the servants had expected,
 
 A DARK PAGE FROM A FAMILY HISTORY. 97 
 
 the Earl grasped him breathlessly by the arm, 
 and led him into a side room. There the two 
 remained closeted together for some minutes. 
 At the end of that time, the secreta«-y passed 
 out of the room once more. He bore no marks 
 of bodily harm, yet so altered in appearance was 
 he that the onlookers in the passage scarcely 
 recognised him. A moment later Lady Ruth 
 joined her father. She was lightly attired in 
 a white de^ni-toilette, her hands were clasped 
 before her, and flitting forward she flung herself 
 upon her knees at Lord Bewcastle's side, in the 
 attitude of the Penitent imploring forgiveness. 
 But on her face all the time there was a demure 
 expression of fun just kept in check and ready 
 to break forth at any moment, — as though she 
 well knew that the situation was not in reality 
 serious, and that the forgiveness she pleaded 
 for would not be very hard to win. For by such 
 means as these she had always been accustomed 
 hitherto to surmount the difficulties of life. But, 
 for the first time in her experience, the Earl 
 turned away his head from her pretty acting, 
 and sobbed and groaned aloud. 
 
 " Father ! " she exclaimed, in the extremity of 
 astonishment ; for the breaking down of the 
 robust and masterful Earl was to her as if the 
 hills had moved. 
 
 At the same moment an exclamation came 
 from the adjoining room which startled them 
 
 7
 
 98 THE NEW BORDER TALES. 
 
 both. Animated by one impulse, they rushed 
 to the door of communication. But the Earl, 
 who was first, stopped short when he reached 
 the door, and held his daughter back from enter- 
 ing. For there, upon the bed, in the very article 
 of death, he had beheld the form of Francis 
 Damory. In his throat there was a ghastly, 
 self-dealt wound. His sensitive mind had 
 proved unable to support the terrible sorrow 
 and dishonour which, through no fault of his 
 own, had fallen suddenly upon him; and finding 
 himself placed in a situation scarcely less awful 
 than that which the toils of circumstance had 
 prepared for Laius' son, he had acted even more 
 rashly than did the King of Thebes in the 
 tragedy. 
 
 From that day, the fair, the joyous, the loving 
 Lady Ruth appeared no more in the world's 
 eye. The remaining years of her life were 
 passed in strict seclusion at Bewcastle ; and — 
 her beauty, her gaiety, her womanhood, frosted 
 in the bud, beyond all hope of recovery — it was 
 not long ere she herself was laid in the last cold 
 sleep. Her father, a changed man, did not 
 survive her long. On his death, the title and 
 estate passed to a kinsman. But the new peer 
 did not take up his abode at Bewcastle. The 
 house was closed, and all but two of the servants 
 were dismissed. These two, a middle-aged man
 
 A DARK PAGE FROM A FAMILY HISTORY. 99 
 
 and his wife, were known to receive unusually- 
 high wages. But they kept themselves strictly 
 to themselves, and admitted no visitors except 
 the clergyman, who called to see them about 
 once every three months. So close, indeed, was 
 their seclusion, that — those being the days of 
 superstition — the Castle in time acquired the 
 reputation of being haunted, — poachers and 
 peasants who had crossed the park at late hours 
 declaring that they had seen lights moving in 
 the upper storeys of the house, whilst the care- 
 taker and his wife were known to inhabit the 
 basement. There were even some who further 
 affirmed that they had heard inexplicable cries. 
 But if inquisitive persons sought to satisfy their 
 curiosity as to these matters, they never received 
 any encouragement from the care-taker, his wife, 
 or the parson. 
 
 Well, years passed, and still the lord of 
 Bewcastle did not visit his domain, still the 
 exclusiveness at the Castle was not relaxed. In 
 the fulness of time the care-taker's wife died, 
 then the care-taker himself died, and then the 
 parson. But they were followed by successors 
 in no wise less inscrutable than they themselves 
 had been. In this manner many years went by, 
 during which the Castle had no history, or at 
 least no history that was ever known. There 
 were even several Earls in succession who had 
 never looked on the estate from which they took
 
 lOO THE NEW BORDER TALES. 
 
 their name. At last — some four-score years 
 after the date of the runaway marriage — in 
 consequence of intelh'gence which had been 
 imparted to him, the Lord Bewcastle of the day 
 paid Bewcastle a visit. After inspecting it, he 
 professed himself charmed with the wildness of 
 the park, and the lonely situation of the Castle, 
 high up upon the fells ; and, to the satisfaction 
 of the neighbourhood, he announced his inten- 
 tion of living there. Accordingly some much- 
 needed repairs were executed, and the house 
 was to some extent modernised. Whilst these 
 alterations were being made, stories of a blood- 
 stained floor and of a bricked-up room dis- 
 covered by the workmen became current in the 
 district. But when the Earl, accompanied by 
 the Countess and a large young family, arrived 
 upon the scene, such stories had to make way 
 for topics more attractive. The new Earl was 
 of a lively and hospitable disposition, and 
 entertained upon a liberal scale ; so that the old 
 cheerful life of the Castle was quickly restored, 
 and the tradition of its having at one time been 
 haunted was mentioned only on winter's nights 
 when fireside tales are told. And perhaps this 
 was well, for Lord Bewcastle and others of his 
 family were always somewhat disconcerted when 
 such references were made in their presence.
 
 THE POT OF GOLD. 
 
 If popular tales are to be believed, there are 
 many buried treasures hidden in the Border 
 Land. One such treasure, for instance, is de- 
 scribed as lying somewhere in the Cheviot Hills. 
 The story is that it was concealed by two 
 brothers in time of war; that it is wrapt in a 
 bullock's hide; and that it lies exactly midway 
 between two places — only one of which, unfor- 
 tunately, is specified. A second treasure is more 
 particularly localised, for the very field in which 
 it is concealed is known. Yet this knowledge 
 must not be turned to account. For when, years 
 ago, some countrymen set spade in the earth to 
 dig for it, we are told that the heavens presently 
 grew dark and that a flash of forked lightning 
 was seen, whilst an angry muttering of thunder 
 overhead seemed to warn the treasure-seekers at 
 their peril to desist from a labour which was 
 displeasing to Heaven. Again, at Pennymuir, 
 somewhere close to Agricola's Camp, there lies 
 buried the body of the English Knight whom 
 Jock of Heavyside slew. He is known to have 
 
 LIBRARY 
 
 UNIVERSITY OF CALIFORNIA 
 
 RIVERSIDE
 
 102 THE NEW BORDER TALES. 
 
 been interred clad in his silver armour, and his 
 remains would therefore make the fortune of 
 any man who should chance to light upon them. 
 Then there are, also, other treasures with which 
 it would not be safe to meddle. These were 
 buried in times of pestilence — perhaps as sacri- 
 fices, to propitiate some Unknown Power — and 
 were they to be unearthed, the plague, it is said, 
 would break out again. 
 
 Readers may think what they please of such 
 stories as these; but, as if to prevent their falling 
 into entire discredit, it does actually happen that, 
 once in many years, a buried treasure is dis- 
 covered. Some years ago there was an instance 
 of this in Berwickshire, — when a farm-labourer, 
 whilst ploughing, turned up an antique urn con- 
 taining a deposit of gold coins. This occurrence 
 was soon noised abroad, and it sufficed to give a 
 new lease of life to all the old fables of buried 
 treasures ever current in the Border Land, and 
 to raise hopes and dreams of a like stroke of 
 good fortune in countless heads and hearts 
 within a circuit of many miles. 
 
 In those days, there was living at Whinny, 
 between Morebattle and Oxnam, an elderly 
 labouring man, William Wastle by name. Now 
 Wastle fills no space in the world's history. In 
 all his days he was not known over more than a 
 square mile or two of country, nor to more than 
 at most a few score of his fellow-creatures.
 
 THE POT OF GOLD. 103 
 
 Yet, notwithstanding, Willie was certainly the 
 possessor of some of the qualities which go to 
 the making of a great man. He had the busiest, 
 the most subtle, of brains; and he was " original." 
 He did not follow other people's lead, that is, 
 like one in a flock of sheep, — he took a line of 
 his own: he had a way of his own of doing the 
 commonest things. For instance, in his very 
 early days when he drove a pair of horses, he 
 would not stop them, as the other ploughmen 
 did, by shouting Woa-hoa ! but simply by saying 
 S-st. (This method of procedure he considered 
 much more refined, in case his master should be 
 present.) The above is only one small instance 
 of the originality of his ways. But his appear- 
 ance, his dress, and his simplest acts were also 
 characteristic. His small wiry form, his acute 
 puckered countenance, and his little bright 
 eyes half hidden under bushy eyebrows, were 
 unmistakable. Then he had introduced the 
 variation upon " Nature's simplest habit," the 
 " kersacky," of a voluminous black gravat, and 
 thus attired he would go about his business, with 
 his head bent, and with an air as if he were 
 intent upon the execution of some clever, silently- 
 matured plan, — which, indeed, he often was. In 
 short, in the language of the people round about, 
 Willie Wastle was " a character." 
 
 Well, at the least, Willie had achieved one 
 success which the proverb informs us is denied
 
 104 THE NEW BORDER TALES. 
 
 to most great men,— he was a hero to the two 
 persons in the world who knew him best, 
 namely, to his wife, Jannie, and to his neighbour, 
 Jimmy Fair, — two simple creatures who never 
 tired in their admiration of his ways, his notions, 
 and his speeches, James and Willie were 
 drainers to trade, and worked together. James 
 Fair, otherwise called Jimmy the Divot, was 
 a tall man of substantial form, good at " taking 
 out the second spading." In a general way 
 he had not much to say for himself, but would 
 be content with repeating " Most re-mark-a.h\e," 
 and things like that, in the pauses of Willie's 
 speech. He was Willie's Achates, and was 
 generally to be seen following him wherever 
 he went, a step and a half behind. When not 
 thus escorted, Willie — like other great men of a 
 certain class — was almost always alone. 
 
 Willie, alas ! was not a man of education. 
 Had he been so, his keen and active mind might 
 have raised him in the world. Yet, on second 
 thoughts, I am wrong to cry alas ! for my hero 
 did not believe in education. He believed in 
 mother-wit. Education, even in his day, had 
 spoilt the rising generation. And what need 
 had he of book-learning when, by the consent of 
 Jannie and Jimmy, Nature herself had made 
 him " a jaynus " ? 
 
 He had no family. His mind imperatively 
 demanded something to wreak its energy upon,
 
 THE POT OF GOLD. 10$ 
 
 and the consequence was that he was always 
 very much taken up with one hobby or another. 
 In the words of the outside world, he was 
 " awfully maggotive." And his genius was specu- 
 lative rather than practical, delighting in the 
 abstract, in theories, and in visions of what 
 things might be. 
 
 Now it so happened that the story of the 
 Berwickshire farm-servant's treasure-trove, to- 
 gether with all the talk to which it gave rise, 
 came to Willie's ears. It made a deep impression 
 upon him ; and, in short, the little man became 
 bitten with the treasure-seeker's mania. Gossip 
 had magnified the value of the find ; and, to 
 Willie's busy unenlightened mind, the truth that 
 what man has done man may do presented 
 itself as bearing with special relevancy upon this 
 matter as it had regard to himself. He knew 
 vaguely that the neighbourhood in which he 
 lived and worked was supposed to abound in 
 traces of an unnamed people who had long since 
 passed away. Again, his trade as a drainer led 
 him daily down into the bowels of the earth — 
 the very kingdom, or world, of hidden treasures. 
 Why might not he, as well as another man, be so 
 far blessed as to light one day upon some store 
 of alien, long-concealed, wealth ? He had worked 
 hard all his life, and he deserved, if any man 
 did, to end his days in ease and comfort. (You 
 see the consideration of deserts still enters into
 
 I06 THE NEW BORDER TALES. 
 
 a poor man's calculation when he speculates as 
 to the future.) But ease and comfort alone were 
 by no means enough to satisfy the aspirations of 
 the soaring soul of the goodman of Whinny. 
 His luxuriant imagination revelled in dreams of 
 barbaric magnificence and of insolent expendi- 
 ture. He decided that his Jannie should wear 
 a golden gown, and that he himself would loll 
 in perfect idleness, with servants within call, to 
 fetch him a drink of water, or a nip of whisky, 
 when he needed it. At last, by dint of con- 
 tinually dwelling on it, the thought of finding a 
 treasure became a fixed idea in Willie's mind. 
 He mused on it by day ; and, what was much 
 more remarkable, at last he dreamed of it by 
 night. Even so, as old Theocritus observes, 
 do sleeping dogs scent meat. I believe that 
 working-men, as a rule, are exempt from 
 dreams ; and drainers, who are the hardest- 
 wrought of working-men, ought to be especially 
 exempt from them. Yet, nevertheless, one night, 
 as Willie lay beside his old Jannie in the dark- 
 ness of their cottage — the stillness broken only 
 by the ticking of the eight-day clock — he 
 dreamed that he was working with Jimmy in a 
 drain, as he did every day. He struck a blow 
 with his pickaxe, — and then, all at once, the 
 earth gave way and opened, and the next 
 moment he found himself alone in a lofty 
 vaulted chamber. Some indistinctness and
 
 THE POT OF GOLD. I07 
 
 confusion followed ; but the upshot of it all was 
 that a minute later he was shouting aloud to 
 Jimmy, and handing out the yellow gold to him 
 by " nieviefu's," nay by "gowpens ! " From this 
 time forth Willie Wastle held the belief that he 
 was destined to find a treasure. 
 
 Only believe firmly that you are destined for 
 great things and you will find it will come true. 
 So was it with the man of Whinny. For a long 
 time after he had dreamed his dream, nothing 
 of any consequence happened. He continued, 
 as before, to live his life of toil and poverty, — 
 against which it had never occurred to him to 
 murmur ; but toil and poverty themselves were 
 illuminated and transfigured by the brilliancy of 
 his visions, say rather by the vividness of his ex- 
 pectations. He had long to wait ; but at last 
 the fated day arrived. 
 
 It happened one summer forenoon that Willie 
 and his mate, assisted by a tileman, were howking 
 a drain in a low-lying green field by the river 
 side, where there was some natural, or self- 
 sown, wood. The spot was close to Caphope, or 
 Cappoch, — where long afterwards the remains of 
 a Roman villa were discovered, — and the ground 
 bore traces of having been disturbed. The men 
 had paused to eat their " nacket," and were 
 about resuming work. Willie, attired in the 
 earth-coloured garb of his calling, already stood 
 in the bottom of the drain ; and, just as he had
 
 I08 THE NEW BORDER TALES. 
 
 done in his dream, he struck a blow with his 
 pickaxe — as he had done many thousand times 
 before. The loose soil rolled down into the 
 cutting, and disclosed to view a strange, old- 
 world, earthenware vase embedded in the clay. 
 The astonished drainer tapped it with the tool 
 that was in his hand, and it gave forth a metallic 
 chink. Then, all at once, a degree of vertigo 
 seized upon Wastle. It was accompanied by a 
 singular sensation of having lived through the 
 experience before. Pulling himself together, he 
 scrambled out of the drain and looked about 
 him. Yes ! there was no mistaking it, — the 
 scene was familiar. He recognised the daisied 
 green which stretched before him in the 
 sunlight, and the singular, spreading, half- 
 uncovered, roots of a self-sown oak tree growing 
 close at hand. It was the place where he had 
 found the treasure in his dream ! If he had had 
 any doubts before, they were dispelled. This 
 was the moment for which he had lived ; and he 
 recognised the necessity of rising to the occa- 
 sion. Quickly collecting his scattered wits, 
 therefore, he beckoned to Jimmy, who was not 
 far off, led him forward without speaking, and 
 silently impressing the necessity of silence upon 
 him, pointed out the mysterious find. (The tile- 
 man, Peter, all this time was still busy with his 
 bread and cheese under the hedge, and this was 
 as Willie would have it ; for though Jimmy was
 
 THE POT OF GOLD. 1 09 
 
 his sworn crony, with whom he gladly shared 
 his good fortune, the tileman was an outsider.) 
 The Divot's slow comprehension did not grasp 
 the situation at once. Then Willie solemnly 
 tapped the vase again ; and again, as before, the 
 metallic chink was heard. And then he began 
 to make eager signs to Jimmy — still refraining 
 from speaking lest the tileman should hear what 
 he said. At last his meaning dawned on the 
 bewildered Divot, who joyfully seizing his spade 
 would have unearthed the vase forthwith. But 
 Willie stayed his hand. Such simple and 
 straightforward procedure in such a crisis was 
 too rash. Now was the time, he felt, to prove 
 himself a man apart. 
 
 " Man ! " cried he in indignant remonstrance, 
 " no anither chap ! no anither chap as lang's ye 
 live." And then, recollecting himself, he added in 
 a whisper, " Man, Jimmy ! your fortun's made." 
 
 It had not been for nothing that Willie had 
 dwelt day and night, asleep and awake, on the 
 prospect of finding a treasure. He knew — none 
 better — the necessity of secrecy and precaution ; 
 and already his swift and subtle brain had 
 sketched out a plan of action to suit the present 
 critical circumstances. Whilst the tileman still 
 sat munching contentedly, he proceeded to 
 cover up the vase carefully with earth as it had 
 been before ; and when the former returned to 
 his work, he informed him with the most natural
 
 no THE NEW BORDER TALES. 
 
 air of unconcern in the world that he might 
 "tile up," and that his services would not be 
 wanted any more just now, for that he (Willie) 
 and his mate did not intend to work any more 
 that day. 
 
 Leaving their tools, the two labourers then 
 walked home together; and, as they went, Willie 
 explained the nature of his ruse for preventing the 
 tileman from sharing in their find. The simple 
 Jimmy was at first inclined to regard their good 
 fortune as problematical. He had certainly seen 
 an urn ; but what sure proof had he that it was 
 filled with gold ? Willie, however, had no toler- 
 ance for such creeping, rule-of-thumb logic. He 
 would not listen to the expression of his com- 
 panion's doubts ; besides, was there not the 
 proof of the metallic chink ? So the feeble 
 objections of the Divot — who was generally 
 accustomed to place implicit confidence in the 
 dicta of his more gifted work-mate — were over- 
 ruled, and he was silenced. Meantime the 
 treasure-finder trod on air. He felt that he had 
 wrought his last day's work as a labourer. 
 
 The cronies inhabited a whinstone double 
 cottage, which stood by itself — apart from other 
 dwellings — by the side of the road which leads 
 from Oxnam to Morebattle. Now it so hap- 
 pened that at this time their wives — though 
 they lived side by side and had no other neigh- 
 bours — had not spoken to each other for many
 
 THE POT OF GOLD. Ill 
 
 months. There was a quarrel of long standing 
 between them, which had arisen in this way. 
 Willie's wife, Janet, had a hare-Hp ; and she 
 fancied that on one occasion she had caught 
 Jimmy's wife (whom she had long suspected of 
 looking down upon her) in the act of mimicking 
 her way of speaking for the amusement of a 
 chance caller. Jimmy's wife had a cutty temper 
 and a scolding tongue ; words had passed, and 
 from that day forward — although their men were 
 so " chief," and though Jannie, as she expressed 
 it, could do well enough with Jimmy — there had 
 been no further dealings between the two solitary 
 women. 
 
 But now, when the great news of the discovery 
 was communicated, bygones were forgotten, and 
 the surprise and joy of the women broke the 
 silence of many days. And — as secrecy was of 
 the first importance, and they could not possibly 
 talk the matter over standing each by her own 
 door-cheek — before Jannie well knew where she 
 was, she had followed her husband and actually 
 stood in Mistress Fair's cottage. What a dis- 
 cussion then began ! A storm of questions from 
 the women assailed Willie ; but it pleased him 
 to assume a knowing, tantalising reserve. How- 
 ever, as he was both the finder of the treasure 
 and the master-mind of the party, it was an 
 understood thing that the conduct of this delicate 
 piece of business should rest entirely in his hands.
 
 112 THE NEW BORDER TALES. 
 
 Then Jimmy's wife, with a smirk, produced a 
 bottle of whisky ; and they " tasted " all round, 
 in celebration of the glorious event. And then, 
 in course of time, the men separated ; but the 
 women remained together, the fastest and most 
 effusive of friends. 
 
 Willie Wastle put his hands behind his back 
 and sauntered off by himself, to mature his plans 
 in solitude. Toward nightfall he returned ; and 
 any observer might have gathered from his 
 countenance that his scheme of action was com- 
 plete. The others came together to hear it 
 revealed ; and this time it was in Jannie's house 
 that the conclave met. A lighted candle was 
 set in the centre of a small deal table, — around 
 which, facing each other, the four simple souls 
 took seats. Then Jannie got up again, to see 
 that there was nobody listening outside. The 
 light of the smoking candle glittered upon 
 Willie's eyes, which were brimful of meaning, 
 and shone upon the broad shoulders and fixed 
 gaze of Jimmy the Divot, upon Jannie's up- 
 looking contorted features, and upon the arms 
 of Mrs. Fair, which rested on the table rolled in 
 her apron. Then, marking his words as he spoke 
 with appropriate movements of his forefinger, 
 the good man of Whinny unfolded his plan. 
 He spoke in a conspirator's whisper, and the 
 four heads bent closer together to catch his 
 words.
 
 THE POT OF GOLD. II3 
 
 The plan was briefly as follows. At a little 
 before midnight, the speaker and Jimmy were 
 to take a lantern and to repair to the scene 
 of their find, to lift the treasure. Meantime 
 the women were to pack up such of their 
 worldly goods as were easily portable, and 
 to place them in Jimmy's cart to be ready for 
 immediate flight. Flight, as Willie explained, 
 was an absolutely necessary measure. For how 
 could they hope to live on at Whinny and 
 enjoy their remodelled existence (which would 
 make a stir in the country), without exciting the 
 suspicions of Gover'ment ? And if once that 
 vaguely-defined power got wind of their luck, it 
 would not fail to appear on the scene in some 
 corporate shape or other, and forcibly deprive 
 them of their gains. No — they could not stay 
 at home ; America was the place for them. 
 They would be beyond the reach of Gover'ment 
 there. Now, it is a fact that not one of these 
 honest creatures would have stolen so much as 
 a pin from a neighbour. But their conception 
 of justice was a larger one than that embodied 
 in the Law of the Land ; and, in defrauding the 
 Government of ten thousand pounds or so — for 
 at such a sum they roughly estimated the 
 treasure, — they felt that they were simply 
 appropriating what was their own by right, and 
 doing no person any ill. 
 
 As soon as the treasure should be safely 
 
 8
 
 114 THE NEW BORDER TALES. 
 
 stowed away in the cart, the fugitives were 
 themselves to mount, and at the best speed of 
 Jimmy's sorry jade to make for Leith. The 
 details of the journey they perforce left vague ; 
 for they were none of them travellers. How- 
 ever, the essential thing was that, at the sea-port, 
 a vessel would be waiting to convey them across 
 the Atlantic. And, once in the States, the world 
 would be at their feet, and they would enter 
 upon a life of pleasure and idleness of which 
 Willie drew a glowing picture. The others 
 added details at their pleasure, and in this 
 agreeable occupation the minutes were con- 
 sumed till it was time for the men to set out on 
 their momentous errand. 
 
 These then sallied noiselessly forth — the 
 women shading the candle-flame at the open 
 door as they wished their husbands good speed. 
 There was no moon. The summer night was 
 dark, and the air heavy. A horn lantern, which 
 was to light their labours, hung down from 
 Willie's hand. Proceeding on their way, they 
 were somewhat surprised to find, when they 
 reached the house where the tileman and his 
 family dwelt, that there was a light burning 
 in it 
 
 " What can they be doing wi' a light at this 
 time o' night?" inquired Wastle rather uneasily. 
 
 " Maybe there's someone no wecl," was Jimmy's 
 matter-of-fact reply.
 
 THE POT OF GOLD. II5 
 
 They trudged on, up hill and down dale, — at 
 times pausing to listen, to make sure that they 
 were not followed, and then pushing on once 
 more. At last they reached the meadow where, 
 beneath the green sod — like a pearl asleep in the 
 depths of ocean — lay the hidden wealth which 
 was to transform their lives. Willie set down 
 the lantern on the loosened soil which had been 
 flung out of the drain, and cautiously unveiled 
 it. Its light illuminated the wheeling-board, a 
 barrow lying near upon its side, and a heap of 
 pink tiles ; and so spread away over the trodden 
 clay and the sward beyond. The tools lay where 
 they had been flung down in the morning. Then 
 the two old men leapt into the drain, and 
 fell feverishly to their work. Trembling lest 
 they should discover that the pot had in some 
 mysterious manner melted or vanished during 
 their absence, they undid the last labours of the 
 morning. The soil rolled down before their 
 spades, and presently the red earthenware side 
 of the urn was uncovered. With a gasp of relief, 
 Willie tapped upon it — as he had already done 
 twice before. The pot gave forth a hollow 
 sound ; but the old man's ear did not detect the 
 metallic chink which it had noted, or fancied, in 
 the fore part of the day. However, in his pre- 
 sent eagerness, this did not trouble him. Care- 
 fully loosening the soil, the two quaint delvers 
 now with some labour released the jar from its
 
 Il6 THE NEW BORDER TALES. 
 
 prison of a thousand years. Then Wilh'e stepped 
 forward to raise the lid. The soul — the wealth 
 concealed within — was now to be set free from 
 its living tomb, — whence, like some comet — an 
 embodied joy — it should fly away on golden 
 wings into the uttermost parts of the earth, 
 bearing behind it, hanging to its tail, four 
 homely, oddly-assorted, laborious, simple beings. 
 Grasping the top-piece, Willie lifted the lid — and 
 straightway, like a dream, his golden illusion 
 was dispelled. The pot was empty. 
 
 I pass lightly over the mournful and lingering 
 return of the treasure-finders to their home. In 
 the act of scaling the seventh heaven, Willie had 
 found himself pitchforked headlong back to the 
 common earth. Not only had his treasure 
 melted, not only was his hope dead (for such 
 discoveries are not made twice in a lifetime), 
 but his reputation as a "jaynus" had, as he 
 dimly felt, received a wound from which it 
 would never recover. Jimmy's woes were of a 
 homelier kind. His even nature had been less 
 lifted up than Willie's, and he had now not so 
 far to fall. Yet, as they walked home side by 
 side, his pace was even slower than his comrade's, 
 his mien was the more disconsolate ; for well he 
 guessed the skelping which awaited him when 
 his wife should learn how she had been fooled. 
 
 Meantime, some clouds having lifted, the 
 night had grown less dark, so that as the men
 
 THE POT OF GOLD. II7 
 
 approached the cottages, their wives — now 
 resting after their labours — descried them afar 
 off. Jannie expressed surprise at the slowness 
 of their advance ; but this, Jimmy's wife, with a 
 good show of reason, attributed to the weight of 
 the treasure which they carried. The husbands, 
 on the other hand, when at last they came up, 
 were astonished at the rapidity with which the 
 women had laboured during their absence. The 
 cottages seemed in that short time to have been 
 entirely stripped and dismantled. The doors 
 were locked on the outside ; and Jannie, in her 
 best bonnet and Paisley shawl, with a bundle on 
 her knee, was seated on her corded trunk by the 
 door-stone. And, as the men confronted her, 
 stammering and shamefast, making pitiful efforts 
 to pass the whole matter off as a joke, a noise of 
 wheels was heard, and Mistress Fair, seated upon 
 the top of the loaded cart, drove round from the 
 stable behind the houses. It was evident that 
 the women had truly done their part, and that 
 they had shown a spirited determination that no 
 time should be lost through their fault. 
 
 Surely we need not dwell upon the scene 
 which followed ? The just ire felt by Mrs. 
 Fair when she found that she had had all 
 her trouble for nothing was increased, not 
 diminished, by the feeble and unlucky attempt 
 made by the men to pass the disappointment 
 off as a joke. The tempest of her wrath
 
 Il8 THE NEW BORDER TALES. 
 
 enveloped not only him who was her lawful 
 property, but her neighbour's husband as well ; 
 and glad indeed was Willie to escape into his 
 house and shut the door behind him. But for 
 the ill-starred Jimmy there was no escape. 
 And so, through the partition wall of the 
 cottage, his wife's tongue could be heard 
 wagging, furiously and incessantly, till the 
 summer morning broke. Then the crestfallen 
 workmen arose — to betake themselves to that 
 laborious task to which they felt that they 
 were now doomed, without hope of inter- 
 mission, for as long as life, or strength, should 
 hold out. 
 
 But this is not the end of my story. A few 
 months after the events recounted above, it hap- 
 pened that Mistress Fair, leaving the old tavern 
 called the Hottle, at Oxnam, encountered the tile- 
 man's daughter. The matron civilly gave the 
 time of day ; but the young woman responded by 
 tossing her head, and in other ways displaying 
 so much pride that Jimmy's wife was severely 
 incensed. This was not all. When another few 
 months had gone by, the tileman, accompanied 
 by his family, unexpectedly left the neighbour- 
 hood. It was reported that they had gone 
 abroad ; and, sure enough, in course of time, 
 a letter addressed by the afore-mentioned 
 daughter to a friend in the neighbourhood, 
 and bearing a foreign postmark, was received.
 
 THE POT OF GOLD. II9 
 
 This letter contained many allusions to the 
 altered and improved circumstances in which 
 the writer and her family now lived, — a change 
 which she declared that they owed to a legacy, 
 inherited from a distant relative who had long 
 been resident abroad. Now, nobody remembered 
 ever to have heard the tileman, or any one of his 
 family (who, nevertheless, were not inclined to 
 hide their light under a bushel), allude to any 
 such relative. These circumstances, therefore, 
 when they were known, went far, in his own 
 little coterie, to re-establish Willie's credit. So 
 he began to hatch maggots again just as indus- 
 triously as ever before. And, in reference to the 
 treasure, to his dying day he was always accus- 
 tomed to assert that the sound emitted by the 
 jar when he had tapped it at midnight was of 
 a completely different character to that which 
 had greeted his ears when he had tapped it 
 first. But if Mistress Fair happened to be 
 present, and to revert, as she generally did, 
 to the fatal consequences of being too clever 
 by half — to which she attributed the fact of the 
 treasure having slipped through their fingers — 
 the little man would thereupon at once grow 
 silent and abashed.
 
 THE NABOB. 
 
 A STORY OF A "SCOTCH MARRIAGE." 
 
 Margaret , the daughter of a well-to-do 
 
 tenant-farmer, in Selkirkshire, was beautiful and 
 self-willed. She had lost her mother early. Her 
 father — though she was his only child — was not 
 the man to spoil her; and, indeed, her growing up 
 had been attended by a considerable and ever- 
 increasing amount of friction between them. At 
 last matters reached a climax. In the absence of 
 an admirer in her own station in life, Margaret had 
 smiled upon the admiration eloquently expressed 
 in the eye of a handsome young servant on her 
 father's farm. Meetings took place between the 
 youthful couple ; the man, poor fellow, lost his 
 head ; and even Margaret, in her inexperience, had 
 the simplicity to seek an interview with her parent, 
 and to inform him that she was sure she should 
 never love any man but Robin, and that she 
 was ready to give everything to become his wife. 
 This was preposterous. The farmer stormed ; 
 Margaret was placed in strict confinement in 
 her bedroom, on a diet of bread and water ; and
 
 THE NABOB. 121 
 
 the next rising sun beheld the sad figure of the 
 young ploughman, bearing the little bundle 
 which contained his all, betake himself across 
 the fields, in the direction of the distant village 
 where his home was. 
 
 When released from her imprisonment, as in 
 due course she was, Margaret's temper was none 
 of the sweetest, or most submissive. For many 
 days no speech was exchanged between herself 
 and her father. It was in this frame of mind 
 that, as she was loitering one morning in the 
 neighbouring fields, she was accosted by a gentle- 
 man on horseback in the prime of life, who asked 
 her some simple question. Her negligent reply, 
 the mingled hauteur and discontent of her de- 
 meanour, and, above all, her beauty, appeared 
 to strike the stranger, whoever he might be, and 
 he artfully prolonged the conversation — which 
 Margaret, out of sheer indifference, allowed him 
 to do. She would have thought no more of the 
 incident, but, a few days afterwards, chancing to 
 pass the same spot at nearly the same hour, she 
 again saw the gentleman on horseback, who this 
 time raised his hat and greeted her. Further- 
 more, in the course of the remarks which they 
 exchanged, he somehow managed to inform her, 
 without seeming to do so, that their meeting, in 
 so far as he was concerned, was not due to acci- 
 dent, and that he had visited the spot daily at that 
 hour since the day of their previous interview.
 
 122 THE NEW BORDER TALES. 
 
 Margaret would not have been a woman if 
 her curiosity had not been piqued, and she now 
 took some trouble to determine the identity of 
 her new acquaintance. Somewhat to her sur- 
 prise, she discovered that he was no other than a 
 man whose name she had of late very often 
 heard mentioned, but in whose affairs, being 
 preoccupied with her own, she had taken no 
 interest. 
 
 Dixon Mather — or, as in accordance with the 
 usage of those days he had recently been nick- 
 named, "The Nabob" — after starting from a 
 very small beginning, had acquired a large for- 
 tune in the East India Company's service. He 
 was a native of the district (though he had left 
 it at an early age); and, as was knawn to one 
 or two, was descended from an old, but long- 
 impoverished, local family. But, being remem- 
 bered chiefly, where he was remembered at all, 
 as a threadbare little lad, the son of parents in a 
 small way of business, it had come about that — 
 notwithstanding that an estate which he had 
 recently purchased had been a former property 
 of his family — he had been viewed since his 
 arrival in the neighbourhood, not in the light, so 
 to speak, of a king come to his own again, but 
 in that of a common parvenu. Now, it so hap- 
 pened that, at the time of which I am writ- 
 ing, this was a bitter and ever-present grievance 
 to him. The exclusiveness of Scottish country
 
 THE NABOB. 123 
 
 society in those days (and even in much later 
 ones) can to-day be scarcely realised by any one 
 who, in default of direct experience, has not had 
 minute information, at first hand, regarding it 
 It was nothing less than a heartless, if uncon- 
 scious, form of tyranny, — by which the stranger, 
 the most proper object of our hospitality, and the 
 social inferior, whose just due is our choicest 
 courtesy, were transformed alike into pariahs. 
 The county families of Mather's county had not 
 even paid him the compliment of turning up 
 their noses at him. They had simply ignored 
 him, behaving exactly as if they did not know 
 that any such person existed — which, in many 
 individual instances, may even very possibly have 
 been the case. For exclusive society has this in 
 its favour, which to the outsider is a very aggra- 
 vating attribute — that it is beautifully sufficient 
 to its own needs and requirements. What made 
 matters worse was that the Nabob was a great 
 man in his own estimation — an opinion which 
 the state and power he had so long enjoyed 
 among the subject races of the East made not 
 only pardonable, but the only one natural. 
 There was a pathetic side, too, to what might 
 otherwise have been either simple gregariousness, 
 or else that in reality amiable weakness which is 
 called, too harshly, " snobbery." 
 
 Sundered from his friends at a tender age, the 
 youthful Dixon had set before him, as his earliest
 
 124 THE NEW BORDER TALES. 
 
 aim, to grow fabulously rich, return to his native 
 country, take up the position which he had been 
 taught by his parents to believe was his by right 
 of descent, and make every one happy around 
 him. Alas for these young dreams ! Sometimes 
 they come true ; but the dear ones in whose lives 
 alone their brightness could enjoy a frail, subject- 
 ive reality — these are no more ; and the dreamer 
 himself is changed. 
 
 Mather's was a character in which a grievance 
 found spacious harbour. Virile in matters of 
 action, womanish in those of feeling, intensely 
 emotional beneath a calm and reserved exterior, 
 introspective, he had lived much alone, and in 
 the absence of correcting influences, his natural 
 tendencies had run to seed. He suffered also 
 from an affection of the liver, the effect of the 
 Indian climate, which often made him moody and 
 depressed. It must be added in fairness, too, 
 that, if he felt himself isolated, neglected, and 
 cold-shouldered upon his country estate, he had 
 in some measure himself to blame for it. More 
 than one of the country gentlemen, his neigh- 
 bours, had made preliminary inquiries about him ; 
 which inquiries, had the information they elicited 
 been satisfactory, would in all probability have 
 been followed up by advances. But, being met 
 by rumours of certain unusual, eccentric, and 
 high-handed acts into which the Nabob, unaccus- 
 tomed as he was to the ways and restraints of
 
 THE NABOB. 12$ 
 
 civilisation, had been betrayed, these gentlemen 
 had unanimously resolved to delay further action, 
 until circumstances should have revealed some- 
 what more distinctly the character of this possibly 
 questionable interloper. Had Mather been in- 
 formed of the grounds of their hesitation, it is 
 possible that his subsequent conduct might have 
 been different. As it was, having no one else to 
 please, he determined, in a temper of pique and 
 dudgeon, at least to please himself, and by a 
 precipitate act made haste to place himself at 
 once and forever beyond the pale of county 
 society. 
 
 The meetings between himself and Margaret 
 were repeated. She found in them a distraction, 
 and he a pleasure of another order. At last, 
 when the first barriers of reserve had been broken 
 down between them, he, one day, in a half- 
 bantering mood, invited her " to come and stay 
 with him." As evil chance would have it, the 
 conversation from that point took a deeper tone, 
 with the result that that night, with the recol- 
 lection of her injuries still rankling in her breast, 
 Margaret took the irrevocable step of leaving her 
 father's house. 
 
 She had resided with the Nabob for some five 
 years, and had borne him three children, when 
 an event occurred to break the monotony of 
 their lives. It was upon the eve of a general 
 election. Party politics at that time ran especially
 
 126 THE NEW BORDER TALES. 
 
 high ; from the extent of his means and of his 
 property, the Nabob was an influential man in 
 the locality ; and, in short, the time seemed 
 at last to have come when he could be no longer 
 overlooked. Accordingly, in due course, to his 
 no small gratification, a very courteously-worded, 
 
 friendly letter arrived from the Earl of ,Lord 
 
 Lieutenant of the county, and a member of His 
 Majesty's ministry. The courteously-worded, 
 friendly letter, coming after a neglect so long 
 continued, might, to any one who knew more 
 about politics in the mother-country, have seemed 
 very like an electioneering dodge ; but the Lord 
 Lieutenant deservedly bore a very high character, 
 not only for ability, but for conduct and manners 
 as well, and this explanation did not even occur 
 to the Nabob. Besides, his lordship's seat was 
 remote, whilst he himself had been so much 
 absent from it, attending to the affairs of the 
 nation, that there was ample excuse for his not 
 having called upon the new-comer. His letter 
 expressed regret for the omission, and went on 
 to say that the writer was seeking the earliest 
 opportunity of repairing it. His engagements 
 required his presence in Mather's locality upon 
 a certain day in the following week ; would 
 Mather receive him under his roof for the night, 
 thus affording him an opportunity of making his 
 acquaintance? From a man who was far and 
 away the greatest in the county, this was delicate
 
 THE NABOB. 1 27 
 
 flattery, and the Nabob chuckled as he pictured 
 to himself the surprise and (he hoped) anger of 
 the smaller county magnates when they heard of 
 it. He at once wrote a suitable reply in the 
 affirmative, and having done so, determined to 
 give his guest a reception which should be 
 worthy of himself and the occasion. Almost for 
 the first time since he had taken up his residence 
 in the country, he experienced the pleasure and 
 pride of having riches at his command. 
 
 A servant upon whose judgment he could de- 
 pend was at once despatched, post, to Glasgow. 
 In due course he returned, but not, as he had 
 gone, unaccompanied. Footmen, a coachman, 
 grooms, and (most important of all) a man cook, 
 came with him ; and these were followed by 
 three waggons, heavily laden. In the waggons 
 were boxes containing liveries for the servants; 
 some handsome fancy articles of furniture and 
 plate ; every imaginable delicacy for the table 
 (the rich merchants of Glasgow, great diners, 
 saw to its market being kept supplied in this 
 respect) ; rare hot-house plants for decoration, 
 for it was winter ; jewellery and a choice of 
 gowns for Margaret. The cortege travelled night 
 and day, and reached the Nabob's on the morning 
 of the expected visit. Then all was bustle; and, 
 under able guidance, in a few hours the Nabob's 
 residence stood transformed. Every trace of 
 his somewhat hugger-mugger, if free, style of
 
 128 THE NEW BORDER TALES. 
 
 living had disappeared; and in its place appeared 
 a style which was the model of decorum and 
 propriety. A sumptuous dinner was cooking 
 below stairs, and a number of richly-liveried ser- 
 vants stood ready to conduct the service. The 
 Nabob himself had had a hair-dresser, and had 
 attired himself in a fashion of quiet good taste. 
 He felt that his opportunity had come. He was 
 clever enough, if they only gave him a chance ! 
 
 Late on the afternoon of the short day, an 
 out-rider trotted smartly up the approach and 
 rang a thundering peal ; and a few minutes later, 
 a carriage-and-four rolled up to the Nabob's 
 door. The meeting between host and guest was 
 all that could be wished. The kindliness, the 
 simplicity, and the natural dignity (entirely free 
 from pretentiousness) of his lordship's manner 
 quite won the Nabob's heart, and set him at his 
 ease, so that throughout the dinner (which passed 
 off without a hitch) he talked freely, well, and 
 with animation. I always heard him spoken of 
 by the few who, years ago, remembered him, as 
 a man of strong mental power, and his long 
 experience of a country unknown to the Cabinet 
 Minister, but about which the latter was eager to 
 acquire information, supplied him with at least 
 one excellent topic. Margaret, richly jewelled 
 and attired, occupied the foot of the table. She 
 looked her best, but took no part in the con- 
 versation. And it was only when his glance for
 
 THE NABOB. 129 
 a moment rested upon her, that Lord 's 
 
 benign countenance became troubled, and a 
 cloud seemed to gather upon his aristocratic 
 features. The truth was that he had that after- 
 noon heard a sinister report, but had refused to 
 believe it. 
 
 At last the dinner came to an end. The wine 
 was placed on the table, Margaret retired, and 
 the Nabob and the Lord Lieutenant were left 
 alone. This was the moment to which Mr. 
 Mather had looked forward. In the case of most 
 of his neighbours, he would have felt that, for 
 making a favourable impression, he might safely 
 rely upon the unaided qualities of his excellent 
 Madeira. But with his lordship it was different. 
 He was a man who drank little ; but he could 
 appreciate good conversation, and accordingly 
 his host had reserved his best and most telling 
 stories for the last. Elated by his success — 
 for, during the whole of dinner, whilst his 
 conversation had been playing with such a 
 brilliant, lambent, variable flame over so many 
 subjects, he had never ceased to keenly watch 
 its effect upon his guest — he was for the moment 
 off his guard, as with a manner of less extreme 
 deference than he had hitherto shown, he seated 
 himself beside his lordship. 
 
 " What you were saying about paternal affec- 
 tion, my lord, reminds me of a curious and 
 touching incident which came under my own 
 
 9
 
 I30 THE NEW BORDER TALES. 
 
 observation when I was residing upon a remote 
 station in the Madras Presidency." 
 
 So saying, Mather was about to fill the Lord 
 Lieutenant's glass and his own, when, to his 
 surprise and acute discomfiture, he received an 
 unexpected check. 
 
 His lordship pushed back his chair. 
 
 " Excuse me, Mr. Mather, but before we enter 
 upon indifferent matters, there is one serious 
 question which I must put to you." 
 
 " I am at your lordship's service." 
 
 For a moment the Lord Lieutenant hesitated. 
 Then he spoke out. 
 
 " The lady who sat at the foot of your table 
 just now — is she your wife ? " 
 
 " She is not." 
 
 " But it is your intention, I hope, to make her 
 your wife?" 
 
 " No, my lord." 
 
 His lordship rose to his feet. 
 
 " Then, sir, I have been mistaken in my man," 
 said he, curtly. And with that he moved to- 
 wards the bell and rang it. When the servant 
 appeared, he gave orders for his horses to be put 
 to at once, and his carriage to come round to the 
 door. 
 
 But, before taking his departure, he made an 
 earnest and sincere appeal to Mr. Mather to 
 right, in so far as still lay in his power, the 
 wrong which he had done to Margaret. He
 
 THE NABOB. I3I 
 
 spoke feelingly of the sacredness of the family 
 tie ; referred to the pretty, unoffending children 
 (whom he had seen before dinner), who, through 
 their father's selfishness, were destined to bear 
 through life a branded name ; and, finally, 
 appealed to his host, as to a man of sense and of 
 the world, upon the useless folly of flying in the 
 face of society. But he spoke to deaf ears. So 
 long as all had gone smoothly and well, the 
 Nabob had shown himself the pattern of polished 
 affability; but now that things had taken another 
 turn, winds and waves themselves were not more 
 inexorable than he. His concealed, but in 
 reality so highly sensitive, nature had received a 
 harsh check ; and he now began to tingle with a 
 sense of having betrayed subserviency, of having 
 made himself ridiculous in his efforts to please 
 his distinguished guest. And, as if to correct 
 his error, he flew to an opposite extreme, main- 
 tained a harsh and obdurate demeanour, even 
 when his heart was touched and his conscience 
 
 pricked him, and, at last (as Lord reached 
 
 his climax), reverting to the manners of re- 
 cent years, sprang to his feet, and, swearing a 
 great oath, declared that "the day on which 
 he married Margaret should be the day of his 
 death." 
 
 Lord knew human nature too well to 
 
 waste further words on him in his present mood ; 
 and, the carriage being at that moment announced,
 
 13^ THE NEW BORDER TALES. 
 
 notwithstanding the lateness of the hour, he 
 at once took his departure. As the sound of 
 the carriage-wheels died away, Dixon Mather 
 dropped back into his seat, and, resting his head 
 upon his arms, and his arms on the table, sank 
 into a reverie. 
 
 The prospect before him was gloomy. He 
 felt that he had had his chance, and that, owing 
 to a foolish error of his own, it had slipped 
 through his fingers. His sin had found him out. 
 His long-cherished hope of taking the position 
 in the county to which, whether by delusion or 
 not, he believed himself by descent entitled, 
 passed from him forever ; and, with the sad 
 courage and wisdom which come to us when we 
 have faced the worst, he smiled to think that he 
 could ever have attached so much importance to 
 such a bauble. Then his thoughts went back to 
 old times ; and the gentle sayings of his mother 
 and his old father's cheery presages when he was 
 leaving them (for the last time, as it proved) to 
 go forth into the world to seek his fortune, came 
 back and touched his heart to a long-unwonted 
 softness. There stood between him and a new, 
 wise, happy life, only one little never-to-be- 
 surmounted " if." But he had made a mess of 
 things, and he felt tired. 
 
 But he had other thoughts than for himself. 
 Notwithstanding his impervious demeanour, 
 the eloquent words of the Lord Lieutenant —
 
 THE NABOB. 1 33 
 
 the man of stainless character, grown old in 
 honour, his own friend of an hour — had effected a 
 lodgment in spite of him, and their echo haunted 
 him now. He thought of Margaret. His fancy 
 for her had long ago passed off, and her life with 
 him during the past five years had been no bed 
 of roses. Then he thought of his children. He 
 had never cared for them ; but to-night his 
 own mind seemed so soft and gentle — like to 
 that of " a weaned child " — that the thought of 
 them somehow filled his eyes with moisture. He 
 took a candle from the table, opened the door, 
 and listened. The servants were feasting, and 
 surmising, below stairs ; Margaret was in her 
 own apartment. Noiselessly he made his way 
 to the nursery, and, entering it, laid a light kiss 
 on the cheek or forehead of each sleeping baby. 
 Then he returned to the dining-room, where, 
 after a moment, he loudly rang the bell. Only 
 too eagerly, for once in their careers, a servant 
 entered at either door. He despatched one of 
 them to summon the rest of his fellows to the 
 dining-room, and by the other sent a message to 
 Margaret, requesting her presence there also. 
 In a surprisingly few minutes the troop of 
 permanent and occasional domestics, with diffi- 
 culty restraining the outward tokens of that 
 curiosity which they felt, had to a man filed into 
 the room ; and Margaret, still clad in her rich 
 dress, was not far behind them.
 
 134 THE NEW BORDER TALES. 
 
 The Nabob had resumed his charming, man- 
 of-the-world demeanour of the earlier part of the 
 evening. He jested sh'ghtly with one of the 
 women, and politely desired that all the servants 
 would be seated. Those of them who had known 
 him longest afterwards declared they had never 
 before seen their master to such advantage. 
 Then — when Margaret, wonderingly, entered 
 the room — with a grace of gesture that was 
 truly courtly, he placed a chair for her, and, 
 speaking clearly and deliberately, thus addressed 
 his audience : 
 
 "My friends, I merely wished you to bear 
 witness that, by the law of Scotland, this lady is 
 my wifer And then, with a wave of the hand, 
 " I need not detain you further — go back and 
 enjoy yourselves." 
 
 The menials flocked out of the room, and 
 Margaret, overwhelmed by mingled surprise and 
 gratitude, would have commenced a tearful scene 
 with him whom, as it seemed, she had now a right 
 to call her husband. But he lightly put her aside 
 and left her, alleging some commonplace excuse. 
 Thereupon she went to another room, and, in a 
 strange flutter of feeling, sat down at her writing- 
 desk. 
 
 During the past five years, the erring woman 
 had not been without her own thoughts. Her 
 father, now an old man, when first he had heard 
 of her disgrace, had vowed never to see her face
 
 THE NABOB. 135 
 
 again whilst she continued Mather's mistress. 
 And he had kept his word. So that she — having 
 with years come to think differently upon many 
 matters — whether firmly convinced or not of the 
 validity of the hasty, informal marriage, now 
 eagerly embraced the earliest opportunity of 
 informing him that the stigma on her name had 
 been removed, and so effecting a reconciliation. 
 But she had scarcely yet composed herself suffi- 
 ciently to write intelligibly, when she was startled 
 by hearing the report of a gun ring through 
 the house. It was followed by a heavy fall. The 
 noises came from the room just overhead — that 
 in which Dixon kept his fire-arms. Seized with 
 a terror which she dared not define, Margaret 
 fled towards it. The servants from all directions 
 were already hastening thither. And, through 
 the crowded entry and the open door, she beheld 
 upon the floor the lifeless form of the man who, 
 but half-an-hour before, had become her husband, 
 — not only as he had previously been in the sight 
 of God, but in the eye of the law as well. He 
 had put a bullet through his brain. Thus did the 
 proud and petulant Nabob bring true his hasty 
 words to the Lord Lieutenant — that the day on 
 which he wedded Margaret should be the day of 
 his own death. 
 
 The question of the legitimacy of Margaret's 
 children was contested in the law-courts of 
 Edinburgh, where a verdict was given in their
 
 136 THE NEW BORDER TALES. 
 
 favour. This not proving satisfactory to him, 
 was appealed against by Mather's next-of-kin ; 
 and, finally, the plea was transferred to the 
 higher tribunal. There, however, the first ruling 
 was sustained — with the result that to this day 
 the representative of his descendants possesses 
 and enjoys the Nabob's estate.
 
 WILL WINTER AND ROB SCOTT. 
 
 It is a mistake to suppose that the genuhie 
 peasant-tale is altogether a thing of the past. 
 Certainly it is true that the old stories which 
 introduce the supernatural and can no longer be 
 believed have very nearly ceased to be told ; but 
 there are other, more credible, tales which have 
 taken their place. Such are, for instance, the 
 stories of buried treasures — alluded to in a 
 previous tale. Such, again, are the legends of 
 old local battles, and of how some stream, or 
 river, in the neighbourhood where the battle was 
 fought ran with blood for three whole days after 
 the fighting. Such, also, are the stories of 
 mysterious caverns into which persons enter, 
 but from which they do not come out. There is 
 one cave of this kind, for instance, into which 
 a huntsman and a pack of hounds pursued a 
 hunted fox ; but from which neither fox, 
 hounds, huntsman, nor horse, were ever known 
 to emerge again. Then there is a second cave, 
 into which a piper penetrated, playing upon his 
 pipes. He never came out either. The music
 
 138 THE NEW BORDER TALES. 
 
 which he made was listened to for a long time 
 by persons at the mouth of the cave. At first it 
 was loud and cheerful, then it grew fainter and 
 fainter, more plaintive and more plaintive yet, 
 — until at last it died away in the bowels of 
 the earth. Then there are kindred stories of 
 subterranean passages of great length — some- 
 times said to have been fashioned by the monks 
 — uniting ancient castles, or religious establish- 
 ments. Then, again, there are modern varieties 
 of the hero-tale, — stories of fights, and of adven- 
 tures by flood and field, A favourite one is that 
 of a prodigious leap taken by the hero in escaping 
 from pursuit. There are also stories of remark- 
 able local characters — the desperate ones being 
 generally preferred. There is, for instance, the 
 history of the dissipated and sceptical country- 
 gentleman, who, having led a merry life and scoffed 
 at the Minister, preserved at least the virtue of con- 
 sistency by leaving directions in his will that he 
 should be buried in a vaulted chamber, seated at 
 a table, with a church-warden pipe in his mouth 
 and a bottle and a glass before him. Or else 
 there is the narrative of that other reprobate, 
 who, when land was gone and money spent, 
 resolved to put an end to his life. So he blind- 
 folded a favourite mare, mounted her, and rode 
 towards the cliff-heads. There, he put her to 
 the gallop, and prepared for a leap into space. 
 But, just as she reached the cliff-edge, by some
 
 WILL WINTER AND ROB SCOTT. 1 39 
 
 instinct the blind mare swerved and turned. 
 The rider set her at the frightful leap again, and 
 again she refused ; and after a third failure, 
 seeing the error of his ways, he rode home, and 
 from that day led a reformed life. Then, lastly, 
 there is the murder-tale — the story of a desperate 
 deed. This must not be hastily classed with 
 the literature of the " penny dreadful " or the 
 "shilling shocker" order; for, whatever maybe 
 the shortcomings of Arcadia, vulgarity, at least, 
 is not one of them, and the peasant-tales never 
 sink to so low a level as that. Blood may be 
 spilt in them, — and spilt freely it often is ; but 
 there is invariably present at least some touch 
 of fancy, of poetry, of character-painting, or of 
 the picturesque, to raise the terrible history 
 above the rank of the " sensation novel." Two 
 examples of murder-tales, as received from the 
 oral tradition of the Borders, are here offered to 
 the reader. 
 
 The little grey village of Elsdon, in Northum- 
 berland, stands in a valley, among bare surround- 
 ings. On passing out of it on to the Morpeth 
 road, the traveller finds himself lifted up on to 
 barren moors, where every trace of human 
 habitation is quickly left behind. As he pro- 
 ceeds, his eye — wandering aimlessly amid the 
 surrounding blankness — is presently caught and 
 held by what seems to be an upright post ahead. 
 But, as he draws near it, he is astonished to
 
 140 THE NEW BORDER TALES. 
 
 discover that the post is a gallows, from which 
 there dangles the hideous, black, carven effigy of 
 a man's head. The effect of this effigy, when 
 the present writer passed that way, in broad 
 daylight, on a March afternoon of wind and 
 driving cloud and rain, was by no means lacking 
 in eeriness. Certainly the effect of the reality 
 on a wayfarer passing by after dark, in a less 
 enlightened era, must have been little short of 
 appalling. " String Cross," or " Winter's Stob," 
 as the gibbet is locally styled, commemorates 
 a murder committed in the vicinity in the late 
 twenties of the present century. 
 
 At that period there existed a family of 
 Yetholm gipsies. Winter by name, whose out- 
 rageous manners and deeds of violence had 
 made them hated and feared in all parts of the 
 Border Country to which their reputation had 
 penetrated. Two members of this family, a 
 father and son, had already suffered the extreme 
 penalty of the law ; and, at the time of which I 
 write, a second son, William, had just been set 
 at liberty after undergoing a term of imprison- 
 ment. William Winter was a man of a robust 
 bodily frame ; and he seems to have been further 
 endowed with a good intelligence and a strong 
 character. Accepting his theory of life — which 
 was that a man is free to prey upon society and 
 take his profit where he finds it, — it must be 
 acknowledged that he brought good gifts to the
 
 WILL WINTER AND ROB SCOTT. I4I 
 
 task, or service. For the rest, he would seem to 
 have been something of a ranter, and a swaggering 
 desperado to boot, for his traditional costume 
 consisted of a light-coloured coat, blue breeches, 
 and grey stockings ; whilst his black hair, which 
 he wore long, was tied in a club behind. And, 
 as will be seen, he had a very good notion of 
 how to enjoy life, too; and — dimly perceiving, 
 perhaps, that his time might possibly be short — 
 he seems to have set himself to do so now to 
 the best of his ability. One can imagine the 
 roving heart of the free-born *' tinkler " — loath- 
 ing confinement worse than death — swelling 
 with enthusiasm as he stood once more a free 
 man, outside the prison, and drew a long breath 
 of the free and bounteous air of heaven. Then 
 he set out upon his travels. It is rarely that a 
 professional vagrant travels without his " mort," 
 or doxy. Winter, a man of generous views, 
 associated to himself a couple of female com- 
 panions. He also obtained — no matter how, or 
 where — an ass, for which he had occasion ; and, 
 thus equipped and attended, having hatched a 
 little scheme, he went on his way to carry it 
 out. 
 
 Travelling at a leisurely rate from Newcastle, 
 the party arrived near Elsdon about noontide 
 on a summer day. The weather was favour- 
 able ; it was about dinner-time ; and, having 
 provisions with them, they resolved upon a
 
 142 THE NEW BORDER TALES. 
 
 picnic. Looking round for a suitable spot, 
 they noticed a sheep-fold, where they would 
 not be likely to be disturbed. They entered 
 it. Winter picketed his ass, and then, seating 
 himself upon the ground, proceeded to cut off 
 pieces from a joint of mutton with his clasp- 
 knife, and to hand them gallantly to his fair 
 companions. So they feasted ; and when they 
 had finished. Winter's heart warming with the 
 good cheer, he stretched his legs before him in 
 the sunshine, and raised his voice and sang. One 
 can picture the scene: the grassy interior of 
 the fold, sheltered from a wind blowing with- 
 out ; the ass quietly feeding at the back, and 
 the rollicking scoundrel trolling forth his song, 
 seated, like Captain MacHeath, between the 
 two women. What should you imagine was 
 the theme of his minstrelsy ? You would never 
 guess ; for, for a man about to commit a deed 
 of violence, his choice of subject was most 
 singular. He sang a song in praise of the 
 shepherd's life, — dwelling, no doubt, in amiable, 
 somewhat sentimental, slightly artificial, numbers 
 upon dewy meadows, frisking lambkins, soaring 
 larks, and opening flowers. 
 
 Well, what we imagine, was seen, actually 
 seen, and heard by an eye and ear where neither 
 eye nor ear were thought to be. There had 
 been a little herd laddie watching sheep upon 
 the upland that morning ; and, upon seeing the
 
 WILL WINTER AND ROB SCOTT. I43 
 
 approach of intruders of such questionable 
 aspect, he had withdrawn unseen, and had 
 hidden himself among the " bunches " of the 
 fold. And there ensconced he now lay all the 
 time, and observed, with a child's surely and 
 minutely observing eye, the proceedings of the 
 three gipsies. Among other things, he noted 
 the pattern of the clasp-knife which had been 
 used in cutting up the mutton, and the 
 arrangement of the hob-nails in Winter's shoes, 
 as the latter sat with his legs stretched out 
 before him, basking in the sun. And, when 
 called upon to do so afterwards, he was able to 
 identify these things. 
 
 Night came, and with it Winter's season of 
 activity. Not far from the sheep-fold where the 
 marauders had eaten and drunk — at a place 
 known as The Raw, situated to the north of the 
 Grasslees burn — lived an old woman who made 
 her living by travelling with a basket furnished 
 with articles for sale, and who was reputed 
 to have saved some money. Of this money, 
 Winter had determined to become the possessor. 
 Accordingly, after nightfall, he went to the 
 cottage, the door of which he prized open with 
 a plough-coulter. He then secured his booty; 
 and, this done, would have turned his back on 
 the premises had it not been for one of his 
 companions, who urged him to make short work 
 with the old woman, lest she should live to give
 
 144 THE NEW BORDER TALES. 
 
 evidence against him. Why is it that a merciless 
 woman is more merciless than a merciless man ? 
 The bloody deed accomplished, the murderer 
 and his associates took the road without loss of 
 time. With morning, the murder was discovered. 
 The news that a hideous crime had been perpe- 
 trated in that quiet spot would doubtless spread 
 like wild-fire. The neighbourhood was quickly 
 agog ; and, amid the endless idle clatter which 
 ensued, the herd laddie's story came out, and the 
 hue-and-cry was raised. Winter and his com- 
 panions were pursued, overtaken, and brought 
 back ; and, to cut a long story short, they were 
 convicted, mainly upon the shepherd boy's 
 evidence, and all three sentenced to death. The 
 male ruffian was hanged in chains, and his body 
 was afterwards gibbeted within sight of the spot 
 where the crime had been committed. There it 
 was allowed to remain until the bones dropped, 
 when they were collected in a tarred canvas bag 
 and hung up once more. In time the bag de- 
 cayed, and in its turn fell to pieces; but even 
 then the popular notion of justice was not satis- 
 fied, for the gallows was still kept standing, and 
 a wooden figure representing the murderer was 
 suspended from it. This figure may, or may not, 
 have been since renewed ; in any case, as I have 
 already said, the head is all that is left to-day. 
 It now only remains to add that the shepherd 
 boy, whose life was held to be in danger from
 
 WILL WINTER AND ROB SCOTT. I45 
 
 the vengeance of Winter's friends, was taken 
 under the protection of a neighbouring gentle- 
 man, a magistrate, into whose service he entered. 
 After a time, however, it was deemed expedient 
 to remove him to a distance. A situation was, 
 accordingly, found for him in the north of 
 Scotland ; but when he had occupied it for a 
 short time, and whilst still a young man, he was 
 sent home again in delicate health, where he 
 soon afterwards died. 
 
 The scene of my second story lies across the 
 Border, A few years before the date of Winter's 
 murder, there resided not far from Fannsloanend, 
 in Berwickshire, a certain Robert Scott, as peace- 
 able, kindly, and well-disposed a working-man 
 as you might wish to meet. Rob, who was a 
 very simple-minded fellow, was remarkable for 
 his powerful and athletic frame ; and, as is usually 
 the case with such men, he was a great popular 
 favourite. Among other feats of strength and 
 agility which he had performed, a race which he 
 ran with the mail coach from Edinburgh to 
 Gordon may be mentioned. The race was a 
 close one ; for Rob managed, by taking short 
 cuts and by gaining on his rival during stoppages, 
 to keep up with the coach all the way. Bets 
 were thus freely indulged in by the passengers ; 
 whilst, as the hour for the arrival of the coach 
 approached, the people of Gordon turned out in 
 large numbers to view the finish. At that time 
 
 10
 
 146 THE NEW BORDER TALES. 
 
 it seemed as if the runner must certainly be 
 beaten, for the coach was just behind him and 
 was advancing at full gallop. But, upon reach- 
 ing Gordon Moss, to the surprise of every one, 
 Scott without hesitation plunged into it ; and 
 by cleverly picking his way across upon firm 
 ground, and by leaping a wide "stank" which 
 intersected it, he contrived to pass the win- 
 ning-post, amid the greatest enthusiasm, a few 
 moments before the coach. 
 
 Scott had married a girl named Miller, over 
 whose birth (as may be stated by the way) there 
 hung a certain amount of mystery; for she was 
 supposed to be of gentle parentage on the father's 
 side — the offspring of an irregular alliance. They 
 resided at a place which is known as Lightfield. 
 They had several children, and Rob was doing 
 well in life. His wife, in after times, declared 
 that there was not a more harmless body than 
 her husband extant, or one generally easier to do 
 with. But she was obliged to add that she had 
 known him subject to fits of ungovernable rage, 
 during which she could do nothing with him. 
 
 Under the most favourable auspices in the 
 world, with the lightest heart under his waist- 
 coat, and the kindest feelings towards all men in 
 his breast, Rob set out from home one spring 
 morning to attend the hiring at Earlston. On 
 his way through the crowded thoroughfares of 
 the place, he happened to fall in with two young
 
 WILL WINTER AND ROB SCOTT. I47 
 
 men from Greenlaw, whom he knew. Without 
 the smallest provocation on his part, these two 
 young men began to assail him with rude 
 banter. Rob was touchy when provoked, yet 
 he managed to keep his temper ; but the two 
 young men, observing their advantage, per- 
 severed in their outrageous conduct, following 
 their victim about the hiring during the greater 
 part of the day, and tormenting him well-nigh 
 beyond human endurance. At length Rob 
 shook them off; but their insults still rankled in 
 his breast. There is always drink in plenty on 
 these occasions ; and Rob, the popular favourite, 
 would be sure to have his full share of work to 
 do in the matter of treating and " being tret." 
 As the liquor mounted to his head, the sense of 
 injury under which he smarted grew stronger, 
 and at last the recollection of the insults he had 
 received became almost intolerable. At length, 
 when the hour was late, he set out to make his 
 way home. The two young men had not yet 
 left Earlston. 
 
 The country to the east of Fannsloanend now 
 consists of airy spaces of pasture and tilled land, 
 bordered by the black woods of Mellerstain, 
 which in their turn are backed by the pleasant 
 wooded hill of Mellerstain. In Scott's day, the 
 road, or track, which is known by the name of 
 Lightfield Entry, lay across a moor ; and there 
 were some small agricultural holdings, tenanted
 
 148 THE NEW BORDER TALES. 
 
 by cottars, in the vicinity. Along this road 
 Scott journeyed till he reached the beginning of 
 the wood called Beaver's Plantation, and there 
 he stopped. He was still raging internally, and 
 he now took the stump of a young fir tree from 
 the fail-dyke which bounded the road, and, thus 
 armed, awaited his enemies. By this time it 
 was quite dark. 
 
 In due course, the two mischievous young 
 men, all unconscious of the ambush which had 
 been laid for them, came along the road, on their 
 way back to Greenlaw. As they reached the 
 corner of the plantation, Rob fell suddenly upon 
 them. Two or three blows were quickly struck, 
 and then there was no further resistance. The 
 assailant laboured under the terrible, though 
 paradoxical, disadvantage of excessive power. 
 In the heat of the moment he had not measured 
 his strength, and the two young men now lay 
 motionless on the ground before him. No 
 sooner did he see this, than a strong reaction set 
 in in Rob's simple mind. He was entirely 
 taken aback at the sudden collapse of his 
 enemies ; and, horrified at what he dimly 
 dreaded might be the cause of it, he ran with 
 all speed to seek assistance. The cottage of 
 " Henless," where he was known, was not far off. 
 He tapped on the window, and the occupant, a 
 man named Alexander Robertson, responded to 
 his summons ; whereupon Scott, in great agita-
 
 WILL WINTER AND ROB SCOTT. 149 
 
 tion, demanded " water, in God's name." Ques- 
 tioned as to the purpose for which he required it, 
 he at once confessed his act, at the same time 
 expressing his hope of resuscitating the two 
 men, who, he trusted, were not yet beyond the 
 reach of aid. Summoning a neighbour, by name 
 WiUiam Watson, Robertson then returned with 
 Scott to the plantation, where they found one of 
 the young men already dead, and the other at 
 the last gasp. Seeing how matters stood, 
 Watson urged the unhappy Scott to fly for his 
 life, this being all that there was now left for 
 him to do. But, whether that he preferred to 
 face the consequences of his act, or that he was 
 too much broken in spirit to take any action 
 whatever, Scott, now entirely overcome by 
 remorse, declined to resort to this means of 
 safety. The mangled bodies were removed to 
 the house of one Alexander Corsbie, in the 
 neighbourhood ; and Scott returned to his home 
 and went to bed, where early next morning he 
 was arrested. 
 
 He was tried for his life and condemned to 
 be hanged, and it was arranged that the execu- 
 tion was to take place as near as might be to 
 the scene of the murders. As the day drew 
 near, the popular sympathy felt for Scott reached 
 a very high pitch. He was well and widely 
 known throughout the district, where his 
 pleasant, unpretentious character had made him
 
 150 THE NEW BORDER TALES. 
 
 a favourite, whilst his various feats of physical 
 strength had caused him to be regarded almost 
 in the light of a hero. It was felt, furthermore, 
 that the murders had been committed in a 
 moment of madness, under gross provocation ; 
 whilst they were also in a measure accidental. 
 And, again, the conduct of the criminal in 
 declining to fly for his life brought over sym- 
 pathy to his side. However, time went on, and 
 no reprieve was forthcoming — the fact that Scott 
 had deliberately lain in wait for his victims 
 weighing heavily against him. At last the fated 
 day arrived, and numbers of people from the 
 country round about travelled many miles to 
 view the execution. I have not myself met with 
 any one who was actually present at it ; but I 
 am indebted to a venerable and esteemed friend 
 — an eye-witness of what he relates — for the 
 following particulars of the prisoner's journey to 
 the scaffold. 
 
 My friend was at that time a boy. He had 
 been given a day's holiday, and had decided to 
 spend it, with some of his companions, in a 
 trout-fishing expedition. They fished in the 
 Leader, down stream — baiting with salmon roe, 
 — and killed a large number of fish. But, all at 
 once, there came a strange diversion in the midst 
 of their fishing. As the boys drew near the 
 Leadcrfoot bridge, they beheld two troops of 
 mounted soldiers advancing along the road,
 
 WILL WINTER AND ROB SCOTT. 15I 
 
 from opposite quarters, to meet each other. 
 These proved to be, respectively, troops of 
 the Roxburghshire and of the Berwickshire 
 Yeomanry Cavalry. In the centre of the Rox- 
 burghshire troop was a carriage ; and in this 
 carriage were seated a Minister of the Gospel, 
 two Officers of Justice, and the whilom popular 
 hero, Rob Scott, on his way from Jedburgh Jail 
 to the place of execution. The face of the con- 
 demned man, as seen by my friend, was deadly 
 pale. Arrived at the bridge, the Roxburghshire 
 guard handed over their charge to the Berwick- 
 shire men, and the two cavalcades proceeded, 
 each on its own way. Rob's bearing and con- 
 duct are said to have been simple, dignified, and 
 manful to the last. One trifling incident affords 
 a measure of the pitch to which sympathy for 
 him had risen. A short time before reaching 
 Leaderfoot bridge, the procession had stopped 
 at an inn to water the horses. Whilst this was 
 being done, the clergyman and the criminal 
 were conducted to a private room, and there left 
 alone together. The room had windows which 
 reached almost to the ground, and the clergy- 
 man afterwards declared that, while they were 
 waiting there, he could not help hoping that 
 Scott would attempt an escape. Once outside 
 the inn, his combined strength and fleetness of 
 foot would have stood him in good stead ; and, 
 with the number of friends — some of them
 
 152 THE NEW BORDER TALES. 
 
 powerful ones — which he had in the country, 
 he would have had, at least, a good chance of 
 getting clear away. However, no such idea 
 seems to have entered his head ; or, if it did, 
 he refrained from attempting to put it into 
 practice. 
 
 When, after his death, Scott's brain came to 
 be examined, it was found to weigh only as 
 much as that of an ordinary child, — and this 
 notwithstanding the fact that he was a big man. 
 It seems possible, therefore, that he was not 
 wholly responsible for all his actions. At any 
 rate — whatever the excuses found for him — he 
 survives in Border tradition as a character of the 
 Ajax type — by no means the least sympathetic 
 type of hero. 
 
 A little son of his, who, in ignorance of his 
 father's impending fate, was herding cows near 
 the scene of the execution, is said to have 
 inquired of his grandfather what brought so 
 many people to the place. Another little boy 
 of the time, now a very old man, has told me 
 that, on the day in question, he was out in a 
 turnip-field in a far-off part of the country, and 
 that he remembers seeing a relative who was 
 with him look at his watch, and then pronounce 
 the words, " It will be all over by this time." 
 Years afterwards, when the field in which the 
 execution took place was brought under the 
 plough, the sawn-off stumps of the scaffold poles
 
 WILL WINTER AND ROB SCOTT. 1 53 
 
 were discovered. The place bears the name of 
 Rob Scott to this day. And so does time heal 
 old wounds and sores in some natures, that I 
 have heard an old resident in the neighbourhood 
 declare that she had often in after-times seen 
 the widow of Scott cutting grass for her cow 
 within a few yards of the spot where her 
 husband had expiated his crim&
 
 THE RESURRECTIONISTS. 
 
 ECKFORD, like Hownam, has its legend of 
 Sabbath-breakers Punished. On a slope of the 
 hill known as Hownam Steeple, five upright 
 stones — by some reputed a druidical circle — are 
 vulgarly known as The Shearers and the 
 Bandster, and are supposed to represent five 
 harvesters who, presuming to obtrude their 
 labours upon the holiness of the Sabbath day, 
 were straightway turned to stone, as a judgment 
 upon themselves and a warning to ages to come. 
 The Eckford legend is as follows. Many years 
 ago, there resided in the parish a certain sceptical 
 blacksmith of an independent character. It is 
 not said that he was anything but a quiet and 
 hard-working man, yet his goings-on were the 
 scandal of the neighbourhood ; for, on Sunday 
 morning, when the decent church-goers passed 
 his shop on their way to attend public worship, 
 they would behold him at his work as usual. It 
 was then felt, naturally enough, that the man who 
 boldly pursued his labours seven days a week 
 took a mean advantage of his neighbours, — an
 
 THE RESURRECTIONISTS. 155 
 
 advantage which to keen competitors in the 
 race of life (and where are there competitors so 
 keen as among our sturdy Borderers?) must 
 have been particularly galling. True it was 
 always open to them to fall back on the 
 comforting reflection that, though the present 
 moment was the blacksmith's, the remote and 
 vague future was theirs. Then — as they would, 
 doubtless, eagerly assure themselves — it must 
 go hardly with him. Yet this reflection was not 
 wholly satisfactory either; for, whatever might be 
 the awful pains and penalties which they would 
 have the happiness of seeing neighbour Burn-the- 
 Wind endure in another world, the fact remained 
 that for them the present moment had a force 
 and pertinacity of appeal which nothing else in 
 the world could match. In other words, the 
 bird in the hand was the bird which they 
 instinctively in their secret hearts preferred. In 
 these circumstances, lest bad example should 
 corrupt good manners, Providence — as was its 
 way in the good old times — stept in (perhaps 
 it was none too soon), with the following result 
 On a certain Sabbath morning, as they passed 
 the smithy as usual, the church-goers beheld 
 their neighbour as usual at his work. But, a 
 few hours later, when they returned from church, 
 neither the blacksmith, nor his wife, nor his 
 family, nor his smithy, nor yet a vestige of any 
 one of them was to be seen. The place where
 
 156 THE NEW BORDER TALES. 
 
 the blacksmith's shop had stood — near the 
 south-west corner of the field to the west of the 
 manse — was now a bog ! And so doubly 
 accursed, through the misdeeds of its former 
 occupant, had it become, that a belief soon pre- 
 vailed in the neighbourhood that this bog could 
 never be drained. And so, for many years, it 
 actually remained undrained. At length, the 
 curse being removed, the draining was accom- 
 plished. But — as if to confirm the tradition, 
 or to act as a last caution to the parishioners — 
 in the course of the draining operations a smith's 
 anvil was brought to light The hill at the foot 
 of which the bog was situated, is still — or was 
 till lately — known as The Smithy Hill ; whilst 
 of the people of Eckford it may be said that 
 they remain exemplary, or, at least, typical, 
 churchmen to this day. 
 
 Their little quaint old-fashioned kirk and its 
 kirkyard possess two or three features of 
 interest Beside the church-door, for example, 
 hangs an iron collar, or " jougs," used in former 
 days for the punishment of those who came 
 under church discipline. The author of the 
 Wilkie Manuscript informs us that, about the 
 middle of the last century, such characters were 
 condemned to stand three days at the kirk-door 
 in the jougs, clothed in a sackcloth gown called 
 "the sacking gown." After occupying this 
 position of public ignominy, they were con-
 
 THE RESURRECTIONISTS. 15/ 
 
 ducted by the betheral to the well-known " stool 
 of repentance," where they sat till the sermon was 
 finished, when they were duly admonished — 
 " clapper-clawed " is the irreverent young doctor's 
 term — by the Minister. Then they would be 
 removed outside once more, and replaced in the 
 jougs until the congregation had left the church. 
 
 The jougs were fastened round the offender's 
 neck by means of a staple and padlock, and there 
 is a story connected with their discontinuance 
 at Eckford, It is said that the last person upon 
 whom they were used, being of unusually short 
 stature, had to be raised upon a stone to reach 
 the necessary elevation. During the earlier part 
 of the church service, the stone happened to slip 
 from under the culprit's feet, and when in due 
 course the church-officer went out to bring in 
 his prisoner, it was found that he (or she) had 
 been hanged by the neck till he was dead. 
 After this occurrence, the jougs were used no 
 more. It is not with the jougs, however, but 
 with a small castellated tower, or look-out, 
 which occupies one corner of the churchyard, 
 that our present narrative is concerned. 
 
 The intense excitement spread through the 
 country by the discovery of the Tanner's Close, 
 or West Port, murders, in the year '28, gave 
 place to another scare which was scarcely less 
 appalling. The execution of the murderer 
 Burke might allay such fears as were entertained
 
 158 THE NEW BORDER TALES. 
 
 on behalf of the living ; but, as people now knew, 
 they had reason to fear for their dead as well. 
 The evidence at the trial had attracted public 
 attention to the existence of a hideous com- 
 merce in the country. This commerce dealt 
 with a merchandise no less ghastly than the 
 products of the charnel-house themselves ; and, 
 whatever the horrors of the trade, it was felt 
 that the largeness of the gains which it realised 
 — as much as sixteen pounds being known to 
 have been given for a body — would always 
 ensure a sufficient number of persons ready to 
 engage in it. Stories of rifled graves — doubtless 
 duly multiplied and exaggerated — were passed 
 eagerly from mouth to mouth, until at last a 
 panic fear possessed the multitude, so that the 
 very acme of wretchedness — an empty hyperbole 
 of language as it had always hitherto been 
 accounted — seemed in actual fact to have been 
 realised, for the dead no longer rested in their 
 graves. 
 
 At the time when this scare was at its height, 
 a certain young packman, James Goodfellow by 
 name, was one night passing along the road 
 which lies between Jedburgh and Kelso. The 
 season was the late autumn, when nights are 
 long ; and the moon, which was in her last 
 quarter, had not yet risen. It was very dark, and 
 the hour was very late ; for James Goodfellow — 
 or " Dandy Jim," as he was more commonly
 
 THE RESURRECTIONISTS. 1 59 
 
 called — had been visiting a sweetheart in the 
 neighbourhood, and their interview had been 
 tender and prolonged. Now, at the time I speak 
 of, even to be abroad, alone, and at such an hour, 
 taxed the nerve ; for fiction had reinforced the 
 horrors of fact, and legends of nocturnal perils 
 awful and mysterious abounded. To name a 
 single instance, a belated rustic had told how, 
 as he lay in the ditch where his potations had 
 deposited him, he had beheld as it were the 
 phantom of a dog-cart pass him, driven by an 
 austere and cruel-looking man wearing black. 
 What gave its phantasmal character to the 
 equipage was the absolute soundlessness of its 
 movement — the wheels of the cart and the horse's 
 shoes being evidently, for some suspicious purpose 
 or other, sheathed in india-rubber. Hidden in 
 the ditch, the toper saw and was himself unseen ; 
 but (if what he afterwards averred were true) he 
 had a narrow escape with his life, for he declared 
 that the driver of the dog-cart carried a scythe, 
 and that, perambulating the solitary thorough- 
 fares after dark, his practice was to steal up 
 noiselessly behind the unsuspecting wayfarer, to 
 mow him down, and transmit his body by some 
 secret agency to the surgeons of Edinburgh. 
 
 Dandy Jim, however, who was a stout fellow, 
 considered that the attractions of an interview 
 with his sweetheart more than overbalanced 
 the dangers of the road. He was not easily
 
 l60 THE NEW BORDER TALES. 
 
 frightened ; and he was, furthermore, superior in 
 manner and intelligence to the general run of the 
 class to which he belonged, whilst his experience 
 as a packman had given him a knowledge of the 
 world and a readiness of resource in difficulties 
 to which the ordinary peasant cannot pretend. 
 He was reputed to have been successful in 
 business and to have saved money, and was in 
 fact on the point of marriage with the sweetheart 
 above alluded to. But this is by the way. 
 
 Proceeding on his road, as he drew near 
 Eckford, Jim was puzzled to observe a pale, 
 luminous haze — like a mist above water — which 
 seemed to rise from the churchyard. He could 
 not understand it ; for, though he remembered 
 that a burial had taken place there on the previous 
 day, he was of a somewhat sceptical turn of 
 mind, and rejected the idea of a corpse-candle. 
 Neither — though his head was full of stories of 
 body-snatchers — could he quite bring himself to 
 believe in the actuality of all that he had heard. 
 The surrounding country (so far, at least, as he 
 knew) had hitherto escaped the depredations of 
 the resurrectionists ; and it somehow seemed to 
 him in the last degree unlikely that those foul 
 and fantastic plunderers of whom he had lately 
 heard so much should pursue their unholy 
 avocations in the remote and quiet graveyard of 
 Eckford. Had he given a second thought to the 
 matter, he must have recognised the fact that
 
 THE RESURRECTIONISTS. l6l 
 
 the very remoteness and quietness of the spot 
 marked it out as especially suitable for their 
 purpose. 
 
 In the meantime the puzzling light had 
 disappeared. " An optical illusion," thought the 
 Dandy, and strode onward on his way. But, no ! 
 For there was the luminous haze once more. 
 And it was brighter than any autumnal mist 
 could be, even leaving out of consideration the 
 fact that to-night there was neither moon nor 
 star in heaven from which light could be 
 drawn. Dandy Jim was perplexed ; but not 
 alarmed. Under cover of the darkness, he stept 
 forward noiselessly, and leaning his arms upon 
 the churchyard wall, peered before him and 
 endeavoured to reconnoitre. By this time the 
 ghostly light had again disappeared, and he could 
 see nothing. But he could hear ; and, from the 
 place where the light had been, there now came 
 a sound. It was like the sound of tearing, or 
 rending. Jim listened, and for a moment his 
 heart stood still. Then, there seemed to be a 
 quick movement at the place from which the 
 sound had proceeded, and all at once a startling 
 flood of light gushed forth. Upon this light, as 
 on a background, appeared the gigantic black 
 shadow of a man. In another instant the shadow 
 had passed into the surrounding night, and the 
 light had disappeared. Then there was heard a 
 stifled oath, followed by a murmured expostu- 
 
 II
 
 l62 THE NEW BORDER TALES. 
 
 lation. Jim understood exactly what had 
 happened. There were evidently persons work- 
 ing in the churchyard by the light of a dark 
 lantern. Through some clumsiness of theirs, the 
 slide of the lantern had slipt back, whereupon the 
 imprisoned light had gushed forth, bearing upon 
 it, as upon a flood, the shadow of a man occupy- 
 ing a position between the light and the onlooker. 
 
 Ninety-nine out of every hundred rustics of 
 those days, when they had seen so much, would 
 probably have taken to their heels — and small 
 blame to them if they did. But Jim, as has been 
 stated, was no common countryman. His quick 
 eye, during the momentary illumination, had 
 taken in more than has been described, and he had 
 by this time fully grasped the situation. On the 
 further side of the gigantic shadow — whose back 
 was turned towards him — he had discerned a 
 yawning pit; and he now realised that his first 
 supposition had been wrong, and that — likely or 
 unlikely — there were actually resurrectionists at 
 their ghoulish work in the quiet graveyard before 
 him. 
 
 As soon as he felt certain of this fact, Jim's 
 courage rose to the occasion, and his first thought 
 was how to circumvent the sacrilegious mid- 
 night thieves. The spot was solitary. The 
 quiet agricultural population had long since 
 betaken themselves to their beds ; and to seek 
 assistance now would, as he saw, be merely to
 
 THE RESURRECTIONISTS. 163 
 
 waste the precious time, and to give the in- 
 human depredators a good chance of getting 
 safely away with their ghastly booty. No ; Jim 
 felt that he must tackle them alone ; and as, for 
 aught he knew to the contrary, they might be 
 numerous ; he also recognised that it must be 
 by cunning rather than by force. But he felt 
 himself equal to the task. 
 
 Having removed his boots, and deposited 
 them where he would be able to find them again, 
 the packman now set out upon a noiseless tour 
 of discovery round the outside of the wall which 
 enclosed the churchyard. For some time his 
 search was unrewarded ; but, presently, after 
 entering the Minister's paddock, his strained 
 sense of hearing was met by a slight sound 
 which he had been expecting to hear. It was 
 that of a horse cropping grass. He continued 
 to grope his way along the wall, and a black 
 body, just perceptible in the darkness, soon rose 
 in front of him. Subjected to the touch, this 
 body proved to represent a horse and gig. The 
 horse was tethered to one of the churchyard 
 trees, and had evidently been withdrawn, with 
 the gig, to this side field, in order to be screened 
 from observation from the road. After some 
 trouble, the Dandy loosed the tether, and then, 
 kicking the animal smartly in the ribs, sent him 
 off at a frightened gallop, dragging the gig 
 behind him over the uneven surface of the field.
 
 1 64 THE NEW BORDER TALES. 
 
 The thud of the horse's hoofs and the jolting of 
 the vehicle at once disturbed the body-snatchers 
 at their work. They were but two in number, 
 and both of them new to the job and somewhat 
 nervous ; so that, realising that their one means 
 of escape in case of a surprise was slipping 
 through their hands, they at once sprang to 
 their feet, and with smothered imprecations and 
 ejaculations of anxiety set off in pursuit of the 
 runaway beast. This was exactly what Jim had 
 intended that they should do. He now bent 
 down, so as to be covered by the wall, and run- 
 ning along beside it in a direction contrary to 
 that taken by the horse, began presently to neigh. 
 
 " This way ! " muttered one of the robbers 
 to the other under his breath ; and, stumbling 
 over graves and breaking their shins against 
 headstones in their haste, they set off upon the 
 false scent. Jim neighed once more — this time 
 at a point still further remote from the true 
 one ; and then, when the interrupted resurrec- 
 tionists had scrambled over the wall out of the 
 churchyard in pursuit of their runaway, he 
 scrambled into it. By this time the rising 
 moon had begun to shed her radiance above 
 the horizon, and a faint light overspread the 
 landscape. 
 
 When he had made his way towards the spot 
 to which his eye had first been attracted by the 
 lantern-light, a ghastly sight met the packman's
 
 THE RESURRECTIONISTS. 16$ 
 
 gaze. At his feet lay an open grave, the contents 
 of which had been abstracted. Beside it, on the 
 trodden earth, lay the coffin, which had been 
 clumsily prized open — the lid having been 
 broken in the process. The leaden inner shell, 
 thus exposed to view, had also been ripped up. 
 It was empty. Glancing about, in the half- 
 light, Jim's eye now fell upon an oblong pack- 
 age, enveloped in a black cloth. He stooped 
 and lifted a corner of the cloth, and his 
 suspicions were at once proved true. To 
 remove the black pall from the body, to raise 
 the latter in his arms and to conceal it behind a 
 neighbouring grave, were for the packman the 
 work of a moment. This done, he returned to 
 the grave-side, and having carefully enveloped 
 himself from head to foot in the black pall or 
 cloth, proceeded to lie down at full length in the 
 exact place where a moment before the exhumed 
 corpse had lain. Then for a time all was silence 
 and stillness as of death. By-and-by there was 
 a sound of advancing footsteps, and the body- 
 snatchers returned. They seemed flurried and 
 out of breath, and one of them was cursing 
 horribly. 
 
 " Didn't I tell you that it was as much as 
 our lives were worth if she should chance to 
 break loose ? " said he, in a harsh voice, in the 
 interval between two volleys of imprecations. 
 
 "Sure the beast must be human, I believe,
 
 1 66 THE NEW BORDER TALES. 
 
 to lowze the knot tied ! " replied a second 
 speaker, who spoke with the accent of one 
 who is accustomed to be ordered about and 
 to be taken to task, yet who seeks to conciliate 
 his tyrant. 
 
 During this time Jim, whose head was closely 
 covered, could of course see nothing ; but he 
 gathered from the footsteps and the voices that 
 there were not more than two body-snatchers 
 present, which greatly reassured him. What 
 puzzled him much was that he half fancied he 
 recognised their voices. The first speaker now 
 swore a few more terrifying oaths and gave 
 vent to some more denunciations. " If ever I 
 come out again on sic an eerand wi' the likes 
 o' you," he wound up, " I desairve to be trans- 
 ported ! " 
 
 The owner of the smaller voice, who — 
 whether from native impotency or accidental 
 circumstance — seemed to enjoy no freedom of 
 speech or action whatsoever, confined himself 
 to murmuring something deprecating in reply. 
 But his humility only served further to incense 
 his bullying associate, who now desired him, 
 in tones of fresh irritation, not to stand talking 
 there all night, but to " bear a hand." 
 
 " We've put off owre muckle time a' ready. 
 Damme ! See, yonder's the mune. Well, if 
 we both of us swing for this job before Jethart 
 jail, it's none o' my wyte, mind you that ! "
 
 THE RESURRECTIONISTS. 167 
 
 As these words were uttered, Jim felt himself 
 grasped by the head and feet, and raised from 
 the ground. As best he could, he simulated a 
 dead weight. 
 
 " My ! " exclaimed the second of the speakers, 
 with a puff of exhaustion, " but the corp is a 
 heavy one, Hare." 
 
 The other gruffly enjoined silence. 
 
 Now, on hearing the more desperate of the 
 two body-snatchers addressed by the name of 
 Hare, the pretended corpse had very nearly 
 betrayed his animation by starting. It was 
 not that he feared to find himself in the power 
 'of the murderer of the same name — the dramatic 
 story of whose exit from Scotland he had heard, 
 — but that the pronouncing of the vocable at 
 once cleared up the mystery which had pre- 
 viously puzzled him as to the identity of the 
 miscreants in whose hands he had chosen to 
 place himself In his capacity as a packman, 
 his acquaintance was numerous, and extended 
 over a wide tract of country ; and it now 
 flashed across his mind that the voices which 
 he had from the first seemed to recognise 
 were those of two drunken journeymen tailors, 
 or " Whip-the-cats," of Greenlaw, generally 
 known to their associates by the by-names of 
 The Rabbit and The Hare. In fact, the only 
 thing which had prevented Dandy Jim from 
 making the recognition at the first was the
 
 l68 THE NEW BORDER TALES. 
 
 unaccustomed tone of firmness and authority 
 assumed on this occasion by the Hare, — a 
 veritable ninth part of a man, who had been 
 hitherto known to him as much for his unctuous 
 and cringing demeanour as for the dishonest 
 shiftiness of his character. In person the Hare 
 was a tall, lean figure, whose cadaverous coun- 
 tenance well fitted him for his part of lycan- 
 thropist. The Rabbit, on the other hand, 
 was short and round-about in figure, with grog- 
 blossoms about his nose, and a falling chin and 
 open mouth. Once he knew into whose hands 
 he had fallen, Jim vowed that the drunken 
 scoundrels should pay dearly for their exploit. 
 
 During all this time, he was being borne 
 unsteadily along in the direction of the gig, — 
 into which, after several unsuccessful efforts on 
 the part of his bearers, he at last found himself 
 hoisted. Meanwhile, the nervous trepidation 
 of the body-snatchers seemed momentarily to 
 increase ; and after a brief whispered consul- 
 tation, it was decided between them that there 
 was no time to return to the grave to efface the 
 traces of their theft. They, therefore, without 
 further delay, led the horse and gig back to the 
 road, took their places one on either side of the 
 supposed dead body, whipt up, and drove away. 
 The packman's object was now to discover from 
 their conversation the names of the accomplices 
 by whose aid they were to dispose of their
 
 THE resurrectionists; 169 
 
 unnatural plunder. Their possession of the 
 horse and gig, as well as the daring nature 
 of the adventure — so foreign upon this account, 
 though on no other, to the character of the 
 persons engaged — made him also suspect that 
 the tailors were the tools of other parties 
 behind them ; whilst the fact, which soon made 
 itself apparent, that they were both under the 
 influence of liquor, indicated that they had been 
 primed for the job. 
 
 Having taken the road leading towards Kelso, 
 the occupants of the gig drove on for some time 
 almost without speaking. Entirely enveloped 
 in his sable covering, Jim had stiffened himself 
 out, with his feet against the foot-board of the 
 vehicle, like a dead body in a state of rigour, 
 which position he with some trouble maintained. 
 But he soon discovered that a gradual change 
 was taking place in the frame of mind of his 
 companions. Whether because the effect of the 
 liquor which they had imbibed was wearing off, 
 or because — the necessity of action being over — 
 their nerves had collapsed, it was evident that a 
 feeling of uneasiness arising from the proximity 
 of the corpse was stealing over them. 
 
 Meantime, having passed the park-fence of 
 Sunlaws, they had reached the village of Heiton. 
 It was sunk in deep slumber. They passed 
 through it and drove on. By this time the 
 melancholy, wasted moon had risen above the
 
 I/O THE NEW BORDER TALES. 
 
 horizon, and it now faintly illumined the wide 
 surrounding landscape, which was still and silent 
 to the point of awe. To their left, the Eildon 
 Hills, Peniel Heugh, Down Law, Smailholm 
 Tower, and Sweethope and Mellcrstain Hills, 
 indented the sky-line. To the right, wild, un- 
 enclosed, moorland country rose above Ladyrig 
 toward the blackness of Bowmont Forest. For 
 some time past the poor Rabbit's spirits had 
 been sinking ever lower and lower. And now, 
 at last, — though he knew that by breaking the 
 silence he would incur the dreaded wrath of 
 his companion, — he felt that, at any cost, he 
 must be comforted by the sound of a human 
 voice, and that a courageous one. So, after 
 several attempts which died upon his lips, he 
 at length, in quavering tones, made an obser- 
 vation. The result was even worse than he had 
 expected. It is true that there was no anger in 
 the voice of the Hare, as he spoke in reply; but 
 there was that which was worse to listen to than 
 any anger. His accent had weirdly changed 
 from that of half-an-hour before, and the stifled 
 tones to which he now gave utterance were alone 
 enough to make a man's flesh creep and the hair 
 rise on his scalp. They were those of a man who 
 sweats with fear. Now, among weaklings, there 
 is nothing in the world so contagious as terror; 
 and thus when the Rabbit became aware that 
 the condition of his companion — upon whom
 
 THE RESURRECTIONISTS. I7I 
 
 until now he had relied — was worse than his 
 own, he felt that his fears had not yet done 
 justice to the avvfulness of the occasion, and 
 thereupon his teeth positively chattered. The 
 packman, beneath his coverlet, heard the sound, 
 and chuckled to himself. 
 
 Meantime, to the infected fancy of the 
 frightened men, the horse seemed to advance at a 
 snail's pace, as though it wore invisible shackles. 
 The road was as unfrequented as the wilderness, 
 and the moonlit landscape seemed to wear an 
 eerie and unearthly aspect. 
 
 " I would give ten years of my life for a dram," 
 gasped with dry lips the Hare. 
 
 " You'll get it at the shebeen at the Broadloan 
 Toll," replied his mate ; " but that's far off — unco 
 far off— yet." 
 
 This was cold comfort. 
 
 The night was close, and by this time Dandy 
 Jim had begun to grow uncomfortably warm 
 beneath his coverings. Neither had he now any 
 reason for remaining where he was, for a remark 
 dropped by the Rabbit had revealed to him that 
 the destination of the body-snatchers was Green- 
 law, and that a carrier plying between that town 
 and Edinburgh was the agent upon whom they 
 depended for the transmission of the body. This 
 was all he had wanted to know, and he now 
 waited only for an effective opportunity to declare 
 himself. The farms of Hciton East Mains,
 
 172 THE NEW BORDER TALES. 
 
 Mai'sondieu, and Wallace's Nick were by this 
 time passed, and the village of Maxwellheugh 
 was nearly reached. At last the Rabbit, whose 
 condition, for some reason or other, had for 
 some time past been growing more and more 
 acutely distressing, could bear it in silence no 
 longer, but broke out wildly : 
 
 " Hare ! I'll take an oath before a Justice of 
 the Peace I felt the body stir ! " 
 
 But the Hare's distress was even more extreme 
 than that of his associate. 
 
 " Rabbit, man ! Rabbit, man ! " murmured 
 he, in the hushed and solemn tones of dire 
 mental tribulation, " my mind misgives me, my 
 mind misgives me, but we hae mistaken our 
 man. They must ha' buried this one alive, I'm 
 thinking ; for, as I'm a living sinner, tJie corp is 
 warm ! " 
 
 This was the moment for which Jim had 
 patiently waited. He now slowly lifted the cloth 
 which was about his face, and spoke, in such 
 sepulchral tones as he was able to command : 
 
 " Warm, do you say ? And, pray, what would 
 you be, Mr. Hare, if ye came frae where I hae 
 been ?" 
 
 The Hare saw the supposed dead body move. 
 To his heated imagination, its action as it 
 uncovered its face bore a hideous resemblance 
 to that of a dead man rising from the grave at 
 the last day. He heard the sepulchral tones
 
 THE RESURRECTIONISTS. I73 
 
 which addressed to him by name a pertinent 
 and suggestive query ; and he waited for no 
 more. With a bound, like Jack-in-the-Box, he 
 leapt from the gig, cleared the fence which 
 bounded the road upon his side, and a moment 
 afterwards was racing for his life across the open 
 ground of Spylaw. At the same instant, the 
 Rabbit on his side slid to the ground, scrambled 
 through the hedge, and made for the covert of 
 the High Wood of Springwood Park as fast as 
 his short legs would carry him. Dandy Jim, 
 released from his cerements, clapped his hand 
 upon his side, and loud and long was his laughter 
 as he watched the two grotesque figures disap- 
 pearing across country in the moonlight. When 
 he had had his laugh out, he turned his horse's 
 head to the right-about, and drove briskly home 
 to his lodging. 
 
 The knowledge which he had gleaned from 
 the broken talk of the journeymen tailors led to 
 the timely discovery of an organised conspiracy 
 to snatch bodies from country grave-yards, — 
 which was found to be presided over by a disso- 
 lute publican, in conjunction with a neighbouring 
 farmer. The publican was thereupon compelled 
 to leave the country; whilst it was only with 
 great difficulty that the farmer's share in the 
 disgraceful business was, with indifferent success, 
 hushed up. Dandy Jim, on the other hand, 
 obtained considerable credit for his conduct in
 
 174 THE NEW BORDER TALES. 
 
 the affair ; whilst, as the horse and gig were 
 never claimed, they remained in his hands, — so 
 that when, shortly afterwards, his sweetheart 
 became his bride, he was able to drive her in a 
 conveyance of his own from Eckford Kirk to the 
 home which he had prepared for her. 
 
 It only remains to add that after this the 
 parishioners of Eckford, prudently resolving to 
 avoid all risks of similar outrages in the future, 
 erected in the churchyard the little watch-tower, 
 or look-out, which was mentioned in the com- 
 mencement of this story. 
 
 Here, for a certain period after a burial had 
 taken place, the male rate-payers of the parish 
 nightly took it in turn to go on duty; and a 
 respected friend of the writer has informed him 
 that she can remember the circumstances of her 
 father paying a man to take his turn of watching. 
 She added that, for further security, a light would 
 be placed upon the new-made grave. A year 
 or two after these events, however, an Act was 
 passed through Parliament which had for its 
 object to legalise and regulate the supply of 
 human bodies to the dissecting-rooms, — from 
 which time forth the body-snatcher has found 
 his occupation gone, and the bodies of the 
 dead have been allowed to repose undisturbed 
 in their graves.
 
 THE BROKEN TRYST. 
 
 Among the pastoral districts composing the 
 southern portion of Teviotdale, there is prob- 
 ably none more beautiful than that which is 
 known, in the common local speech, as Bow- 
 mont Water. Green and solitary, this valley 
 wears — at least in summer and in spring — a 
 soft and winning beauty, which by no means 
 belongs to the harsher, railroad -traversed 
 Liddesdale, though it is to be found again, 
 in the same unspoiled and primitive perfec- 
 tion, in certain valleys of The Forest. For 
 miles the softly-rounded, carelessly-moulded 
 Cheviot Hills stretch away uninterrupted ; and 
 there is less of human life in this hill world 
 to-day than there was a hundred years ago, — 
 when the main road for pack-horses over the 
 Border lay across Cocklaw (where now only a 
 track, in many places obliterated, remains); 
 and when a row of houses extended for some 
 distance down the river-bank from near the 
 farm of Belford. To-day no shop is to be 
 found nearer than Town Yethom — five miles
 
 176 THE NEW BORDER TALES. 
 
 off; but an old lady who died only two or 
 three years ago has spoken to the present 
 writer of going, as a child, to spend her weekly 
 penny on " sweeties " sold at one of the houses 
 in this row. These dwellings of the living are 
 now all swept away : the " narrow cells," the 
 present abode of the former tenants of the houses, 
 alone remain. At Mowhaugh, across the river, on 
 the narrow flat between the water and the hills, is 
 a small unkept, uneven, enclosure, where the grass 
 grows green above the heads of the departed. 
 The grave-stones still occupy their old places ; 
 but most of the flat ones among them have been 
 tilted off the level, most of the erect have fallen 
 from the perpendicular. And the hand of Time — 
 who bears in mind, perhaps, that our rest is still 
 imperfect whilst our names are yet bandied on 
 men's lips, still imperfect until we shall be, not 
 only dead and buried, but forgotten, — the hand 
 of Time has passed gently over the inscriptions, 
 obliterating them almost as completely as a 
 school-child obliterates the ciphering on a slate. 
 For it is only once a day, at the hour when the 
 concentrated rays of the setting sun strike level 
 on the lettering, that the names and ages, the 
 births and deaths, of the forgotten dwellers in 
 this valley become once more for a few moments 
 to the pious eye recoverable. Yet the latest 
 interment in this forsaken churchyard took place 
 no longer ago than in the year 1836.
 
 THE BROKEN TRYST, 177 
 
 The farm of Bel ford was brought into the 
 writer's family by his paternal grandmother ; 
 but even the present farm-house, as he incHnes 
 to believe, dates from a considerably earlier 
 period. An older house is still standing, within 
 a short distance of the new one: it is now used 
 as a stable, and, partly owing to its dilapidations, 
 appears very old indeed. It has a fine, defective, 
 old thatched roof, and " corby steps " ; and its 
 harled walls are muffled and enveloped in the 
 foliage — deep and dark as night and slumber — 
 of a tree-like ivy-plant. This old house, I have 
 been told, possessed a secret room. It was 
 contrived beneath a landing, half-way up the 
 staircase, and entered by a trap-door, over which 
 a narrow stair-carpet was laid so as to conceal 
 it. In this lair, a member of the Scott family, 
 who had rendered himself obnoxious to the 
 reigning powers by the part which he had taken 
 in the Jacobite Risings of the last century, 
 repeatedly sought refuge ; and it is said that, 
 though the house was repeatedly searched for 
 him, he thus escaped discovery. 
 
 At Belford, some five or six years ago, I took 
 up my abode for a few weeks. On the evening 
 of my arrival, going out into the green enclosure 
 before the house, I felt delighted with my new 
 residence. The month was April, the sky was blue, 
 and the weather mild and lovely. All around 
 me were grassy hills, which — though a snow- 
 
 12
 
 178 THE NEW BORDER TALES. 
 
 wreath might yet Hnger here and there in their 
 recesses — would soon, I hoped, be at their best 
 and greenest. And, turn where I might, I was 
 never out of earshot of the near trickle or the 
 distant roar of flowing water — fresh sounds, 
 soothing, pensive, dream-compelling. Before 
 me, within the enclosure, there was a grove of 
 elm-trees — trees of any kind in this hill district 
 are a rarity — in the upper branches of which the 
 rooks were calling, among their thickly-crowded 
 nests. These rooks, as I knew, had been care- 
 fully preserved by the late occupant of the 
 house — a man of taste, who wished, no doubt, 
 where human life was so scarce, to make the 
 most of such animal life as existed. Then, 
 as I strolled, a newly-dropt lamb came bounding 
 up to me — mistaking me, doubtless, for the 
 shepherd who was rearing it by hand— grasped 
 my walking-stick between its jaws in a friendly 
 manner, and supported itself by setting its fore 
 feet against my leg whilst I patted and stroked 
 it. Involuntarily I thought of the Childhood of 
 the World. It seemed as though the Golden 
 Age still lingered here, or were returned again. 
 My object in coming alone into these solitudes 
 was to study and to write, and I then and there 
 made up my mind that my writing should take 
 the character of the Pastoral. The surround- 
 ings would inspire nothing else — to attempt to 
 indite a tragedy here, where the thing itself was
 
 THE BROKEN TRYST. 179 
 
 unknown, would be to strike a needless discord. 
 So I that night resolved. But Circumstance 
 ruled it otherwise. The experience of a few 
 days sufficed to change my mood, teaching me 
 that Sorrow, Sin, and Passion, are no strangers 
 to primitive life, and that the "trail of the 
 serpent," detected in Eden, is found also in 
 Arcadia. For one thing, cases of insanity 
 seemed numerous in proportion to the sparse- 
 ness of the population — healthy in mind as in 
 body, as one would have hoped them to be. 
 Instances of suicide, too, were on record. 
 Furthermore, this primitive world of hills had 
 a type of tragedy peculiar to itself, — a tragedy 
 in which Nature and the elements themselves 
 represented the daemonic force, inspiring terror ; 
 whilst the shepherds, the principal inhabitants, 
 as protagonists, excited compassion by their 
 struggles and their sufferings. An instance of a 
 sad tragedy of this kind, which had happened 
 not long before, was narrated to me by an old 
 shepherd on the farm. 
 
 One winter's evening, when the snow lay on 
 
 the ground, Henry H , a young shepherd, set 
 
 out to travel across the hills to the distant farm 
 of Blindburn. He had with him a young sheep- 
 dog, led by a string. Now, to the stranger, the 
 wild and pathless world of hills presents at 
 every step the danger of losing the way. Even 
 in daylight and when landmarks are in view,
 
 l80 THE NEW BORDER TALES. 
 
 a fog may come on at any moment, and then he 
 is left to steer his course by the wind, which 
 may fall or change its direction. But the shep- 
 herd, native of the wild, is generally perfectly at 
 home there, and has no more difficulty in 
 finding the way — however hard it may appear 
 to another — than has a fisherman upon a sea he 
 knows. Atmospheric conditions have, however, 
 to be reckoned with, and these are apt to be 
 
 treacherous. Henry H was not expected 
 
 at Blindburn, and thus no notice was taken 
 of his not arriving there at the due time. Some 
 days later, however, some people from a house 
 where he had rested on his journey chanced to 
 fall in with the Blindburn people, when they 
 casually inquired how Henry had got home 
 that night To their consternation, it was 
 replied that he had never got home yet. It was 
 felt at once that he must have perished among 
 the hills ; however, there was nothing for it but 
 to wait until the snow should disappear, — which 
 did not happen for some weeks. Then the men 
 of the neighbourhood met together to search for 
 the missing man. His body was discovered 
 within a stone's-throw of the place where they 
 had agreed to assemble, — at the foot of a heugh 
 about eight feet in height, over which in his 
 bewilderment he had fallen. It lay upon its 
 face. One leg was bent over the edge of a syke, 
 or channel, and the level to which the water in
 
 THE BROKEN TRYST. l8l 
 
 the channel had reached was marked upon the 
 dead man's breeches. I ought to have mentioned 
 that the young dog which poor Henry had with 
 him had returned to his home on the day follow- 
 ing his master's departure. The string by which 
 the dog had been led was now discovered to 
 have been cut, and the end of it to have been 
 thrust into the pocket of the unfortunate sufferer. 
 This circumstance gave rise to a debate (of course 
 impossible to determine) as to whether the shep- 
 herd had cut the string before or after his 
 fall, — believing that the dog would follow of its 
 own accord ; or, out of compassion, or as a 
 forlorn hope, in order that it might run home. 
 The story which next follows was obtained, in 
 the course of one of my rambles, from a woman 
 who acted as housekeeper to an old widower 
 shepherd at the lonely cottage of Seefew, situated 
 upon the limit of my hill-farm. 
 
 Ellen , was in her day the prettiest girl 
 
 of those parts. Though only a shepherd's 
 daughter, she had been sought in marriage not 
 alone by a number of young men who were 
 her equals in station, but by a wealthy farmer 
 of the district as well. But, besides being a 
 beauty, Ellen was a coquette — at least she had 
 got a name in the neighbourhood for playing 
 fast and loose with her admirers. Perhaps her 
 head was a little turned. Perhaps it was only 
 that, delighting in conquest and admiration,
 
 1 82 THE NEW BORDER TALES. 
 
 and also loving novelty, she loved her liberty 
 more dearly than all — a collocation of tastes 
 which, from a woman's point of view, is surely 
 not an unnatural one. And yet it had sufficed 
 to cause many a heartache, and to send away 
 many a swain from her father's door " a sadder 
 and a wiser man." 
 
 At last, however, it seemed as if Miss Ellen 
 had met her match. And it was pronounced 
 by the envious to be of a piece with her general 
 perversity that that match was certainly the 
 least desirable of all which had offered. This 
 is how the matter came about. It was the 
 custom of the shepherds — especially of such 
 as were, like Ellen's father, " up in years " — 
 to engage additional assistance against the press 
 of work at lambing-time. In this manner it 
 chanced that a man of the name of Fox, who was 
 a perfect stranger in the district, became for a 
 time an inmate of Ellen's father's cottage. Fox 
 was not a young man. In manner he was 
 moody and taciturn. No one knew precisely 
 whence he came; nor did he, throughout his 
 sojourn in the neighbourhood, volunteer any 
 information upon this or kindred points. In 
 a word, he kept himself to himself And, by 
 this and other means, he got himself disliked 
 by his fellow -workmen. But — whether the 
 mystery which hung about him attracted her ; 
 whether she was put upon her mettle by the
 
 THE BROKEN TRYST. 1 83 
 
 apparent difficulty of the conquest; or whether 
 (as one would perhaps prefer to believe) her 
 woman's heart was touched by the loneliness 
 and repressed nature of the stranger — from the 
 first it was clear that Ellen did not share the 
 general dislike. To the jealous indignation of 
 older admirers, she was repeatedly observed, in 
 the course of the day's work, to select him as 
 the recipient of trifling, yet coveted, favours. 
 And, in short, with time it became apparent 
 that there was an understanding betwixt them. 
 At last the lambing-season came to an end, 
 and with it Fox's term of residence under the 
 same roof with Ellen. He did not, however, 
 leave the neighbourhood ; but, being a good 
 workman, contrived to find further temporary 
 employment where he would not be entirely out 
 of reach. And it was whispered by the gossips 
 — for there is tattle even in Arcadia — that 
 Ellen continued to meet him secretly. 
 
 The gossips were, in this instance, well- 
 informed. In the face of her father's strong 
 disapproval of the attachment, Ellen continued, 
 throughout the summer, to carry on a secret 
 correspondence with her newest admirer. And 
 she met him whenever a meeting could be 
 arranged ; which, however, owing to the dis- 
 tance at which her lover now dwelt, and to her 
 father's vigilance, was not often. 
 
 Well, the summer passed away, and a certain
 
 1 84 THE NEW BORDER TALES. 
 
 night in the early autumn arrived. Now it 
 happened that Fox had given his sweetheart 
 a tryst for that night, and that he had done 
 so in a very unusual manner. For in addition 
 to naming the place and the hour, he had made 
 it a provision that she was not to arrive on the 
 ground before the time fixed. It struck Ellen 
 when she thought of it that this was rather a 
 curious proviso to be made by a lover upon a 
 like occasion ; but, notwithstanding that Fox 
 had charged her repeatedly and impressively, 
 she did not scruple, when the time came, 
 to disobey his injunctions. To successfully 
 deceive her parent was with her the prime 
 consideration ; and, as matters chanced, the 
 hour of her arrival at the rendezvous happened 
 to be a good deal earlier than that which Fox 
 had fixed for it. 
 
 The meeting-place agreed upon was a little 
 wood situated in a glen, between two hill-sides, 
 through which flowed a stream. The trees 
 composing the wood were chiefly old alders ; 
 and the place was known as the haunt of 
 herons, who had their nests in the topmost 
 branches of the trees. In this place, Ellen 
 took up her station, beneath the appointed 
 tree, and proceeded to await her lover's coming. 
 But either he tarried long, or time seemed to 
 pass very slowly in the solitude and darkness 
 of the wood. At first she grew impatient, and
 
 THE BROKEN TRYST. I85 
 
 then she grew afraid. A whimsical idea now 
 occurred to her. It was that if she were to 
 climb into the branches of the tree under which 
 she stood her position would be one of greater 
 safety and comfort. She was active ; the tree 
 was not difficult to climb ; and a few minutes 
 later she sat among its upper branches. There, 
 among the herons' nests, she continued her watch ; 
 and at last her patience was rewarded. By the 
 light of the moon, she beheld at some distance 
 the figure of a man slowly wending his way 
 up the glen. The eyes of true love — ay, and 
 possibly even of mock love as well — are pro- 
 verbially sharp ; and the light shed by the moon 
 sufficed for her to recognise him for whom she 
 waited. She was on the point of descending 
 from her coign of vantage, when she fancied 
 that she detected an unexpected peculiarity 
 in her lover's gait and carriage which puzzled 
 her. As he came nearer, she found that she 
 had not been deceived. Fox was carrying over 
 his shoulder some heavy article, which the moon- 
 light, catching upon its polished blade, at last 
 revealed to be a spade. Ellen was naturally 
 a little surprised at her lover's bringing a spade 
 with him to their meeting in that out-of-the-way 
 place ; and, curiosity getting the better of her 
 first impulse, she decided for the present to 
 remain where she was and to watch his move- 
 ments.
 
 1 86 THE NEW BORDER TALES. 
 
 Arrived at the foot of the tree, Fox stood still 
 and looked about him. Then, after having as it 
 seemed made sure that his sweetheart was not 
 yet in sight, — for, of course, it did not occur to 
 him to look into the boughs overhead, — he set 
 to work to dig. Ellen watched his proceedings 
 from above. Strange stories of buried secrets 
 flocked into her mind, and she became breath- 
 lessly interested. Then, suddenly. Fox's repeated 
 injunctions to her on no account to come to the 
 meeting-place before the hour which he had 
 named flashed across her recollection. She had 
 no means of calculating time ; but in all likeli- 
 hood that hour had not yet arrived ; — in which 
 case it was plain that her lover's present acts 
 were intended to be concealed from her know- 
 ledge. Her curiosity became more acute, and a 
 degree of awe mingled with it. For she had 
 never entirely divested herself of a certain 
 fear with which Fox had from the first inspired 
 her. 
 
 Meantime the digging proceeded apace, for 
 the ground was soft and peaty, and the delver 
 laboured hurriedly — furtively glancing around 
 him every minute or two the while. The hole 
 he was at work upon was not a pit ; it had the 
 form of a trench rather. At last he paused, 
 rested upon the handle of his spade, and wiped 
 the sweat from his brow. Ellen's eyes were 
 riveted upon him ; and, as it dawned on her
 
 THE BROKEN TRYST. 1 87 
 
 that she looked upon his finished work, a thrill 
 shot through her heart. It was a grave ! 
 
 For whom was it intended? Alas ! she dared 
 not answer that question. Every circumstance 
 seemed to point to one only possible solution 
 of the mystery ; but the mere thought of that 
 solution overpowered her. That her lover should 
 have decoyed her treacherously to this lonely 
 spot to murder her seemed beyond belief. Yet, 
 if it was beyond belief, why did she shake with a 
 convulsive terror in every limb ? Her trembling 
 shook the branches of the tree, and the leaves 
 rustled as if stirred by the wind. This slight 
 sound brought her to herself again. Collecting 
 her scattered faculties, she perceived clearly that 
 she had but one frail chance for her life : — to 
 remain absolutely motionless, noiseless, where 
 she was ; and so, through the chance of Fox's 
 not looking up into the tree, escape his observa- 
 tion. The chance was a slender one ; but as a 
 drowning man will catch at a straw, she caught 
 at it, and from that moment moved not a muscle 
 and scarce drew a breath. 
 
 Fox had seated himself at the foot of the tree, 
 with his back against it, and was, no doubt, 
 looking out for her coming. The moon shone 
 brightly; all around was still ; and there seemed 
 no earthly reason why, at any moment, his 
 glance should not be directed upward just as 
 well as in any other direction. Ellen realised
 
 1 88 THE NEW BORDER TALES. 
 
 her danger to the full. But, with an effort of 
 the will, she resolutely shut out the heart- 
 quelling visions which her imagination would 
 have thrust before her, and compelled herself 
 to adhere to the course of action in which, as 
 we have seen, her one chance of safety seemed 
 to lie. The nights at this season of the year 
 (so she told herself in her endeavours to 
 fortify her mind) were not long. Some hours 
 — surely, surely, some hours of the darkness 
 must, by this time, be already past. With the 
 peep of day, the shepherds would be abroad 
 upon the hills again, cheerily shouting to their 
 dogs, and driving the sheep from their night 
 resorts on the hill-tops to feed in the valleys. 
 So, as a dying man might fix his thoughts on 
 heaven, did she endeavour to fix her thoughts 
 on the return of daylight. And in this, the 
 hour of her deadly peril, fickle fortune smiled 
 upon the girl. The black and shaggy head 
 below her was bent downwards, the eyes seemed 
 fixed upon the earth, as if their owner had sunk, 
 and was sinking every moment deeper and 
 deeper, into some insidious and engrossing 
 reverie. So, for Ellen, racked in body, and a 
 prey to the most ghastly fears, the minutes 
 crept by with a leaden foot, every one of them 
 seeming to bring with it the weight of years. 
 
 At last the moon, completing her long voyage 
 through the skies, drew near her haven, sank
 
 THE BROKEN TRYST. 1 89 
 
 With diminishing light towards the hill, and set 
 behind it. Ellen was, by this time, reduced to 
 a state which, miserable as it was, was yet 
 almost free from pain. Her mind was growing 
 dulled, and took little or no note of external 
 things; whilst she maintained her position in the 
 tree — already maintained, as it seemed to her, 
 for a lifetime — without conscious effort The 
 darkness of the hour before dawn fell upon the 
 world. And then, from the foot of the tree 
 there burst forth a sound to make the hair rise 
 on the scalp and the blood congeal within the 
 veins. Ellen heard it, and her heart stood still. 
 It was a groan — the groan of a spirit in heavy 
 travail, and it died away upon the sweet silence 
 of nature like the wail of a lost soul consigned 
 to outer darkness for ever. And, of all the 
 pains endured by the unhappy girl upon that 
 never-to-be-forgotten night, the one which left 
 the most lasting impression upon her mind was 
 the sound of that groan. Soon afterwards Fox 
 spoke articulately : 
 
 " Hech, how me ! but my love is long in 
 coming to her grave in the cold ground ! " 
 
 If any doubt still lingered in the girl's mind 
 as to the identity of the person for whom the 
 grave had been prepared, these words must 
 have removed it. Shortly after speaking, Fox 
 rose to his feet, filled in the unused grave, 
 shouldered his spade, and strode away. The
 
 190 THE NEW BORDER TALES. 
 
 dawn was breaking. But it was long ere Ellen 
 could succeed in undoing the convulsive grasp 
 with which her hands had laid hold upon the 
 tree. And it was very nearly broad daylight 
 when a ghostly figure reeled and stumbled upon 
 the threshold of her father's cottage. 
 
 • • • • • o 
 
 Some months elapsed before Ellen and Fox 
 were again brought face to face. Their meet- 
 ing occurred at a gathering held at the house 
 of a neighbouring farmer to celebrate the New 
 Year. The farm-house was at some distance 
 from her father's cottage ; and, as the cold was 
 severe, and the pastoral hill-country swathed in 
 snow, it was considered somewhat imprudent 
 for Ellen, whose health had lately been delicate, 
 to attend the party. But she was bent on being 
 present. The farm where it was to be held was 
 the very one upon which Fox had last been 
 employed ; and, if he were still in the country, 
 she might be pretty sure of meeting him. 
 
 An abundance of lights, a few evergreen 
 decorations, healthy faces, and simple merri- 
 ment made the scene in the barn, where the 
 party took place, a cheerful one when Ellen 
 entered. Her arrival, however (unlike what 
 would once have been the case), added little or 
 nothing to the gaiety of the scene. Within the 
 last few months a marked change had come 
 over her. And to-night she looked pale, and
 
 THE BROKEN TRYST. TQI 
 
 seemed to wish to avoid notice or conversation, 
 so that the alteration in her became the subject 
 of comment and speculation. The proceedings 
 of the evening were to be inaugurated with 
 feasting ; then the tables were to be cleared 
 away, and dancing was to commence. During 
 supper, Ellen sat beside her father, scarcely 
 either tasting food or raising her eyes from the 
 table. Yet, though she did not raise her eyes, 
 she was doubtless well aware of the fact when 
 Fox, entering late, accepted a vacant seat which 
 was offered him facing her own, but further 
 down the board. When the eating and drinking 
 were at length over, speeches and toasts followed, 
 and songs were in demand. Now, Ellen was 
 known throughout the country-side as a sweet 
 and powerful singer ; but, owing to the depres- 
 sion from which she was obviously suffering, it 
 was scarcely expected that she would allow 
 herself to be prevailed upon to sing that night. 
 So that it was a pleasant surprise when, after 
 a very little pressing, she consented to give 
 them a song. On rising to her feet, she was 
 received with applause ; then, putting aside the 
 eager call for this or the other old favourite, she 
 struck up a ditty which was new to all present. 
 In the simplest rhyme, set to an old ballad air, 
 she began : 
 
 " The other night, as I sat high, 
 Waiting for one who should pass by, . . ."
 
 192 THE NEW BORDER TALES. 
 
 and went on to describe how a tryst had been 
 set between herself and the man to whom her 
 troth was plighted ; how the meeting-place was 
 a wood; how she arrived first upon the scene, 
 and climbed into a tree. The interest of the 
 company was aroused, as well by the novelty of 
 the story and the forcible manner of the telling, 
 as by the beauty and charm of the singer. She 
 then went on to describe how her lover next 
 appeared, bearing the spade; and how she watched 
 him unseen from her tree. And, as she reached 
 this portion of the story, her singing attained 
 to an intensity which acted visibly upon the 
 audience. Every head was bent towards the 
 singer, every eye fixed upon her ; and such was 
 the stillness that, but for the music, a pin might 
 have been heard to fall. It was now observed 
 that, as she sang, Ellen's beautiful eyes, filled 
 with an expression of heart-broken reproach, 
 were fixed upon the eyes of a man seated 
 opposite to her — who, fascinated, returned the 
 gaze. She sang on. And ever as she sang she 
 rose to a yet higher pitch of tragic passion. At 
 last she pronounced these words : 
 
 " My limbs did quiver, the leaves did shake — 
 I saw the hole the fox did make. . . ." 
 
 At that moment there was a commotion in the 
 barn. Uttering words which were not clearly 
 intelligible, a man rose excitedly to his feet ;
 
 THE BROKEN TRYST. 193 
 
 and at the same moment the singing abruptly 
 ceased. The singer — like some nightingale who 
 has surpassed herself in melody and shall sing 
 no more — had sunk back into her seat. The 
 nerves had been strained to the utmost, and 
 with the rising of Fox, Ellen's self-control had 
 given way. There was a general rise, followed 
 by confusion and crowding, and it was some 
 minutes before the convulsed form of the girl 
 could be borne from the barn. In the meantime, 
 Fox had disappeared. Nor was he ever again 
 seen or heard of in that district. 
 
 What had been the motive of his intended 
 crime? Was it resentment at some act of 
 lightness or coquetry on the part of Ellen ? Was 
 it that strange, fatalistic, causeless jealousy, often 
 read of in newspapers, which seeks by death to 
 secure the loved object once and for all ? Was it 
 the madness of some frightful form of abnormal 
 passion? These questions history does not 
 answer. But the tree whose friendly shelter was 
 the means of saving Ellen's life may still be seen 
 by any curious visitor to the sweet pastoral 
 vale of Bowmont Water. 
 
 13
 
 A MATCH NOT MADE IN HEAVEN. 
 
 I. 
 
 Late on a June night, a good many years ago, 
 Lizbeth, the orphan niece and house-mate of 
 the Minister of Hownam, left her uncle's Manse 
 clandestinely. After pausing for a moment to 
 make sure that there was no one stirring, she 
 raised her skirt over her head so as to form an 
 improvised hood, and tripped forward with a 
 beating heart toward the garden gate. Whither 
 was she bound so late? By all the laws of 
 probability, as a Lowland Scottish maiden, she 
 ought to have been on her way to keep a tryst. 
 But Lizbeth was unlike other girls ; she had 
 never had a lover, and she was not bound to 
 meet one now. Her surreptitious nocturnal 
 errand had another object — one which appealed 
 to the feelings less, to the imagination more. 
 
 At the period of which I write, charms by the 
 aid of which, at stated seasons, a girl might 
 predict her " fate " had by no means fallen into 
 disuse among the Scottish country-folk. On the 
 contrary, at that day it would have been difficult
 
 A MATCH NOT MADE IN HEAVEN. I95 
 
 to find a peasant-girl who had not, at some time 
 or other, put to the test the virtues of hemp- 
 sowing, the toasting of nuts, the watching of the 
 " droukit sark-sleeve," or some other of those 
 many spells — so strangely mingling laughter 
 and terror — which were supposed to enable her 
 to pry into the secrets of the future. Thus it 
 happened that, an hour or two before we first 
 see her, Lizbeth had baked over the dying 
 embers of the kitchen fire, and then eaten, a 
 little cake, in which the chief ingredient was the 
 first egg laid by a young fowl. She had then 
 retired to her bedroom without breaking silence. 
 But, as we have already seen, she had not 
 remained there, but had stolen forth again as 
 soon as the house was hushed in sleep. The 
 fact was that the most important part of her 
 elaborate spell remained yet to be put in practice. 
 And this was a part which would make no small 
 demand upon her courage and powers of action. 
 But before having recourse to supernatural 
 assistance, Lizbeth had first some distance to 
 travel. The garden gate closed noiselessly 
 behind her, and as it did so a slight shiver 
 passed over the girl's sensitive frame. It was 
 produced in part by the cool night air, in part by 
 fear. But the feeling from which it mainly took 
 its character was that sense of dissipation which 
 Nature, for some reason of her own, has made 
 sweet to a certain type of woman, — the excite-
 
 196 THE NEW BORDER TALES. 
 
 ment so dearly delightful in early youth of doing 
 something new, bold, dangerous, and — wrong. 
 
 The Manse of Hownam lay at the extremity 
 of the hamlet. The country immediately to 
 the westward — a valley lying in the midst of 
 a wide hill-region — is green and open, shaggy 
 with broom and gorse, intersected by rivulets 
 and by the river Kale. Once clear of her prison 
 — for as such the perverse girl chose to regard 
 it — Lizbeth's slender form sped along so rapidly 
 and so lightly that it almost seemed as if borne 
 upon the wind. The long summer twilight of a 
 northern latitude still prevailed over the dark- 
 ness ; and as the maiden tripped onward over 
 the tufted green, her floating shape, in its white 
 summer draperies, might have passed for a 
 painter's fancy of a Gossamer Queen. Yet 
 could some stern and masterful adventurer, as 
 in the fairy-tales of old, have laid hold upon this 
 seeming-intangible shape and compelled it to 
 look him in the eyes, the impression would 
 rather have been that of some Feu-Follet, 
 Melusine, or other sprite of incarnate tricksiness 
 and mischief The form, indeed, was the very 
 perfection of lissom and tenuous girlhood and 
 virginity, just touching upon womanhood. The 
 little face was perfect, too, in contour and in 
 colour. But in expression it was a surprise. 
 There perfection, satisfaction, ceased ; and 
 material for reflection, tending ever more and
 
 A MATCH NOT MADE IN HEAVEN. 197 
 
 more to doubt, to hesitation, was supplied. It 
 might have been likened to the expression of a 
 face without a soul, or perhaps, more precisely, 
 with a soul as yet unborn. I have seen it 
 almost exactly reproduced in a design of Fuseli. 
 
 The girl still flitted on. Once when, in passing 
 by a patch of woodland, a motion of the air 
 brought to her nostrils the rich mingled scent of 
 meadowsweet and other midsummer flowers, 
 of wild thyme hidden in the herbage, and of 
 blossoming trees, she paused, threw back her 
 head and closed her eyes — drinking in with 
 delight the heavy natural incense-fumes which 
 made her senses reel. Evidently, if the soul 
 were, indeed, as yet unborn, the senses at least 
 were awakened and alert. 
 
 She hastened on. At last her course took an 
 upward direction — she had begun to climb a hill. 
 Its summit was her destination — the spot which 
 had recommended itself to her imagination as 
 the ideal scene in which to greet the rising moon, 
 and seek her mystic aid. On reaching it, she 
 sank breathless and exhausted to the ground. 
 The moonrise was not yet. 
 
 The grassy, skyward, hill-top upon which she 
 reclined, waiting, presented two features of 
 interest They were both of them the work of 
 man's hand, but their respective dates were 
 separated by many centuries. The first was a 
 cairn, or tall conical pile of loose stones, such as
 
 198 THE NEW BORDER TALES. 
 
 hill-shepherds — "for a bit of fancy," as one of 
 them once expressed it to the writer — are partial 
 to erecting. This monument crowned the apex of 
 the hill, and it was upon a detached stone beneath 
 its shelter that the truant maiden crouched. 
 The second product of man's handiwork was a 
 circular earthwork, pronounced by antiquarians 
 to be a British camp, which ran round, and 
 enclosed, the upland. Within this cincture, a 
 flock of the hill sheep, whose instinct of safety 
 leads them to seek the high ground for night 
 quarters, lay huddled and scattered. Thus 
 environed Lizbeth sat, with eyes fixed upon the 
 sky-line at a point, toward the east, where it had 
 already begun to grow silvery. 
 
 I have stated that Elizabeth Bellendean had 
 never had a lover. But is there any reader who 
 will suppose that her present nocturnal escapade 
 had been entered upon in the pure spirit of 
 disinterested divination ? Certainly not. In 
 coming to the lonely hill-top, unaccompanied, 
 by night, in the hope of confronting the 
 simulacrum of her future husband. Miss Bellen- 
 dean had, perhaps unconsciously, the thought 
 of a certain person in her mind. Though she 
 had never had a lover, and had never been in 
 love, yet she had once had a trifling adventure 
 (if it may be dignified with the name) which — 
 thanks partly to the monotonous life she was 
 compelled to lead, partly to her own imaginative
 
 A MATCH NOT MADE IN HEAVEN. 1 99 
 
 temperament — had made a deeper impression 
 upon her than would have been supposed. The 
 thing had happened thus. During her solitary 
 walk one afternoon in the previous autumn, she 
 had been disturbed in her reverie by the near 
 approach along the road of briskly-moving 
 horse's hoofs. She had looked up and had 
 beheld — not one of the neighbouring farmers, 
 or their sons, whom she knew and despised 
 — but a handsome scarlet-coated sportsman, 
 mounted on a tall chestnut horse. Lit by the 
 silver sunlight of late autumn, the warmth and 
 magnitude of the vision had somehow struck 
 the fanciful girl with a sense of power and 
 splendour. But this was not all. After glanc- 
 ing in her direction, the horseman had drawn 
 rein, and making some explanation about a 
 delay — a lost shoe — had inquired if the hunt 
 had passed that way. 
 
 The girl could give no information in answer 
 to the questions put to her ; but, at the moment 
 when the sportsman was about to pursue his 
 way, he had turned in the saddle, and speaking 
 with the ardent gallantry of an older day — 
 which was, nevertheless, without offence, such 
 honest admiration did it betray — had cried, as 
 if the words came from him in spite of himself: 
 " I know not who you may be ; and as for me, 
 I have lived a sworn bachelor till this hour. 
 But, if you will but say the word and mount
 
 200 THE NEW BORDER TALES. 
 
 behind me, I'll make you my wife at Coldstream 
 Bridge to-night ! " (The last words were an 
 allusion to the "border marriages," still much 
 resorted to by eager couples in those days.) On 
 hearing them, Lizbeth had turned with a shrill 
 mocking laugh, and run off in an opposite 
 direction; whilst the horseman, with an ejacula- 
 tion, the purport of which she did not hear, had 
 cracked his hunting-whip, and had been quickly 
 lost to view. His too impulsive declaration had 
 received a rebuff which probably produced a 
 reaction in his feelings. Yet, could he have 
 guessed the effect which, soon and late, his words 
 were to exercise, he would have had no cause to 
 be downcast. In the months which followed, 
 Elizabeth, in her dreaming leisure, had returned 
 to them again and again. For her they had come 
 to mean not merely one ill-considered speech of 
 gallantry, but the revelation of the power of her 
 beauty, the vision of a romantic courtship, a high- 
 born match, another life. For some time after- 
 wards she had looked to see the red man again. 
 Perhaps, she thought, she would see him again ; 
 perhaps he would come again. He did not come 
 again. In her secret heart she was disappointed. 
 It is true that it was, to a large extent, as a 
 symbol that he possessed interest in her eyes ; 
 yet the fact remained that it was in the scarcely- 
 defined hope of seeing the scarlet-coated cavalier 
 again that the girl had come to the hill-top
 
 A MATCH NOT MADE IN HEAVEN. 201 
 
 to-night. And did she then really believe that, 
 through the moon's intervention, she was going 
 to meet anybody at all ? Not for one moment, 
 she would have answered, had the question been 
 put to her directly. Acts, however, are apt to 
 express our minds more deeply and more 
 sincerely than words. And she was here. 
 
 II. 
 
 The rim of the young moon rose slowly 
 above the dark confronting hill-range. By slow 
 degrees the lone still summer world grew lighter, 
 and grey clouds and ghosts of distant hills began 
 to be revealed. As the first fire of the moon 
 appeared over the hill, the girl rose from the 
 ground. Bowing and bending her willowy form 
 in the most profound and reverent of curtsies, she 
 then first made thrice obeisance to the emerging 
 witch-queen of the night, the goddess of her 
 adoration. Next — stepping featly, her head 
 poised, a hand at either side still slightly raising 
 her skirts — she began to trip to and fro upon 
 the green, threading, as it seemed, the mazes of 
 some mystic and intricate measure. Dancing 
 thus unseen, the woman was fairer to look upon 
 than Bathsheba. Her youth, her airiness, her 
 grace, her very soullessness, made themselves 
 each portion of the dance. The primeval, 
 natural joy in rhythmic motion, untouched by 
 any after-thought of coquetry or of "effect,"
 
 202 THE NEW BORDER TALES. 
 
 inspired her steps. The "poetry of motion" 
 stood revealed. And, as she danced, she 
 crooned to herself a low, wild, plaintive melody. 
 Meantime the moon was steadily mounting into 
 view ; and as it rose, a shadow sprung into life 
 behind the girl, and, elf-like, aped her move- 
 ments. The moonlight flooded the valley, the 
 body of the planet became detached above the 
 hill, and the dance grew more impassioned, — the 
 maiden crossed her feet, dipt, whirled, stept this 
 way and stept that, more delicately, more daintily, 
 more dexterously, more swiftly than before. 
 She had let go her skirts, and her waving arms 
 passed hither and thither, aloft and alow. Her 
 voice, too, rose — vibrating slightly on Vhe still- 
 ness, and the fateful words of the spell became for 
 the first time audible. They were as follows : — 
 
 " New moon, new moon, I hail thee. 
 This night my true love for to see; 
 Not in his best or worst array. 
 But his apparel for every day ; 
 That I to-morro7V may him ken 
 From among all other men I" 
 
 The tones of the girl's voice died away, and 
 she sank exhausted at the base of the cairn. A 
 modern thinker who had witnessed her perform- 
 ance would have cried aloud that Paganism was 
 not dead, but had been lurking in unseen corners 
 all these centuries, to come forth alive and bold 
 to-night
 
 A MATCH NOT MADE IN HEAVEN, 20$ 
 
 Upon the close of the dance, there succeeded 
 an interval of suspense. The girl's breast 
 heaved, her eyes were dilated and gazed in 
 front of her. The moon, like a solitary ship in 
 a calm blue sea, sailed up the sky. Then, with 
 the lapse of time, insidiously, the sense of 
 travesty, of mockery, began to infect and to 
 jar upon the high-wrought emotions of a few 
 moments before. Certainly it was well to call 
 spirits from the vasty deep, but a query most 
 pertinent and to the point was, would they 
 come ? On this occasion it seemed that they 
 would not. Still the girl waited on, the tide of 
 her feelings rapidly subsiding from its exaltation 
 to an ordinary every-day level which was pitiful 
 and painful by contrast. At last, at last, it 
 seemed quite useless to wait any longer, and 
 with an exclamation of bitter self-mockery, 
 Lizbeth rose to turn away. Her foot was now 
 as heavy as it had before been light, and all the 
 life and buoyancy seemed gone out of her. The 
 moon, from her lofty station, looked down with 
 disdain on her foiled votaress. 
 
 So, at least, to Lizbeth's sickened fancy it at 
 that moment appeared. The next moment she 
 started violently and shrunk close within the 
 shelter of the cairn. And, indeed, a sudden 
 change had taken place in her surroundings 
 which might well have startled more placid 
 nerves than hers. By an instantaneous transi-
 
 204 THE NEW BORDER TALES. 
 
 tion, impossible to account for, the summit of 
 the hill — till now so lone and still — was visited 
 by animation — nay, by panic and confusion. 
 A sound of many hurrying feet was heard, and 
 the flock of sheep, which had hitherto lain 
 motionless and senseless, swept past across the 
 enclosure. The rumour of their flight passed 
 away ; but, as it did so, another sound fell 
 distinct upon the listener's ear. It was that of 
 a footstep, advancing slowly over the summer- 
 hardened surface of the hill. Who walked so 
 late? Had she looked for the appearance of 
 Death in person, the girl could scarcely have 
 awaited it with a more agonised intensity of 
 reluctant expectation. A man's form detached 
 itself from the outline of the cairn and appeared 
 at some distance, walking upon the earthwork 
 and relieved against the sky. Lizbeth's eyes 
 were fixed upon it. 
 
 Now, a moderate degree of mental excitement 
 gives intensity to impressions ; an immoderate 
 degree tends to obscure and render them uncer- 
 tain. And so, in the present instance, the 
 tumult of her feelings, combining with the 
 distance and the half-light, obscured the senses 
 of the watcher, blurring her vision. One thing, 
 however, she instinctively noted — the figure 
 wore a sable, not a gala, costume, appearing, 
 indeed, to be attired in mourner's garb. It 
 stalked onward until it had traversed about a
 
 A MATCH NOT MADE IN HEAVEN. 20$ 
 
 fourth part of the circle of the Camp, and had 
 thus come directly opposite the girl ; and then, 
 pausing for a moment, and seeming to her eyes 
 to waver against the sky, it vanished into air. 
 Then, and not till then, as by degrees she began 
 to recover herself, did Lizbeth take account of 
 her impressions. And in so doing, to her 
 dismay she discovered that she had failed in 
 her prime object of seizing the details of the 
 phantom's appearance. She might meet him 
 again by the light of day, and fail to recognise 
 him. Bitterly, then, did she reproach herself 
 for her faint-heartedness ; but cudgel her brain 
 as she might, she could not coerce it to show 
 her what was not there. Only she retained an 
 impression that the figure's gait was pensive, 
 and that its features, when for a moment the 
 moonlight fell upon them, seemed pale. 
 
 Well, she had accomplished her errand. Al- 
 most beyond her dearest hopes, her prayer had 
 been granted — she had had the opportunity for 
 which she had craved. But she had failed to 
 use it. There was nothing now to be done but 
 to go home again. Gathering herself together, 
 she arose, and crossing the enclosure, mounted 
 upon the earthwork. As she stood there for 
 a moment, her heart bounded in her bosom. 
 Far below her, on the moonlit hillside, she had 
 descried once more the sable phantom of her 
 vision. Its apparent supernatural vanishing was
 
 206 THE NEW BORDER TALES. 
 
 thus explained into the simple act of stepping 
 down from the barrier on the outer side. The 
 figure was descending the hill and passing from 
 her. The girl, who but a short time before — 
 when it had approached her — had recoiled from 
 it with loathing, now started in eager pursuit 
 of it. And so, down the moonlit steep, passed 
 the dark shape — be it of sleepless shepherd 
 or night- wandering ghost, — the white, dancing 
 figure of the lady flitting after. 
 
 The ground, which was stony and broken, 
 retarded Lizbeth's progress. Nevertheless, in 
 the course of a few minutes, the distance which 
 had at first separated her from the object of her 
 pursuit had been materially lessened. Then her 
 advance became more circumspect, — she care- 
 fully kept her distance, and availed herself of 
 the chance cover afforded by a stunted thorn- 
 bush, or a jutting rock. Meantime the appari- 
 tion moved on steadily, without once turning 
 its head. In this manner they had approached 
 the foot of the hill, when the male figure turned 
 aside and entered a little sunken rocky glen. 
 With due caution Lizbcth followed. Progress 
 was now more laborious than ever. A stream 
 flowed through the centre of the glen, and the 
 footing in the wet and stony bottom was 
 difficult for a girl. The figure, however, still 
 moved steadily on, and for some time, as she 
 followed the irregular zig-zags of the glen,
 
 A MATCH NOT MADE IN HEAVEN. 20/ 
 
 Lizbeth managed to keep it intermittently in 
 view. But the light was by this time waning, 
 and at last she lost sight of it for a longer time 
 than usual. Stumbling, wetting her feet, tearing 
 her dress, she struggled on desperately down 
 the uneven descent, hoping in spite of hope that 
 the next turning would disclose the figure to 
 her view once more. It was in vain — some- 
 how or other the phantom had eluded her. At 
 last, weary, wet, bruised and distressed, she 
 emerged from the glen into a valley, where the 
 rivulet joined a river. It was now almost dark, 
 yet she strained her eyes eagerly to right and 
 left. No trace of the figure she had followed so 
 fondly and so long was anywhere to be seen. 
 Her "fate," the one man in the world whose 
 destiny was bound up with her own, had passed 
 away from her, his features undisclosed. Then 
 she sank down, in her drenched white dress, 
 on the cold ground, and sobbed as if her heart 
 would break. And at last, beside herself in the 
 wild paroxysm of her sorrow, she lifted up her 
 voice, and cried aloud into the night, " Oh, my 
 love ! my love ! come to me — come to me ! " 
 There was no answer ; but just then the moon 
 went out. The girl was left alone in the 
 darkness. 
 
 It is a man's part to love substance ; a 
 woman's weaker nature may fall enamoured of 
 a shadow.
 
 208 THE NEW BORDER TALES. 
 
 III. 
 
 From that day a marked change began to be 
 observable in Lizbeth Bellendean. She grew 
 more listless even than heretofore, more per- 
 versely indifferent to all that, in the household 
 in which she lived, was held right and proper. 
 Her old uncle, the Minister— a kind-hearted 
 man, and something of a savant in his way — 
 was yet one of those born bachelors who never 
 can, by any effort of the mind, understand the 
 nature either of a woman or a child. With the 
 best intentions in the world he had begun, in 
 her callow youth, by spoiling his niece; and 
 now — when she was grown so far beyond his 
 comprehension and control — he could think of 
 nothing better than to leave her to her own 
 whimsies. In other words, he benevolently 
 neglected her. The only other inmate of the 
 Manse was an aged female servant named 
 Kirsty — with whom Miss Bellendean did, on 
 all occasions, precisely what she chose. 
 
 The old woman was Lizbeth's confidante; 
 and to her she would often now address herself 
 — entering the kitchen at nightfall— in this wild, 
 inconsequent fashion : 
 
 "Oh, Kirsty! I feel so depressed to-night — 
 I declare I long for death." 
 
 Then the shocked crone would murmur kind 
 conventional expostulations, which fell unheeded
 
 A MATCH NOT MADE IN HEAVEN. 209 
 
 on her charge's averted ear. Lizbeth's attention 
 was directed inward, not outward, and a moment 
 later she would exclaim : 
 
 " What would I not give to be going to a ball 
 to-night ! Lights, music, delicious movement, 
 admiration, — those are the things I was born 
 for. I shall die here." 
 
 And then she would throw her arms round the 
 old woman's neck, and give way to tears. 
 
 She also contracted the habit of taking long 
 solitary walks. In the morning she would start 
 forth, fresh, cheerful, hopeful — as though she 
 were going to meet some one ; and in the 
 evening she would return drooping, despondent, 
 tragic, as after some cruel disappointment, or 
 separation. And yet she had not spoken to 
 a soul all day. Then she would sit for hours 
 together by her window — alone, unoccupied, as 
 if she were waiting — waiting for somebody to 
 arrive. Of course nobody came ; and then her 
 tearful, unconquerable, lowness of spirits was 
 piteous to behold. What, meantime, was the 
 internal travail of her mind, only herself could 
 have made known. 
 
 In course of time her health became affected, 
 and she had to give up her long walks. Then 
 she passed into another phase of the crisis, or 
 climacteric, of her life. She grew weaker ; and 
 the bright, lovely colour in her cheek gave place 
 to a chlorotic pallor. She seemed to be falling 
 
 14
 
 2IO THE NEW BORDER TALES. 
 
 into a decline. In an older time, she would have 
 been said to be bewitched. Then the anguish of 
 her depression left her, and she discovered a 
 soothing pleasure in sadness's very self. She 
 would now talk to Kirsty — in low plaintive tones 
 and with a wan smile on her face — of the prospect 
 of her life being a short one, seeming, indeed, to 
 be even more than " half in love with easeful 
 death." The fears of the foolish old faithful 
 attendant were aroused ; and deeply distressed, 
 she took counsel with the well-meaning, but 
 sand-blind and helpless, Minister, insisting that 
 some steps should be taken before it was too 
 late. Thus it was agreed between the old people 
 that Lizbeth must have a change of air, and 
 should be sent to the seaside. 
 
 The girl herself was very unwilling to leave 
 home ; but, strange to say, she was now more 
 docile than she had ever been before. (This, 
 indeed, was deemed by Kirsty one of the most 
 alarming symptoms of the illness.) Accordingly, 
 on a fair day in autumn, Lizbeth was removed 
 by a succession of conveyances to the nearest 
 sea-port, distant a long day's journey. There 
 her abode was the house of an elderly gentle- 
 woman in narrow circumstances, who was a 
 relative of the Minister's. Neither the hostess, 
 the house, nor the sea-port town — which was, in 
 fact, little more than a fishing-village — was at 
 all to Lizbeth's taste ; and she had not been a
 
 A MATCH NOT MADE IN HEAVEN. 211 
 
 week in her new quarters before she wrote to 
 her uncle, declaring that, far from feeling better 
 in health, she felt much worse since she had 
 come to the seaside, and further urgently- 
 requesting him to come at once and fetch her 
 home again. As she had already explored the 
 village and found nothing there to interest but a 
 good deal to repel her, whilst awaiting a reply 
 to her letter, she remained secluded indoors, 
 refusing obstinately to inhale the invigorating 
 sea-breeze. It so happened, however, that a 
 chance remark let fall by her hostess supplied 
 the needed vital stimulus in place of the sea- 
 air. 
 
 One afternoon, the two women were seated 
 together, working with their needles, when the 
 younger chanced to make some enquiries of her 
 companion concerning a certain stately mansion- 
 house, which stood by itself, and dominated the 
 village from the other side of the harbour. 
 
 " That," replied the elderly maiden, " is the 
 dower-house of the Deloraine family; but it 
 is better known hereabouts by the name of 
 Gallantry Hall." And, as she pronounced the 
 name, she smiled a withered smile. 
 
 " What a queer name ! " said Lizbeth. 
 
 " Ay, it is a queer name ; and a queer story has 
 been told of how the house came to bear it. 
 However — whatever may have happened in 
 times gone by — no gallantry goes on in the
 
 212 THE NEW BORDER TALES. 
 
 house now, that is certain ; for no woman is 
 ever permitted to pass the threshold," 
 
 " Indeed ! And why is that ? " 
 
 " Because the present owner is a recluse, who, 
 having suffered a loss, or disappointment, in 
 early life, has forsworn the society of women." 
 
 " How romantic ! I suppose he's an old man ? " 
 
 " Quite the reverse — not more than six or 
 seven and twenty." Lizbeth was silent ; but, 
 after a pause, she spoke again to ask how the 
 recluse spent his time, and in whose company. 
 
 "In that of the fishermen of the village, 
 sometimes," replied her informant, " but mostly 
 alone, and in fishing and shooting, and in 
 wandering far and wide through the country, as 
 I am told, generally by night." 
 
 Lizbeth asked no more questions ; but some- 
 how her interest in life began to revive. By a 
 process of feminine argument impossible to 
 follow, she had arrived at a belief that the 
 misogynist of Gallantry Hall was the man who 
 had appeared to her on the hill-top. And, if 
 this were so, he was her " fate." 
 
 IV. 
 
 About this time Miss Bellendean's airings 
 were resumed. Her hostess, as in duty bound, 
 would offer to accompany her when she went 
 out ; but these offers the younger woman 
 generally declined, on the ground that she was
 
 A MATCH NOT MADE IN HEAVEN. 213 
 
 unwilling to derange her kinswoman's habits. 
 Also, when, a few days later, a letter arrived 
 from the Minister, in which he begged his niece 
 for her own sake to give the air of the fishing- 
 village a few days' further trial, she dutifully 
 replied that, since it was his wish, she would 
 do so. 
 
 Having already examined the village, she 
 now made the exploration of its environs the 
 object of her walks ; but there was a single 
 region toward which her footsteps were never 
 turned. This was the neighbourhood of the 
 dower-house ; and so consistent was her avoid- 
 ance of it, that, had a close observer followed 
 her movements, he could scarcely have failed 
 to be impressed by it. Then — if, in addition to 
 being a close observer, he were also a student 
 of human nature and a reasoner — he might 
 possibly have made the remark that there are 
 two ways in which a woman may betray the 
 direction in which her thoughts lie. The first 
 and obvious way is by recurring to it. The 
 second is by avoiding it. And possibly the 
 saying which declares a certain relation to subsist 
 between depth and stillness in water is of applica- 
 tion here. Be this as it may, certain it is that, 
 across the harbour, and more often from the 
 quieter and more distant points of vantage 
 afforded by the heights surrounding the town, 
 the lovely and no longer soulless eyes of
 
 214 THE NEW BORDER TALES. 
 
 Lizbeth Bellendean often rested upon "Gallantry 
 Hall," The stately architectural fagade of the 
 mansion remained inscrutable ; but on one 
 occasion, towards nightfall, the watcher beheld 
 a male form come forth upon the balustraded 
 terrace which overhung the harbour. On 
 another, she saw a gentleman with attendants 
 land from a boat at the foot of the water-stairs 
 leading from the dower-house. In both cases 
 she was too far off to observe anything dis- 
 tinctly , yet she pleased herself by establish- 
 ing a fancied resemblance between the master 
 of the Hall and the figure of her vision on the 
 hill-top. This remote and fanciful communion 
 — if communion it could be called — with one 
 whose fate (as she had come to believe) was 
 closely linked with her own would have been 
 to many women quite meaningless. But, some- 
 how, it exactly suited Lizbeth ; and though, 
 as will presently be seen, she was doomed — 
 I write the word advisedly — to experience many 
 emotions more intense and more enthralling, 
 it was to these days that she oftenest in after 
 times looked back as to the happiest of her life. 
 This phase of her life, however, was not destined 
 to be of long duration. It was brought to its 
 abrupt and final close by the incident of an 
 afternoon's walk. 
 
 Whilst Lizbeth still lingered on by the sea- 
 side, with the ostensible object of trying the
 
 A MATCH NOT MADE IN HEAVEN. 21$ 
 
 effect of the air upon her health, the leaves of 
 the elm-trees in the neighbouring woods had 
 turned yellow and begun to fall, whilst the blue 
 mists of autumn veiled the distance. But the 
 weather still continued mild. It happened one 
 afternoon that, having gone out late after a day 
 spent indoors, the young lady had ascended 
 to the ridge of the sloping ground which 
 rose behind the town. There, as the shades 
 of night were beginning to fall, she sat down 
 to rest Her seat, upon a low dry-stone wall 
 at the roadside, commanded a view of the little 
 smoky town at her feet and of the sullen sea 
 beyond. The air was perfectly still. The sun 
 had set, and the boding splendours of a red 
 after-glow, subdued by on-coming night, were 
 fading from the sky. Presently a shower of 
 cold rain fell noiselessly. But Lizbeth, yielding 
 to the enervating influences of her mood and of 
 the season, still sat on. Then, from the inland 
 quarter, a flight of strong-winged birds swept 
 up and passed overhead. They flew with out- 
 stretched necks, and from the symmetrical order 
 of their flight the girl recognised them for wild 
 geese. They were flying, before the approach 
 of winter and rough weather, to some sunnier 
 and more genial clime. As she gazed upon 
 them, a longing for something — she knew not 
 what, only that it seemed hopelessly out of 
 reach — arose in the girl's breast. The tears
 
 2l6 THE NEW BORDER TALES. 
 
 sprung to her eyes ; and, her emotion finding 
 vent in words, she murmured aloud : 
 
 " Happy birds ! my heart goes with you." 
 Just then, against the background of the 
 fading sky, a horseman came into view over the 
 ridge. His horse was ambling gently. It passed 
 the spot where the girl was seated, and, the next 
 moment, setting its hoof on one of the loose 
 stones with which the road was strewn, it 
 stumbled and fell. Almost immediately it rose 
 again; but the rider, who had been thrown, lay 
 motionless in the road. Springing forward to 
 his assistance, Lizbeth recognised — by what 
 means she knew not — the master of Gallantry 
 Hall. He lay before her, pale and still. She 
 knelt down, and raised his head in her lap. Still 
 he gave no sign. There was no assistance, no 
 water, near ; she could do nothing more to 
 befriend him. And, in her terror, she believed 
 that he was dying. Then, out of her very help- 
 lessness, a sharp pang of pity for him and for 
 herself shot through her heart. Of a surety, fate 
 had dealt too hardly by them. It had kept her 
 and this man — who was her happiness, whose 
 happiness she was — apart till now ; and it was 
 in the moment of death that they now met. In 
 an access of grief and tenderness, she clasped 
 the body of the unconscious man in her arms 
 and pressed her lips to his brow. A few 
 moments later his eyes opened. Lizbeth then
 
 A MATCH NOT MADE IN HEAVEN. 217 
 
 anxiously enquired if he were much hurt. He 
 answered no, and proceeded to rise to his feet, 
 expressing solicitude for the horse's injuries 
 rather than for his own. But, when the horse's 
 knees — one of which was cut — had been exam- 
 ined, it was found that the rider's right arm was 
 powerless. The horse had to be led home ; and, 
 though with the turn which events had taken a 
 violent reaction had set in in Miss Bellendean's 
 feelings, and she would now have given the world 
 to be anywhere but where she was, yet she 
 could scarcely refuse her assistance to the suffer- 
 ing horseman. Besides, she felt pretty satisfied in 
 her mind that he could know nothing of her ill- 
 judged demonstration of feeling ; which already 
 — now that she viewed it in the common light 
 of everyday life — seemed to herself even more 
 inconceivable than it could possibly have seemed 
 to him. The two, therefore, walked side by side 
 but in silence to the foot of the hill ; when, 
 assuring her that he could now make his way 
 home unaided, Mr. Deloraine (for it was no 
 other) wished Lizbeth good-night, and went his 
 way. 
 
 V. 
 
 CosPATRicK Deloraine was the child of his 
 century. His was the age of Werther and Jean- 
 Jacques, of Chateaubriand and Lord Byron. 
 Born to the inheritance of an ancient name, and 
 of wide and beautiful estates in the Border
 
 2l8 THE NEW BORDER TALES. 
 
 Country, he had been brought up by a widowed 
 aunt with her son, a boy of his own age. The 
 lads received their schooling from a Scotch tutor, 
 of humble origin, but of no mediocre attainments. 
 In their ample play-time they ran wild. They 
 were, like other country-bred boys, lovers of the 
 open air, fond of animals, and devoted to riding, 
 boating, and field sports. Both of the lads were 
 lairds ; and, as they occupied each other's houses 
 in turn, they enjoyed opportunities of pursuing 
 every variety of sport afforded by one of the 
 richest sporting countries in the kingdom. As 
 regards companionship, they saw less of those 
 who were their equals in station than of the 
 peasantry; for it so happened that there were few 
 boys of their own age among the sons of the 
 neighbouring gentry. The nature of their tastes 
 left them much in the care of an old and trusted 
 gamekeeper — I wish no boy a better mentor; 
 whilst their admiration of some special art, 
 quality, or prowess, would lead to their choosing 
 as their favourite associate, now some farmer's 
 son, now some working-man or his son, on the 
 estate. As the lads were both of them gentlemen 
 born, they lost nothing by such comradeship. 
 
 In this manner boyhood sped away, and the 
 cousins grew up to the rights and responsibilities 
 of manhood. Neither of them entered a profes- 
 sion. Cospatrick, when he came of age, settled 
 down on his own property and led the life of a
 
 A MATCH NOT MADE IN HEAVEN. 219 
 
 country gentleman. At that time he mixed 
 freely in the society of the county, and before a 
 year had passed over his head it was announced 
 that he was engaged to be married. The lady 
 was young, beautiful, well-born, highly accom- 
 plished, and of a singularly sweet disposition, 
 and all seemed to promise fairly for the future 
 of the happy couple. Alas ! the young lady 
 carried in her system the seeds of a consumption, 
 inherited from a mother as beautiful and scarcely 
 less ill-fated. When the wedding-day was close 
 at hand, the rupture of a blood-vessel necessi- 
 tated its postponement. This was in autumn ; 
 at the bridegroom's earnest desire, the new date 
 was fixed early in spring. But, with the coming 
 of the first snowdrops, the bride was attired for a 
 religious ceremony which was not that of the 
 altar ; and the maiden flower which should have 
 strewn her path was laid instead upon her coffin. 
 Cospatrick was inconsolable. The brighter 
 half of his own life seemed to die with his 
 betrothed. Even in childhood, and during his 
 healthy and happy boyhood, he had been 
 noticed as subject to strange fits of taciturnity 
 and depression ; and the part of his tempera- 
 ment which these fits had represented seemed 
 now to have absorbed the rest. He withdrew 
 himself entirely from all general society, and 
 seemed even to avoid the companionship of his 
 most intimate friends. Much sympathy for him
 
 220 THE NEW BORDER TALES. 
 
 was felt among the neighbouring gentry ; how- 
 ever, nobody supposed but that with time his 
 grief would spend itself, and that the lapse of 
 a year, or possibly two, would see him rally, 
 and perhaps even form some new and less 
 ill-starred connection. This showed that Cos- 
 patrick's nature had been misjudged. Six 
 months, a year, two years went past and 
 found him still leading his life in sorrow and 
 in recollection. 
 
 Soon after the death of his intended, he had 
 given up residing at Brig End — the beautiful 
 seat of his family, situated in Tcviotdale — the 
 sight of which seemed to have become hateful 
 in his eyes ; and from that time he had lived 
 chiefly at the old Dower House by the sea-port 
 in the Merse. There, with few or no associates 
 but his boatmen and his gamekeeper, he lived 
 a life which — though no doubt intensely real to 
 himself at the time — seems to have left almost 
 no trace behind it. Few traces, at least, have 
 rewarded the careful search made by the writer, 
 a kinsman and successor of his hero. Deloraine 
 (or Delorne, to write the name as it is generally 
 pronounced) had been brought up in the 
 traditions of the country gentleman, and a good 
 deal of his time seems, as a matter of course, to 
 have been spent in field sports. A pack of 
 otter hounds afforded him occupation during 
 the summer months. He hunted the badger by
 
 A MATCH NOT MADE IN HEAVEN. 221 
 
 moonlight on the Black Hill, and shot the blue 
 rock pigeon from his boat in the sea caves 
 of the coast. In the hard winter weather, he 
 lay, attired in white, in a punt painted the same 
 colour, on the look-out for wild-fowl off Holy- 
 Island. These, and such as these, are the facts 
 to be gathered from jottings in his journals. 
 But did all his time pass in such pursuits, one 
 would wish to know? Did he do nothing 
 more? What, too, was the nature of his 
 thoughts during all these, the best years of his 
 life? I am at a loss to say. Indeed, had a 
 biographer desired to write Cospatrick's life, 
 he must perforce have been content to pass 
 over this chapter in it almost in silence. All 
 that can be stated with any certainty is that his 
 thoughts were of a sombre colour. He indulged 
 his grief, and abused the dangerous luxury of 
 solitude. Strange morbid fancies, too, must 
 have been harboured by him, — at least if all be 
 true that is reported of his avoidance of female 
 society, of his nocturnal rambles, and the like. 
 There was in those days a strange and subtle 
 spiritual malady abroad, the ravages of which 
 were felt by some of the finest minds of the 
 early years of the century. I am inclined to 
 believe that, with the lapse of time and with 
 indulgence, Cospatrick's sorrow became merged 
 in this distemper. And thus we may imagine 
 him, a " mute inglorious " Byron, a Chateau-
 
 222 THE NEW BORDER TALES. 
 
 briand without the genius, communing with the 
 rainy skies, the sullen seas, the rough-haired 
 cliff-heads and the cruel reefs of the Berwick- 
 shire coast in some spiritual dialect of his 
 own, which has passed away, leaving no trace 
 behind it. 
 
 Such was the state of my hero's mind at 
 the time when Fate willed that his path in 
 life should intersect with that of Elizabeth 
 Bellendean. 
 
 Cospatrick returned home after the meeting 
 thinking only of the accident and of his horse, 
 and the evening was passed in getting his 
 own injuries and those of the animal attended 
 to. Then he retired to rest. But the pain 
 in his wrist and the howling of the wind, 
 which had risen at nightfall, kept him from 
 falling asleep. At last his eyes closed — only to 
 open again almost immediately. But, in the 
 brief return to unconsciousness and in the 
 waking which followed it, certain dimly-perceived 
 sensations of his momentary swoon after the 
 fall — sensations of which at the time he had 
 taken no account — had been reproduced in his 
 brain. The tender enfolding by soft arms, the 
 pressure of kind lips upon his brow, were felt 
 again between sleeping and waking; and as they 
 were felt again as fancies, so they dawned upon 
 his mind as facts. The recollection disturbed 
 him strangely. Who could the girl have been
 
 A MATCH NOT MADE IN HEAVEN. 223 
 
 whose pity and interest had thus so unaccount- 
 ably mastered her natural reserve ? He recalled 
 her features as they had appeared to him in the 
 twilight ; he recalled her voice, and the maidenly 
 grace of her behaviour. All were alike unknown. 
 Who could she be ? he asked himself again, for 
 the twentieth time ; and how came she, like an 
 angel of compassion, to have been at hand to 
 befriend him in the moment of his need ? 
 Wearied with vain speculation, at last he closed 
 his eyes again ; but the recollection of the loving 
 kiss, of the tender clasping against that soft 
 woman's bosom, stole back upon his idle fancy 
 with an insistency which grew to be a torment. 
 He became feverish, and starting up from the 
 bed he began to pace the dim-lit chamber and 
 to think. The wind blew piercingly without. 
 As he approached the window in his walk, he 
 suddenly stopped, and drawing the heavy curtain 
 aside, looked out upon the night The moon, 
 near the full, rode high in the heavens and shone 
 brightly, lighting the edges of the white wind- 
 driven clouds and the whiter foam of the 
 breaking waves. Across the harbour the village 
 lay asleep. And somewhere, beneath one of 
 those crowded roofs, sleeping the pure sleep 
 of maidenhood, there lay one who bore a 
 heart that loved him. Cospatrick leaned his 
 forehead against the window-pane ; the tide of 
 feeling rose in his bosom, and a soft dew
 
 224 THE NEW BORDER TALES. 
 
 mounted to his eyes — strangers to tears for 
 
 many a long and weary day. 
 
 The next three days were days of enforced 
 
 idleness. On the fourth day, having ascertained 
 
 Elizabeth's identity, and having also failed to 
 
 encounter her in any of his walks in the streets 
 
 of the village or upon the quay — for she was 
 
 now keeping indoors again — Cospatrick put on 
 
 his hat and sallied forth, bent on satisfying the 
 
 demands of politeness by thanking Miss Bellen- 
 
 dean for coming to his assistance after the 
 
 accident. 
 
 VI. 
 
 It is not my purpose here to describe in detail 
 the progress of the acquaintance of Cospatrick 
 and Elizabeth. Suffice it to state that their first 
 interview was followed, in close succession, by 
 others. Having once taken the important step 
 of freely seeking a woman's society, Cospatrick 
 was not long in discovering that he had made 
 one of those immense miscalculations to which, 
 in judging of its own immediate affairs, poor 
 humanity is so lamentably (or so ludicrously) 
 subject. He had lived for several years in the 
 firm belief that love, for him, was a thing of the 
 past. Instead of that, he now found that, until 
 he met Elizabeth, it had been a thing of the 
 future. Keenly susceptible to the charm of 
 womanhood, as he was by nature, his long self- 
 imposed seclusion from feminine society had had
 
 A MATCH NOT MADE IN HEAVEN. 225 
 
 the unlooked-for result of making him as 
 inflammable as tinder. Lizbeth's beauty, and 
 the charm of essential womanliness so character- 
 istic of her, might well have impressed a far less 
 impressionable man in far less exceptional 
 circumstances. As it was, Cospatrick fell at 
 once the easiest of victims. And, for a man of 
 his temperament, perhaps the best and brightest 
 moments in the whole of love are those in which 
 he says to himself. This is the woman I would 
 win, and receives the first half-doubtful tokens 
 of her sympathy. 
 
 One evening the lovers had met by appoint- 
 ment as usual. Love does not measure time by 
 days and weeks ; but, according to the calendar, 
 only a very short time had elapsed since they had 
 become acquainted. Cospatrick was melancholy. 
 
 " This happiness seems almost too great to 
 last," he exclaimed, when they had exchanged 
 greetings. " Its very perfection makes me afraid 
 of Fate, dearest. Ah, Lizbeth ! until I met you. 
 Fate had no terrors for me ; but now I have, 
 indeed, given * hostages to fortune.' " 
 
 The girl smiled a sweet, undecided, dreamy 
 smile, but answered nothing. 
 
 "I am haunted by a dread," continued the 
 young man earnestly, " a dread that something 
 will come between us even now, to prevent our 
 ever belonging wholly to each other, I would 
 give the world to be married to you to-night, 
 
 15
 
 226 THE NEW BORDER TALES. 
 
 dear, even though we were to part at the church 
 door." 
 
 " That is quite impossible," answered Lizbeth, 
 smiling gently once more. 
 
 " No, it is not impossible — if only you are 
 willing." 
 
 " What do you mean ? " 
 
 " Why, you have heard of Border Marriages ? 
 They are perfectly legal. We are within a 
 few miles of the Border now. At Lamberton 
 Toll we might be known and recognised, 
 which would be undesirable ; but there is 
 Coldstream Bridge. . . ." 
 
 At the mention of the place a sudden change 
 passed over Lizbeth's countenance. The name 
 recalled a trifling incident, now buried (as it 
 seemed) with her past life, and never likely 
 to be disinterred. 
 
 "What a wild thought!" she exclaimed, 
 recovering herself quickly, and speaking hastily 
 and lightly. " But, in sober seriousness, Cos- 
 patrick, your fears are groundless. We are both 
 of us young, both in good health." 
 
 "True. But, Lizbeth, it is a fact that all of 
 my family for many generations have died early, 
 and most of them suddenly. Think if death 
 were to come between us now." 
 
 There was an accent of conviction in the 
 young man's voice which had its due effect upon 
 the girl.
 
 A MATCH NOT MADE IN HEAVEN. 227 
 
 When they met again, next evening, he 
 resumed his persuasions. His seriousness, his 
 air of fatalism, and the ardour of his wooing 
 gained upon his sweetheart ; and, in brief, she 
 at last consented to drive with him to Cold- 
 stream Bridge the next night to be married 
 there. 
 
 For the better understanding of our story, a 
 word may here be said in passing on the subject 
 of Border Marriages generally. As is well 
 known, they had been first instituted for the 
 benefit of runaway couples from England who 
 might desire to enjoy the advantage of the 
 simpler marriage-laws holding good in the 
 neighbouring country. For their convenience, 
 a succession of marriage-stations, extending 
 from Gretna Green on the west to Lamberton on 
 the east, had come to be established along the 
 Border line. For a series of interesting stories 
 relating to the hasty, and more or less informal, 
 but perfectly valid and binding contracts known 
 as Border Marriages, the reader is referred to a 
 scarce little book entitled The Gretna Green 
 Memoirs, written by Robert Elliot, the Gretna 
 Green " Parson " of his day. But, at the time of 
 which I write, the Border Marriage had come to 
 be resorted to as often by persons residing on 
 the Scotch side the Border, and within easy 
 distance of it, as by fugitives from England. 
 Easiness, swiftness, economy, secrecy, and other
 
 228 THE NEW BOEDER TALES. 
 
 like inducements were the attractions held out 
 by this lay form of union ; and though the 
 contracting parties might as a matter of fact 
 have been united anywhere upon Scotch ground 
 with equal ease, the circumstance that persons 
 ready and accustomed to perform the ceremony 
 were to be found at their stations upon the 
 Border line sufficed to give a preference to those 
 particular localities. Out of this preference a 
 belief seems to have sprung up that the Border 
 line was the only place in which such marriages 
 could properly be solemnised. These unions 
 were naturally viewed with disfavour by the 
 Church ; and the Minutes of Border Kirk 
 Sessions during the latter half of the last and 
 the earlier years of the present century abound 
 in records of couples being cited to "compear" 
 before those august assemblies, in order to 
 undergo rebuke for irregularity of this kind. A 
 decent old labouring man who until recently did 
 occasional work for the author was probably 
 one of the last persons married at Birgham by 
 the "blacksmith" — so called, as it appears, in 
 common with others of his trade, from his 
 readiness to "strike while the iron was hot." 
 
 It was to a union of this kind that Lizbeth 
 had allowed herself to be persuaded by Cos- 
 patrick. The young couple met by appointment 
 soon after dark. A dog-cart was in waiting ; 
 and, having decided to avoid the nearer
 
 A MATCH NOT MADE IN HEAVEN. 229 
 
 Lamberton Toll, where one at least of them was 
 likely to be recognised, they set off to drive 
 by way of Chirnside and Swinton Hill to 
 Coldstream. The night was dark. The roads 
 were miry and deserted. Throughout the long 
 drive the lovers scarcely spoke. Seated side by 
 side as they were — Cospatrick's arm from time 
 to time enfolding his companion, as he replaced 
 the wraps which had slipped back from her 
 shoulders — each was borne away upon a separate 
 tide of feeling, tides which (had they known it) 
 were to end by landing them far apart. 
 
 At last the lights of Coldstream appeared in 
 the distance, and soon afterwards Deloraine 
 drew up and alighted before the little inn at the 
 Scotch end of the bridge. But here a disappoint- 
 ment awaited him ; for, in reply to enquiry, he 
 was informed, with no great civility, that Arm- 
 strong, the so-entitled blacksmith of the place, 
 having had his licence refused him, had recently 
 moved from the house. Here was an awkward 
 predicament for the lovers ; and, to make matters 
 worse, whilst they were still undecided what to 
 do next, a group of the carters (notoriously rough 
 characters) who in those days crossed the Border 
 in large numbers, issued from the inn and 
 collected around them, freely expressing their 
 interest in the situation. Lizbeth was beginning 
 to show signs of distress and her lover of anger, 
 when the blacksmith, who had got word of the
 
 230 THE NEW BORDER TALES. 
 
 arrival of clients and was anxious not to lose a 
 fee, made his appearance on the scene. He was 
 a big, good-natured, swaggering fellow, whose 
 countenance told tales of free potations, whilst 
 his address proclaimed him practised in the 
 science of banter. He had hastily assumed his 
 garb of office, consisting of a long black coat 
 and a white neckcloth. Accustomed as he was to 
 matrimonial emergencies of every kind, he now 
 brought his ready wit and acuteness to the 
 service alike of the lovers and of his own pocket, 
 with the result that he quickly hit upon a 
 method by which, notwithstanding the fact of 
 his having been evicted from his house, he might 
 still read the marriage-service over the young 
 couple. 
 
 Now Armstrong, it must be known, who ought 
 to have known better, was one of those who 
 firmly believed in the virtue of the Border Line 
 — that is, he held that, in order to be efficacious, 
 the marriage-service must be read by him on 
 the precise line which divided the two countries 
 of England and Scotland. In this belief, the 
 plan which he now proposed to Cospatrick was 
 to row out in a boat into the middle of the 
 Tweed, and have the ceremony performed there. 
 Cospatrick at once saw the advantage which 
 would accrue from so doing, in delivering 
 Elizabeth from the presence of the rough on- 
 lookers ; and accordingly he approved the plan
 
 A MATCH NOT MADE IN HEAVEN. 23 1 
 
 A boat used by the proprietor of Lennel House 
 lay close at hand; and without further loss of 
 time the little wedding-party moved towards it. 
 The crowd of carters followed. By this time, 
 their clownish interest was thoroughly aroused, 
 and entering in their own way into the spirit of 
 the proceedings, they had provided themselves 
 with torches such as were used by salmon- 
 leisterers in " burning the water," which they 
 lighted and bore aloft. The bridegroom then 
 assisted the bride into the boat, the blacksmith, 
 an oarsman, and a torch-bearer following. The 
 Tweed, which runs strong and swift round the 
 bend by Coldstream Bridge, was that night 
 running stronger than usual. Nevertheless the 
 boat was shoved off and rowed out into mid- 
 stream ; where the oarsman kept it stationary, 
 as for salmon-fishing. And there, under the 
 midnight heaven, with the sough and swirl of 
 the water in their ears and the light of the blown 
 torches fluctuating on their faces, Cospatrick 
 and Elizabeth were made man and wife.* 
 
 vn. 
 
 Cospatrick and Elizabeth spent the first few 
 months of their wedded life in seclusion. This 
 protracted honeymoon, as must be stated, was 
 less of their own seeking than it was due to 
 circumstance. The mansion-house of Brig End 
 * The marriage in the boat on Tweed is historical.
 
 232 THE NEW BORDER TALES. 
 
 had stood so long unoccupied as to be, in the 
 judgment of the bridegroom, entirely unfit for 
 the reception of his bride. And so, during the 
 execution of the necessary refittings and repairs, 
 the newly-married couple — who, for various 
 reasons, did not wish to remain at the Dower 
 House — took up their abode upon a remotely 
 situated estate of Cospatrick's known as The 
 Barony. The prospect before them, of a winter 
 during which he and his wife were to live 
 entirely to each other, exactly suited Deloraine's 
 inclination. And, at the present stage of their 
 wedded life, the making of plans of course 
 rested with him. Later on, as he told himself, 
 there would be plenty of time for his wife to 
 take up her proper position in the society of the 
 county. 
 
 The Barony was an old house, occupying an 
 elevated site, in a hill district. It stood a little 
 back from a high road, upon a long curving 
 ascent of which its front windows looked out. 
 But this nearness to the public thoroughfare 
 only served to increase the sense of loneliness 
 inspired by the surroundings ; for the passers- 
 by upon the road — sighted always so long before 
 they came to hand — might on any day in the 
 week have been counted by a person posted in 
 the window of the house upon the fingers of one 
 hand. A few melancholy trees overshadowed 
 the slated roof, and the wide bare landscape
 
 A MATCH NOT MADE IN HEAVEN. 233 
 
 spread round about. As the crow flies, Liz- 
 beth's new home was not very far distant from 
 her old one. But, as there was no road leading 
 between The Barony and the village, she could 
 not avail herself much — even supposing that 
 she wished to do so — of her nearness to her 
 uncle's manse. 
 
 The winter set in wet and windy. There was 
 no great cold, and no fall of snow. But on day 
 after day the wind blew, driving loose ragged 
 fragments of rack beneath a hopeless sky ; 
 whilst ever and anon the rain changed to sleet, 
 and the sleet again to rain. On such cheerless 
 mornings, Cospatrick would sometimes break- 
 fast alone, by candle-light ; and then, having 
 taken an affectionate leave of his wife, would 
 ride away to attend a distant meet of the fox- 
 hounds. On these occasions, he would return 
 again in the gloaming, tired, wet through, 
 and splashed from head to foot, but delighted 
 to see his wife again. And then, after dinner, 
 he would fall asleep in his arm-chair. On 
 days like this, Lizbeth was, therefore, left 
 practically entirely to herself She had no 
 callers; for the few distant neighbours in that 
 out-of-the-way part of the country had been 
 bred in the old-fashioned Scotch belief that, 
 until a newly-married pair have made their 
 appearance at public worship in the kirk, it is 
 not seemly to call upon them. And so, as the
 
 234 THE NEW BORDER TALES. 
 
 Deloraines happened not to go to church, no 
 one came to their house. But, in her soHtude and 
 idleness, the newly-married woman had plenty 
 of time to think. Her resources were now, if 
 anything, fewer than they had been during her 
 girlhood, for she had no longer enforced occupa- 
 tions to help her to get through the time; whilst 
 she also missed even such small distractions as 
 the village had afforded. In these circumstances, 
 her thoughts, to which she was able to give such 
 free play, were not long in leading her to the 
 discovery that married life was not quite what she 
 had expected it to be. However, she cheered 
 herself with the assurance that everything would 
 be all right when she and her husband went to 
 reside at Brig End. 
 
 But Cospatrick, to do him justice, showed no 
 great keenness in following the hounds that 
 winter ; so that the newly-married couple spent 
 by far the most of their days together. The 
 weather kept them for the most part prisoners 
 indoors ; but to this Cospatrick did not object. 
 He was, indeed, head over ears in love with his 
 wife, and could remain seated with her by the 
 fire, or wander in and out of the room in which 
 she sat, and be perfectly happy all the time. 
 His nature lacking something in balance and 
 restraint, he was probably now too unreserved 
 in the expression of his feelings. He could 
 scarcely have committed any greater error. For
 
 A MATCH NOT MADE IN HEAVEN. 235 
 
 — to leave out of count the enervating effect of 
 emotional excess upon the moral fibre — a lover 
 ought always to remember this, — that love, where 
 it is complicated by passion, is the embrace of 
 foemen, for which the prudent warrior does not 
 lay his armour aside. During all this time, as I 
 need hardly say, Cospatrick's treatment of his 
 wife was kindness' self Yet, at the same time, 
 there were certain particulars in which — as, for 
 instance, in his present choice of a residence 
 for her — he betrayed a deplorable incapacity to 
 enter into her tastes and her character. 
 
 The winter wore on, and was one of the 
 mildest on record, — the hill farmers in the neigh- 
 bourhood of The Barony being put to almost no 
 expense for hay for winter keep for their sheep. 
 But, in the month of March — when people had 
 already begun to speak of the winter as past 
 — there came a change. Chancing, late one 
 evening, to consult the weather-glass, Cospatrick 
 observed that the mercury had fallen to an 
 extraordinarily low point ; and, during the 
 night following, there occurred an historical 
 snow-storm which is used as a standard of com- 
 parison to this day. In the surrounding hill- 
 district, hundreds of sheep and more than one 
 human being lost their lives. Every road was 
 blocked, and communications were cut off, in 
 some instances, for weeks. Supplies were thus 
 stopped, giving rise in certain places to serious
 
 236 THE NEW BORDER TALES. 
 
 privations ; and, in short, many striking incidents 
 occurred, which, under favouring circumstances, 
 may perhaps some day be brought together in 
 one of these tales. Cospatrick and Lizbeth 
 found themselves entirely cut off from the outer 
 world, and for some time impeded from ventur- 
 ing more than a stone's-throw from their door. 
 Fortunately they had plenty of stores and of 
 fuel, with mutton at command. Nevertheless, 
 it was during this period of monotonous and 
 wearying enforced indoor life, that Lizbeth first 
 began clearly to realise that her husband was 
 not in any respect very different from other 
 men. And, with a creature such as she was — 
 the very thistledown of the winds of Circum- 
 stance, a being fashioned by nature in the form 
 of woman but denied the supposed essential 
 attribute of moral gravity — this knowledge was 
 of far greater import than it might be to another. 
 No wonder she believed in Fate, for she herself 
 was on Fate's side ; she had no spirit of resist- 
 ance. She had married her husband under the 
 fascination of the romance which clung about 
 him, of his high birth, his melancholy, his passion 
 for herself — attributes which had been idealised 
 by the action of her own imagination. Before 
 their marriage, her knowledge of him was solely 
 such as had been acquired in brief enraptured 
 interviews, during which her lover's passion had 
 inspired him. Now he appeared to her in the
 
 A MATCH NOT MADE IN HEAVEN. 237 
 
 common light of every-day life. She saw him, 
 yellow with want of exercise, kicking his heels 
 by the fireside, yawning, giving expression to 
 trite and hackneyed statements and remarks. 
 And, as she looked on the spectacle of reality 
 and contrasted it with the phantom raised by 
 her imagination, she smiled a strange, sibylline, 
 inward smile, and felt a little ashamed when she 
 looked back upon herself as a fascinated being. 
 
 At last the ways were opened up, and the 
 snows melted. Then the welcome news arrived 
 that the house of Brig End was in a state of 
 more or less readiness to receive its master and 
 mistress. Lizbeth's spirits instantly rose, and 
 she pushed on the necessary preparations for the 
 change of abode with a practical energy which 
 she certainly did not often display. Cospatrick, 
 on the contrary, showed little eagerness to leave 
 The Barony. " Dearest," said he, speaking 
 rather wistfully, when at last the moment of 
 departure had arrived, " I hope there are many 
 more months in store for us as happy as those 
 we have spent here." "Of course there are," 
 replied Lizbeth, whose quick and delicate 
 sympathies seemed now no longer to answer 
 quite so readily to the tone of her husband's 
 remarks. " Of course there are — and many 
 happier, too, I hope ! "
 
 238 THE NEW BORDER TALES. 
 
 VIII. 
 
 For Lizbeth the true happiness of married life 
 seemed to begin with her arrival at Brig End. 
 The term of her residence at The Barony had 
 been, as she now told herself, a mere untimely 
 survival of her girlhood. But now, at last, she 
 began to taste the pride and pleasure of being a 
 lady. On the night of her arrival at her new 
 home, as she passed through a succession of 
 stately rooms on her way to partake of a 
 delicately served repast, she had caught a 
 glimpse of her own form reflected in a distant 
 mirror, and had laughed and thrown her arms 
 impulsively about her husband's neck, in a way 
 which was very rare with her. Life, she felt 
 sure, would be worth living here. It had been 
 almost dark when she had arrived ; and, on 
 rising, somewhat late, the next morning, the 
 first thing she did was to go to the window and 
 look out. Extensive stretches of green park- 
 land met her eye. They were bathed in 
 joyous sunlight under a blue sky, bounded by 
 distant woods, and diversified by fine timber 
 trees at present just breaking into leaf. 
 " Mine ! " she cried aloud, and clapped her 
 hands, and then made haste to array herself in 
 order further to examine and explore her new 
 possessions. Her husband, with the indifference 
 of a man who has been accustomed to these
 
 A MATCH NOT MADE IN HEAVEN. 239 
 
 things all his life, at first scarcely entered into 
 her naive delight. But, having come to under- 
 stand it, he took a pleasure in ministering to it. 
 The family jewels, diamonds and sapphires, had 
 long been put away, but he now brought them 
 to light, and himself keenly relished the pro- 
 cess of trying the effect of the flashing and 
 sparkling pendants, bands, and stars, which had 
 already decked so many shapely heads and 
 lovely throats, upon the neck and brow of their 
 latest and loveliest heir. Then he hunted for a 
 lost key, and unlocking a cupboard in which old 
 satins, brocades, and laces had been put away, 
 left Lizbeth to rummage among them as she 
 pleased. And so she spent a whole bright after- 
 noon amid old faintly-perfumed woven and 
 embroidered fabrics and half-opened caskets, 
 lost in her own delight 
 
 Her earliest attempts in the character of the 
 great lady gave her no less pleasure. She 
 would sweep into the neighbouring town in her 
 luxurious barouche, which was painted yellow 
 and drawn by bays with black points, herself 
 attired in an elegant mantle, and holding aloft 
 a pretty sunshade. And, as the heads uncovered 
 as she went by, she would bow and smile sweetly 
 in return. She also did her part by calling at 
 the principal shops, and giving large orders for 
 things which she did not require. For, of course, 
 no one knows the value of money less than a
 
 240 THE NEW BORDER TALES. 
 
 person who has never possessed any. She had 
 naturally that particular sweetness of disposition 
 which, so long as all goes smoothly, sincerely 
 finds its greatest pleasure in doing pretty acts of 
 kindness. So she played the fairy god-mother, 
 addressing herself to the task, not merely of 
 captivating, but of winning the hearts of her 
 humble dependents. She was truly kind and 
 considerate when she talked with them out of 
 doors, or visited them in their cottages ; she was 
 infinitely charming, she gave herself no airs. 
 Pity that she had only such honest and true, 
 but sadly blunt and inarticulate material, as the 
 Border peasant to practise all her pretty arts 
 upon ! They did not understand each other 
 very well. She was not met by the response 
 which she had expected, and she soon grew 
 weary of well-doing. 
 
 To play the part of patroness among the shop, 
 keepers, and of Lady Bountiful among the 
 peasantry, was very well as a beginning ; but 
 that alone was not enough. Lizbeth had still 
 to make her d^but among the gentry — that debtit 
 on which so much depended. The marriage in 
 the boat had been the talk of nine days in the 
 county; however, as it was known to be a 
 perfectly correct, if a somewhat unprecedented, 
 kind of marriage, the ladies of the neighbourhood 
 agreed to take the line of laughing at Deloraine's 
 eccentricity, and accordingly left their cards upon
 
 A MATCH NOT MADE IN HEAVEN. 24I 
 
 Lizbeth. Cospatrick, who was a degree or two 
 less ignorant of worldly matters than his wife, 
 was most anxious for her own sake that she 
 should be a success in society. But he naively 
 supposed that, with her charm and cleverness, 
 there was little chance of anything else. And 
 so, having given his wife a few well-meant hints 
 (for which, by the way, she did not seem effusively 
 grateful), he accepted an invitation, addressed 
 to his wife and himself, to stay for a few days 
 at a house in the neighbourhood, where a large 
 party was to assemble for a ball. 
 
 A perfectly cynical onlooker might at this 
 juncture have seen the promise of an interest- 
 ing situation, to the issue of which he would 
 no doubt have looked forward with a certain 
 amount of amused anticipation. The Society of 
 the County in question presented no exceptional 
 features ; it was no less honourable, and no whit 
 narrower in its sympathies, than that of any 
 other. Lizbeth, on the contrary — whose beauty 
 and whose temperament alone sufficed to consti- 
 tute her an exception to all rules — was even 
 less sufficiently equipped with knowledge of the 
 world than an ordinary young country-woman 
 in her position might have been. And now, 
 between the normal and the exceptional, between 
 the individual on the one hand and the class on 
 the other — the class to which the individual not 
 only did not belong, but was opposed in her 
 
 16
 
 242 THE NEW BORDER TALES. 
 
 interests, her instincts, and her experience — an 
 encounter was to take place, and a modus vivendi 
 was to be arrived at. The odds were fearfully 
 against Lizbeth; the result, indeed, in those days 
 of exclusiveness on the part of the territorial 
 aristocracy, might almost have been reckoned 
 a foregone conclusion. Already there was in 
 existence a degree of prejudice on the one hand, 
 of defiance on the other. 
 
 " They must take me as God made me," said 
 Mrs. Deloraine to her husband, when he was 
 finally admonishing her in the dressing-room 
 just before they went downstairs. " Surely that 
 is not asking so very much ? " (She glanced 
 archly at the mirror as she spoke.) "At any 
 rate, he has not made my nose awry like the 
 Countess's, or given me a rough skin like Miss 
 Nepean's." 
 
 At the same instant. Miss Mally Dempster, 
 celebrated for her beauty and her raillery, had 
 been remarking to her confidential fem7ne-de- 
 chambre — 
 
 " I own to a curiosity to see Cospatrick 
 Deloraine's choice. As a rule, I am no admirer 
 of your rustic belle, who has generally the 
 colouring of a penny doll and the deportment 
 of a drudge carrying a milk-pail, with an arm 
 thrown out to balance it." 
 
 Notwithstanding this, a few minutes later, 
 when Lizbeth came downstairs, the tables were
 
 A MATCH NOT MADE IN HEAVEN. 243 
 
 at once turned in her favour. Her exquisite 
 beauty was presented admirably set off by a 
 rich, though simple, dress ; and, as she entered 
 the drawing-room, leaning upon her husband's 
 arm, a little late, an involuntary murmur of 
 admiration actually burst from the assembled 
 guests. It was one of those occasions on 
 which spontaneous feeling gets the better of 
 studied manners, and beats them with their own 
 weapons on their own ground. Probably it is 
 scarcely necessary for me to add that the 
 murmured homage proceeded principally from 
 the gentlemen. 
 
 As the successive couples defiled into the 
 dining-room, Lizbeth's beauty was the sole topic 
 of the remarks which were exchanged. Of 
 the judgments passed, those which were not 
 enthusiastic were coldly favourable ; for public 
 opinion was at present so strong as to render 
 anything but adherence imprudent. Perhaps 
 the most telling compliment which Lizbeth 
 received was that which came from Lord St. 
 Ronan's — an elderly gentleman wearing a blue 
 ribbon across his breast, who had been a 
 distinguished public servant, and who now 
 declared to his neighbour that Mrs. Deloraine 
 reminded him strikingly of Lady Hamilton, 
 whom he had known in her best days at 
 Naples. 
 
 So far — if any trust were to be placed in
 
 I 
 244 THE NEW BORDER TALES. 
 
 appearances — the debutante had scored a brilliant 
 success. Alas ! it was not quite the right sort 
 of success; neither was it fated to last long. In 
 fact, the first of it had been the best. And, 
 indeed, as matters developed themselves, it soon 
 became evident that, in the present contest, 
 Lizbeth's very merits would fight against her. 
 Furthermore, it is undeniable that much that 
 she did — however good in itself — was not good 
 amid present surroundings. And so she began 
 to lose ground. Then, as a matter of course, 
 she was not without her ill-wishers; by whom, 
 ere long, the very comparison with Lady 
 Hamilton had been turned to her disadvantage. 
 In all this she was unfortunate; but it would 
 be unfair to conceal the fact that her conduct 
 also afforded some just openings for criticism — 
 if not, indeed, for actual offence. Of these 
 openings it is needless to add that her enemies 
 made the best use. First of all, she betrayed 
 the proverbial flightiness and perversity of a 
 beauty, to a degree which could only appear 
 altogether admirable in the eyes of men who 
 were in love with her. And of these there 
 were not more than three or four present. 
 Next, when she had begun to feel a little 
 piqued, she so far forgot caution as to indulge 
 her spleen by "quizzing" the personal pecu- 
 liarities of a respectable, though ungainly, fellow- 
 visitor. This was obviously a mistake. And,
 
 A MATCH NOT MADE IN HEAVEN. 245 
 
 having shocked, — poor girl ! she had no better 
 inspiration than to shock again — to show that 
 she did not care. The house where she was 
 staying — the residence of the Member for the 
 County — was a large one; and the party 
 assembled in it comprised visitors of various 
 degrees of social dignity. Lizbeth soon found 
 herself the centre of an admiring circle of the 
 least dignified ; and, by the very act of stooping 
 too generously to such admiration, she began 
 ere long to discover that she was forfeiting even 
 that. In her despair she lost her head, and went 
 from bad to worse. 
 
 IX. 
 
 Mrs. Deloraine took her social defeat to 
 heart far more than she cared to show. That 
 it had amounted to nothing less than a defeat, 
 became with time plainer and plainer. Out- 
 wardly she assumed, in regard to the society of 
 the county, an artificially heightened demeanour 
 of indifference and defiance. But whilst — so to 
 speak — she thus snapt her fingers so bravely, it 
 required all the time but pitifully little skill of 
 human nature, or of woman-nature, to discover 
 the true motives which had led her to pronounce 
 the grapes sour. 
 
 It is not, however, to be supposed that, though 
 the ladies of the county gave her the cold 
 shoulder, she had no society at all. The reverse
 
 246 THE NEW BORDER TALES. 
 
 was the case ; she had plenty. Indeed she had 
 too much, for what she had was of the wrong 
 kind. Wilfully determined to prove to her 
 neighbours that she did not suffer by their 
 neglect, she had applied herself with zeal to the 
 task of entertaining. Among other hospitalities 
 she instituted what in those times was known as 
 an " open day " at Brig End once a week. On 
 that day she made welcome almost every one 
 who could command the tailor's part in respecta- 
 bility. The entertainment provided was of the 
 most lavish description ; and the guests, to give 
 them their due, did not require to be "compelled 
 to come in," In truth they did not belong 
 to the class of people who at a feast need 
 pressing. By these entertainments, and by 
 the fame which they acquired, Lizbeth hoped 
 to convince the persons who held aloof from 
 her that she could do without them. But 
 here again her knowledge of the world was at 
 fault. The class whom she at once defied and 
 fondly hoped to win were never to be allured in 
 this fashion. Her entertainments, instead of 
 improving her position, did her reputation 
 grievous harm. Intemperance was the common 
 vice of those days; and stories of excesses com- 
 mitted at Brig End were circulated through the 
 country. It is more than probable that the 
 greater number of these stories were exaggera- 
 tions — if not, indeed, actual fabrications ; yet
 
 A MATCH NOT MADE IN HEAVEN. 247 
 
 the weekly promiscuous feast can scarcely have 
 taken place without sometimes touching on the 
 orgy. When Lizbeth saw in what direction 
 things were tending, she promptly checked the 
 progress of events. But she had already done 
 herself irreparable mischief; and, from being 
 merely neglected, she now began to be tabooed. 
 Furthermore, she had unwittingly let loose upon 
 the world a crowd of enemies, in the persons of 
 discarded sycophants and parasites. 
 
 Cospatrick will probably be blamed for not 
 having kept his wife from committing these 
 errors. But, truth to tell, his influence over her 
 was now no longer what it had been. She had 
 done as she liked all her life, and — now that she 
 was fairly settled down as a married woman — 
 she had no intention of doing otherwise. Her 
 husband, for his part, was perhaps not altogether 
 sorry to escape from his own thoughts in the 
 feverish excitement engendered by the round of 
 wild entertainments of which his house was now 
 the scene. The little, imperceptible "rift within 
 the lute," which dated from the days spent at 
 The Barony, had been widening ever since. 
 Lizbeth, absorbed in other interests, was now no 
 longer at any great pains to keep up the outward 
 forms of affection for her husband ; whilst he, on 
 his side, had found himself at last compelled to 
 abandon his dream of what his married life was 
 to be. But, with the steadfastness which was a
 
 248 THE NEW BORDER TALES. 
 
 part of his rather uninspired nature, he still per- 
 severingly strove to gather up the fragments of 
 his shattered ideal, and to make the best of what 
 remained. In this self-imposed task his wife 
 did not lend him much assistance. She was, in 
 fact, passing through a phase which is common 
 in early wedded life, — a phase in which the 
 woman feels her patience to be severely taxed 
 by what she fancies to be the particularly trying 
 peculiarities of her husband's disposition, though 
 they may be in reality only his not immoderate 
 share of the imperfections which are common to 
 all humanity. Cospatrick's fits of taciturnity and 
 low spirits had returned, and accordingly his 
 wife chose to believe that moodiness was the 
 most irritating of all possible defects in a man. 
 But had her husband happened to be of an 
 equable temperament, garrulously given, it is 
 certain that she would have thought the reverse. 
 The fact is, she had believed that she was 
 marrying an ideal man. There is no ideal man; 
 and, when she found that she had made a 
 mistake, she laid the blame on her husband's 
 shoulders instead of on her own. Possibly 
 something of this kind happens to most selfish 
 women who enter blindfold into that married 
 state of which the true basis is "altruism." With 
 time, Lizbeth's native intelligence and her sense 
 of justice might have gained the day — compelling 
 her to admit that it was her husband's misfortune,
 
 A MATCH NOT MADE IN HEAVEN. 249 
 
 not his fault, that he was not the man she had 
 taken him for. However, it so happened that 
 time was not to be allowed to her. 
 
 It will be gathered from the above that hus- 
 band and wife had by this time drifted pretty 
 far apart. There is no alienation like that of the 
 newly-wedded. But, in the intervals when they 
 returned to something not too unlike the old 
 familiar relations, Cospatrick scarcely ever failed 
 to assure his wife that their life would be much 
 pleasanter when Sir James Bethune, or Beaton 
 — the cousin with whom he had been brought 
 up — returned from abroad. Sir James had at 
 this time been absent for many months, on the 
 Continent, — where, after duly making the grand 
 tour, he had taken up his residence at Venice. 
 Now, however, he had been for some time past 
 expected home. In due course he arrived. 
 Cospatrick, when the news reached him, dis- 
 played some of the boyish exuberance which 
 had once been characteristic of him, and lost no 
 time in summoning his kinsman to Brig End to 
 make Lizbeth's acquaintance. A slight ailment 
 which confined him indoors prevented Bethune 
 from at once complying with the invitation ; but, 
 as soon as he was sufficiently recovered, he 
 agreed to spend a Sunday at Brig End. The 
 arrears of a country gentleman's business 
 which had accumulated during his absence, and 
 which now called for attention, would, he wrote,
 
 250 THE NEW BORDER TALES. 
 
 prevent his staying longer. He arrived on the 
 Saturday evening just in time to dress for 
 dinner, and Lizbeth was in the drawing-room, 
 which was crowded with other guests, when her 
 husband brought him up to present him. The 
 words in which Deloraine chose to make the 
 introduction were peculiar. 
 
 " Lizbeth," says he, " here is some one whom 
 you know already." 
 
 His meaning was that he had spoken so 
 much to his wife about his cousin, that, though 
 she had not seen the latter, he was no stranger 
 to her. But his words were true in another 
 sense as well. 
 
 Lizbeth, who had been talking to some one 
 else, turned her head when she heard her 
 husband's remark. Her eye fell upon her new 
 kinsman ; and, as it did so, she felt the shock, 
 though not the pain, of a stab in the heart. The 
 gentleman before her wore a scarlet dress-coat, 
 for the hunting-season had come round once 
 more. And in him Lizbeth instantly recognised 
 the man who had made her the off-hand proposal 
 of marriage on the road near Hownam long 
 before, and who had afterwards filled for a time 
 such a prominent place in her thoughts. 
 
 Native aptitude, improved by recent practice, 
 enabled her to mask her confusion pretty 
 successfully, and she said what was appropriate 
 in the appropriate tone of voice. But her
 
 A MATCH NOT MADE IN HEAVEN. 25 1 
 
 mind was still in a whirl when — dinner being 
 announced, and there being no gentleman 
 of higher rank present — she found herself 
 obliged to ask Sir James to give her his arm. 
 The situation was decidedly awkward. But, in 
 a few moments, her confidence began to return. 
 Sir James's manner was perfect. He made no 
 overt allusions to their ever having met before, 
 and he seemed far too fine a gentleman to 
 attempt to remind her of it by any covert hint. 
 Presently, as they chatted agreeably together, 
 she felt quite reassured. Next she felt more 
 than reassured — she felt convinced that what she 
 had taken for Sir James's fine acting had not in 
 reality been acting at all, and that he had indeed 
 forgotten her. She felt immensely relieved; but, 
 side by side with the sense of relief, there arose 
 in her breast a sense of disappointment. When 
 Monday morning arrived, to Cospatrick's delight, 
 the baronet consented to prolong his visit. 
 
 Sir James Bethune was a man who enjoyed 
 life. To do this wisely is the triumph of 
 the philosopher ; but Bethune's temper had 
 certainly nothing philosophical about it. In this 
 statement no censure is implied. He lived in 
 that world of impulse, which constitutes, so long 
 as youth remains, no unbecoming entourage. 
 And his impulses, proceeding from no luke- 
 warm nature, were generous as often as not 
 But it is little better than a truism that the
 
 252 THE NEW BORDER TALES. 
 
 impulses, even of a wholly generous nature 
 (which his was not), taken at random and 
 uncorrected, are no safe guide through life. 
 They must almost inevitably lead, though by a 
 circuitous path, to the undue aggrandisement 
 of that Self from which they proceed. In 
 person Sir James represented a type of British 
 manhood which, though good, is not uncommon. 
 He was of the middle stature, and stoutly built; 
 with hair and whisker of a light red colour, blue 
 eyes, and sanguine complexion. His distinction, 
 which was undeniable, proceeded not from his 
 appearance, but from a sense which had been 
 born with him, which had grown up with him, 
 and which it would have been ridiculous to 
 obtrude, that he was somebody in the world. In 
 this respect he formed a contrast to his cousin, 
 whose ways and manners, in their natural 
 unpretentiousness, fell far short of the standard 
 which Lizbeth had come to set up. As a young 
 man who had seen something of the world, Sir 
 James had a degree of polish, and possessed a 
 little more than the mere indispensable modicum 
 of reading. Conscious of the shortcomings of 
 his nature on the philosophic side, he had 
 determined to have a philosophy of one kind or 
 another, and, as he was very anxious to be 
 cleverer than he really was, he had selected 
 Voltaire as his master. Among his other 
 favourite writers were Macchiavelli, Rochefou-
 
 A MATCH NOT MADE IN HEAVEN. 253 
 
 cauld, and Chesterfield ; whilst he would quote 
 with great apparent relish the epigrams of the 
 Marquis de Talleyrand, which were then still 
 novel. So, before long, his practice began to 
 conform a little to his preaching. Such a thing 
 it is to have a philosophy by rule of thumb ! 
 Besides, his prolonged residence in Venice had 
 done him no good. 
 
 When the slight awkwardness of their first 
 meeting at Brig End was past, Sir James 
 and Lizbeth became excellent friends. The 
 baronet spent much of his time at his kins- 
 man's house — which, under the circumstances, 
 was natural enough — and generally in his kins- 
 man's wife's society. Cospatrick viewed their 
 intimacy with satisfaction. He felt that, as 
 a means of keeping Lizbeth entertained, as 
 she liked to be, he was himself a failure. Sir 
 James had more conversation, and exerted 
 himself more in the use of it than his cousin, 
 who would too often seek to regale his wife with 
 (for instance) some story without an end about 
 a horse which somebody had sold to somebody 
 else. This was a side of her husband's nature 
 for which Lizbeth had scant tolerance. She 
 would have liked him always to remain at the 
 plane to which she had seen him rise uncon- 
 sciously in moments of emotion, but to which 
 he had not now risen for many a day. 
 
 The two who, as the proverb tells us, are
 
 254 THE NEW BORDER TALES. 
 
 company, are seldom perfectly loyal to the third 
 person who is none. From casual references, 
 Lizbeth and Sir James got on to little criticisms 
 of Cospatrick, and to little witticisms at his 
 expense. Things had been for some time in 
 this position when an incident occurred which 
 served further to precipitate matters. One day, 
 after lunching alone together, Mr. and Mrs. 
 Deloraine had an altercation. It was not their 
 first. It arose out of a trifle, which provocation 
 soon magnified, and before the matter was 
 allowed to drop, both husband and wife had 
 let their feelings carry them away, with the 
 inevitable result that hasty words were spoken. 
 Five minutes later, the respective attitudes of the 
 disputants were eminently illustrative of the 
 gulf which separated their natures. Neither, as 
 yet, acknowledged to having been in the wrong; 
 but Cospatrick, seated with bowed head by the 
 hearthstone of his gun-room, took the matter 
 deeply to heart, whilst muttering to himself 
 something which was not perfectly intelligible 
 about " the eternal spirit of unreason incarnate 
 in a woman." Lizbeth, at the same moment, 
 stood before her glass, engaged in tying the 
 strings of a new bonnet. Her face was a good 
 deal flushed and her fingers trembled ; but her 
 countenance expressed a firm determination not 
 to be brow-beaten, and she had just ordered the 
 carriage to go for a drive.
 
 A MATCH NOT MADE IN HEAVEN. 255 
 
 On coming downstairs, the first person she 
 encountered, as she crossed the hall on her way 
 to the door, was her cousin by marriage. Sir 
 James had his hat and hunting-whip in his hand, 
 and had just entered the house unannounced, 
 as was his custom — having left off following the 
 hounds early after a blank day. His quick eye 
 immediately observed the disturbance in Mrs. 
 Deloraine's demeanour, and almost as quickly 
 he guessed the cause. He bent forward, and 
 shaking her tenderly by the hand, he murmured 
 — in the presence of the servants, but so as not 
 to be heard by them : 
 
 " Ah, what a mistake you made, that day 
 upon the Hownam road ! " 
 
 The revelation, taken together with the degree 
 of secretiveness, and of strategy, thus brought to 
 light in one usually supposed to be so open and 
 impulsive, had an effect which was little less 
 than startling. 
 
 Lizbeth hurried on towards the carriage, with- 
 out saying anything in reply. But, during the 
 two hours of her solitary drive, the words which 
 had so much affected her had plenty of time to 
 sink into her mind. This little incident was the 
 beginning of a change in the character of the 
 intercourse between Lizbeth and her husband's 
 cousin. The little criticisms of Cospatrick grew 
 to be complaints on the part of Lizbeth of the 
 unhappy life she led with him, and sympathetic
 
 256 THE NEW BORDER TALES. 
 
 conddlences on the part of Bethune — condolences 
 which at last forced her to believe that she had 
 more in common with her kinsman than with 
 her husband. And, if this were so, was she not 
 bound to admit the mistake with which the first- 
 named had taxed her ? Alas ! as she now felt, 
 her insane, superstitious infatuation about her 
 " fate " had led her grievously astray. Whether 
 consciously or unconsciously, the young people 
 were now treading on dangerous ground. And 
 the doctrines of Sir James's favourite philosophers 
 seemed to come near to playing the part played 
 by the Story of Sir Launcelot in the Italian 
 poem. Meanwhile time was passing, and changes 
 were taking place, of which no one at the 
 moment took account. But these changes were 
 none the less real in that they were noiseless 
 and internal. At last the time arrived when 
 their results were to be made manifest, and this 
 is how the manifestation came about. 
 
 At that period the wave of military ardour 
 which had arisen with the expectation of a 
 French Invasion had not yet entirely subsided. 
 Almost every gentleman, excepting the aged 
 and infirm, was a member of some corps or 
 other. Cospatrick and his cousin held captains' 
 commissions in the local regiment of militia. 
 One night, during the training, it happened that 
 they were dining together at the mess with 
 other officers of the corps. The after-dinner
 
 A MATCH NOT MADE IN HEAVEN. 2$/ 
 
 potations of those days were deep ; and it often 
 happened that, as the night drew on, remarks 
 were not very carefully considered, passions by 
 no means well kept under control. Cospatrick 
 sometimes drank freely, in the hope of removing 
 the depression of spirits under which he suffered. 
 Sir James, on the other hand, not only never 
 exceeded the bounds of prudence in his drinking, 
 but never seemed to lose for a moment the 
 coolness of his head. What actually gave rise 
 to the quarrel which took place was either never 
 clearly known, or, as is more probable, was 
 never divulged. All that is certain is that 
 Deloraine, suddenly, and as seemed to most 
 present, without provocation, insulted his kins- 
 man grossly. Bethune, to do him justice, seems 
 from the evidence led at the trial, to have done 
 his best to avoid a quarrel. But Cospatrick's 
 fury is asserted to have been that of a madman. 
 Failing by mere words to produce the effect he 
 sought, he coolly proceeded to fill his glass from 
 a decanter of claret which stood by, and flung 
 the contents in Bethune's face. This was more 
 than the baronet's equanimity, or possibly than 
 his reputation, would bear. 
 
 In those days the duel was still the common 
 court of appeal in disputes of honour between 
 gentlemen ; whilst, at that particular period, the 
 military spirit abroad in the country had given 
 it a special vogue — a vogue which, in such 
 
 17
 
 258 THE NEW BORDER TALES, 
 
 irregular corps as that to which the kinsmen 
 belonged, had tended to become exaggerated. As 
 the militia officers sat at the mess-table, their 
 swords hung on pegs against the wall behind 
 their chairs. And now, with a simultaneous 
 movement, each of the cousins — or foster- 
 brothers, as indeed they were — turned behind 
 him. And to each, as he did so, it seemed the 
 most natural thing in the world. They had 
 been brought up together in brotherly love ; but 
 things between them had somehow sadly but 
 completely changed almost without their being 
 aware of it. Swords were crossed. Of the 
 other officers in the mess-room, no one would 
 seem to have attempted serious interference. 
 This was due, no doubt, to the fact that, on the 
 night in question, all who were present happened 
 unfortunately to be very young men, junior in 
 rank to Deloraine and Bethune. The hour, 
 also, was advanced ; and the young men may 
 not improbably have reached a frame of mind 
 in which to regard the present playing with 
 edged weapons as an exciting frolic, or a piece 
 of sport on no account to be spoiled. The 
 cousins, who, in happier days, had fenced together 
 times out of number, were known to be evenly 
 matched ; and, of course, until it was too late, 
 no one dreamed that serious consequences might 
 follow from the engagement. 
 
 But, from the first, the eyes and faces of the
 
 A MATCH NOT MADE IN HEAVEN. 259 
 
 combatants, their desperate lunges and their 
 eager sword-play, might have told a different 
 tale. In the midst of the circle of gay uniforms, 
 and of foolish flushed boys' faces, they stood 
 confronting each other like men who have a 
 long account to settle. The first few passes 
 were exchanged without skaith to either ; then, 
 as, after pausing to breathe, they set to again, 
 an untoward accident occurred. In pressing 
 his adversary before him, in a warm attack, 
 Cospatrick had changed his footing, and he 
 now stood close upon the spot where a part of 
 the claret which he had discharged in his kins- 
 man's face had fallen on the floor. The building 
 was a rough temporary one, and the new bare 
 boards of which the floor was composed had not 
 yet absorbed the moisture. With his next step 
 forward, Cospatrick's foot slipt in the puddle, 
 and he stumbled forward. As he did so, Sir 
 James's sword -point caught his breast and 
 entered his body on the right side. The wounded 
 man's sword-point dropped and fell ; and, making 
 a half-turn to the left, he caught the edge of the 
 mess-table, and stood supporting himself and 
 coughing. Then the blood began to drop from 
 his lips upon the table-cloth, and it was dis- 
 covered that his antagonist's weapon had passed 
 through his body. 
 
 He was at once borne to the nearest bed, and 
 laid upon it. Medical assistance was at hand,
 
 26o THE NEW BORDER TALES. 
 
 and his wound was promptly dressed. It was 
 pronounced to be of a most serious nature. 
 Asked if he wished to see his wife, the wounded 
 man replied in the negative. An attendant sat 
 up with him. There was a light burning in the 
 room, by which Deloraine's eyes were seen to be 
 open. The attendant asked him, kindly enough, 
 if he would not like to try to go to sleep. He 
 answered no ; that he was thinking. And so he 
 lay, with open eyes, without speaking, until the 
 morning drew near. Then he called the attend- 
 ant to his bedside, and dismissed him to bed. 
 The lad was loth to go, but his master's word 
 was law. And, as the door closed, the sick man 
 murmured to himself : 
 
 " I have lived alone . . . stretching out my 
 arms in vain into the void. Let me die as I 
 have lived." 
 
 When the doctor returned, soon after day- 
 break, his patient's eyes at last were closed, 
 
 Bethune's advisers deemed it expedient that he 
 should fly the country. Accordingly he made all 
 haste to interpose the Channel betwixt himself and 
 the long arm of the Law. But presently, being 
 informed by friends at home that, by the help 
 of the fortunate accident of the spilt claret, a 
 sufficiently good case might be made out for him, 
 he returned and successfully stood his trial. 
 Nor, during the remainder of his life, would he 
 seem to have suffered very much either from
 
 A MATCH NOT MADE IN HEAVEN, 261 
 
 a damaged reputation or from a remorseful 
 conscience. A stroke of apoplexy carried him 
 off at the age of sixty. 
 
 What of Lizbeth? One last surprise in her 
 eventful wayward career remains to be communi- 
 cated. Hurried as had been Sir James Bethune's 
 departure from England, he had found time 
 before he left to solicit an interview with the 
 widow of his kinsman. She declined to receive 
 him. Nor could she be persuaded to vouchsafe 
 a more gracious reply to the most eager written 
 entreaties of the man for whom she had 
 sacrificed so much. Truth to tell, the terrible 
 tidings of her husband's violent death had 
 sufficed to precipitate a reaction, which had 
 perhaps already been impending — a reaction 
 of repentance, which was now doomed to be 
 intensified by all the additional horrors of 
 remorse. Strange irony of the fate which a 
 woman creates for herself! Now that she had 
 lost him for ever, Lizbeth for the first time 
 appreciated her husband at his true worth. In the 
 early days of their acquaintance, her attachment 
 to him had been compounded of almost purely 
 selfish elements. She had admired in him — 
 and, to do her justice, she had done so in no 
 mercenary spirit — the abstract beauties of high 
 birth and fortune — beauties which must neces- 
 sarily appeal, in their due degree, to all who 
 have eyes for beauty in its every manifestation.
 
 262 THE NEW BORDER TALES. 
 
 His romance and his fatalism had pleased her 
 fancy. His overmastering passion for herself 
 had filled her with a new sense of power. But 
 these attractions had long since worn out. And 
 it was now that, for the first time, beneath the 
 superficial qualities, the superficial flaws, of his 
 character, she recognised the depth and the 
 truth, the simplicity, the tenderness and the 
 kindliness of his nature. These qualities, I say, 
 she recognised ; and, recognising them, as was 
 her wont, she went further and idealised them. 
 And so, 
 
 " How much I loved him, 
 I find out now I've lost him," 
 
 became the burden of her daily song. 
 
 And, as it was not in her nature to rest con- 
 tent in thought alone, she adopted a strange 
 way of life which should give an outward visible 
 form to her inward mood. She continued to 
 live on at Brig End, in a seclusion almost as 
 profound as that which Deloraine himself had 
 cultivated in his salad days at Gallantry Hall. 
 And she vowed to devote her life to carrying 
 out, in the management of the estate, and in 
 other like matters, what she believed would have 
 been her husband's wishes. But she did more 
 than this. Everything that could remind her 
 of Cospatrick she kept religiously about her. 
 His dogs and horses became her especial care.
 
 A MATCH NOT MADE IN HEAVEN. 263 
 
 The old servants of whom he had been fond 
 were retained in her service, and in due time 
 were comfortably pensioned, and required to 
 work no more. Among these there was one old 
 man whose sole duty she made it to clean 
 Cospatrick's guns, to polish his boots, and to 
 lay out daily in the hall his cloak, his hat, and 
 his gloves, just as if it were likely that he would 
 need them again. The old man did his duty 
 faithfully ; but in due course he died. By this 
 time the boots had gone to pieces ; but now — 
 kind reader, must I acknowledge it ? — the old 
 tattered cloak, which still remained, was allowed 
 to drop from its peg in the hall, like a ripe fruit 
 from the tree. Was Cospatrick, then, at last 
 forgotten ? Lizbeth lived on ; and in every 
 Eden into which Eve has penetrated, she lives, 
 moves, and has her being to this day.
 
 A DEATH-BED VIGIL. 
 
 {Leaves from an Autobiographical Fragment^ 
 
 1830. 
 
 . . . My life has long since fallen into the " sere 
 and yellow leaf." Love and joy — the birds and 
 flowers of its spring and summer — have forsaken 
 it to return no more. My neighbours pronounce 
 me a misanthrope. What then ? is there not 
 that, in my past life, which might well destroy a 
 man's faith in human nature — making him to 
 doubt the truth of woman, to query the honour 
 of his own sex ? 
 
 Love came to me late in life. I was an only 
 son ; but relations between myself and my 
 father had been strained. He was not an 
 affectionate parent ; I, on my side, was not the 
 son I should have been. My youth was spent 
 in travel and adventure, in field-sports and sea- 
 faring; and it was not until after I had suc- 
 ceeded to the estate that I took up my abode at 
 Harbottle. The old house stands high upon the 
 steep slopes which ascend to one of the wildest
 
 A DEATH-BED VIGIL. 265 
 
 and most remote of the moorland districts of 
 Northumberland. I had not been long at home 
 when I first saw Phillis Gray, She was the 
 daughter of a small farmer upon my own wide, 
 but poor, property. But she had nothing of 
 the rusticity of her station. The girl was 
 beautiful, and I loved her at first sight. 
 
 The Hedleys of Harbottle are too old, too 
 proud, and too self-willed a race to trouble their 
 heads as to how the world may please to view 
 their alliances, or to suffer such trifles as class- 
 distinctions to obstruct the gratification of their 
 wishes. Miss Gray became my betrothed. 
 Even at that time I did not flatter myself that 
 she returned my passion. I was a plain man ; 
 I had never cultivated the art of winning 
 woman's favour, and was no adept in courtship. 
 But I loved Phillis, not alone blindly and with 
 the passion of a first and only love, but with a 
 deep and true affection also. I did not suppose 
 that the persuasions of her relatives, the position 
 I had it in my power to offer her, counted for 
 nothing when she consented to be my wife. 
 But that pressure had been put upon her I 
 never dreamed until too late. I believed that 
 love would follow marriage. I see now that I 
 took this too much as a matter of course. 
 
 As the day fixed for our wedding drew near, 
 I observed a change in my betrothed. Impas- 
 sive, undemonstrative, as she always was, she
 
 266 THE NEW BORDER TALES. 
 
 had never shunned me hitherto ; but it struck 
 me that she did so now. She was melancholy, 
 too ; and once or twice gave way to sudden 
 bursts of tears in my presence, I paid little 
 attention to all this at the time, attributing it to 
 the mere natural vapourishness of the feminine 
 character. At last, one night when I was about 
 to take my leave of her, the girl, who had been 
 very depressed throughout the evening, surprised 
 me by asking my forgiveness. I made sure 
 that it was one of her odd fancies. " Forgive- 
 ness, darling ! " I exclaimed with a laugh, 
 " why, what on earth have I to forgive ? " Her 
 reply was made in a tone which, had I not been 
 infatuated, must have struck me as ominous in 
 its solemnity. " Not much," she said, " not 
 much, perhaps, at present — though more even 
 now than you suspect. But some day . . . ere 
 long ... I may happen to stand greatly in 
 need of your forgiveness. Will you not — to 
 please me — grant it me in advance ? " " With 
 all my heart," I answered lightly, and without 
 a moment's hesitation. And then I kissed her 
 and took my leave. I was not long left in the 
 dark as to the motive which had prompted her 
 strange petition. That night Phillis secretly 
 left her home and disappeared. We sought her 
 high and low ; no trace of her was brought to 
 light. But, when seven months had elapsed, 
 her corpse was discovered floating upon one of
 
 A DEATH-BED VIGIL. 267 
 
 the dark pools below the moors. I looked upon 
 that sweet face, cold in death, which I had 
 loved in life and should mourn for evermore. 
 Suffering had strangely altered it, but this was 
 not all ; for, as I gazed on the lifeless form, I 
 recognised that which turned my grief into a 
 sense of wrong, more bitter a thousandfold to 
 bear than the cruel and eternal separation of life 
 and death. My bride that would have been 
 had been betrayed. Gladly would I then have 
 given what remained to me of life to know 
 the name of the villain who had beguiled her 
 innocence, and had wrought this grievous offence 
 against me. But the dead girl was as true to 
 her false lover as she had been false to me. She 
 kept her secret. From that day I lived an 
 altered man. 
 
 Two years had passed. One autumn after- 
 noon I was standing, listless and alone, at a 
 window which looked out on to the park. The 
 day had been fine, and the sun was still shining ; 
 but overhead a vast and gloomy continent of 
 cloud was moving up from the west. If appear- 
 ances were to be trusted, we should have rain, 
 perhaps thunder, before night. Meantime busy 
 airs were searching restlessly among the upper 
 boughs of the old trees, turning up the livid 
 underside of the foliage, now in this place, 
 now in that. A little grey bird, too, flying 
 unnaturally high, looked white against the
 
 268 THE NEW BORDER TALES. 
 
 sombre, threatening, heaven. From looking 
 upward, my eye travelled down over the steep 
 green slopes before me, through which the grey 
 rock broke, over which the grey boulders lay 
 scattered. All at once, over the little bridge 
 which spanned the river, far far down, I saw 
 a procession pass. Four men, moving slowly, 
 were bearing something between them. Others 
 followed, some on horseback, some on foot. 
 But for the fact that most of the men wore 
 scarlet, the cortege would have had the appear- 
 ance of a funeral. I saw it for a moment, and 
 then, almost immediately, the nature of the 
 ground concealed it from my view again. I 
 rubbed my eyes. I had lived so long low- 
 spirited and alone, that I was half inclined to 
 believe that the whole show had been a mirage 
 — the creation of my brooding brain, — or possibly 
 even that it had been one of those prophetic 
 visions which are held by the country-folk to 
 portend death. 
 
 A moment later and the whole thing was 
 explained. There came a ring at the door-bell, 
 and Jack Selby, booted and spurred and wear- 
 ing his hunt coat, stood before me. His cheery 
 face was unnaturally grave ; and he informed 
 me, in few words, that there had been an 
 accident in the hunting-field, and that the injured 
 man was being brought to my house. I enquired 
 who the sufferer was.
 
 A DEATH-BED VIGIL. 269 
 
 '• You will be sorry to hear, Tom — it is young 
 Binny Clennel." 
 
 " But he's not seriously hurt, I hope ? " 
 
 Jack made no reply, but shook his head very 
 gravely. 
 
 " How did it happen ? " 
 
 " His horse — the young chestnut that he 
 bought from Hodgeon — struck the top bar of 
 a post-and-rails and rolled on him." 
 
 By this time horses' hoofs were already heard 
 on the gravel before the door, and voices in the 
 hall. I went downstairs ; and there, only too 
 surely, amid the throng of the huntsmen, some 
 on horseback, some dismounted, I recognised 
 Clennel. His hair was wet, his face was pale ; 
 he was unconscious, and was borne upon a gate 
 upon which some coats had been laid. Poor 
 boy ! Only that morning he had scampered 
 past me in the park — the very picture of ideal 
 youth and manhood, rejoicing in its strength, — ■ 
 and as he passed me, capping the hounds along 
 on to the scent, he had waved to me and shouted, 
 " You should be with us, Tom ! " He was my 
 friend. 
 
 We carried him carefully upstairs, and made 
 him as comfortable as we could. Then, there 
 being nothing more that we could do for him 
 until the doctor should arrive, I went downstairs 
 again to give the fellows something to drink. 
 We were still in the dining-room, talking over
 
 270 THE NEW BORDER TALES. 
 
 the accident, when Dr. Handyside arrived. A 
 glance at the patient told him — what, indeed, 
 we had surmised already — that the case was 
 hopeless. The spine was fractured, and the 
 injured man might linger for at most a day or 
 two. He was also suffering from a severe con- 
 cussion of the brain, and he remained uncon- 
 scious. After giving us directions for treating 
 the patient during the night, the Doctor (who 
 could do no more, and whose attendance was 
 urgently needed by a lady at some distance) 
 was compelled to take his departure, — which he 
 did after promising to return as early as might 
 be next day. His back was scarcely turned, 
 when the members of the hunt began also, one 
 by one, to excuse themselves upon one ground 
 or another, and to take their leave. There was 
 an evident desire on their part — for which I 
 could not blame them — to shake off the gloomy 
 associations which oppressed them whilst they 
 remained in the neighbourhood of the injured 
 man. At last I found myself left alone with 
 Francis Hodgeon, a kinsman of poor Clennel's. 
 
 How we got thro' the evening I don't know, 
 for neither of us had the heart to talk, or 
 to settle to any occupation. At last the night 
 drew on, and we began to make preparations for 
 spending it in sitting up with the sick man. I 
 had left Hodgeon in the sick-room, and had 
 gone to the cellar to fetch some old brandy. I
 
 A DEATH-BED VIGIL. 27I 
 
 suppose I was away longer than I had intended 
 to be. At any rate, when I returned, Frank was 
 standing in the passage, outside the bedroom 
 door, which was ajar. He seemed much relieved 
 by my re-appearance ; and as I drew nearer, 
 I saw that the big broad-shouldered man was 
 blubbering like a child. 
 
 " I can't stand it, Hedley, indeed I can't. 
 Poor Binny, poor chap! who would have 
 thought of this ? " 
 
 I saw at once that, whatever Frank's nerve 
 might be in the hunting-field, it was not of the 
 kind to allow him to be of service in a sick- 
 room ; so, putting aside a few feeble protesta- 
 tions which he made, I dismissed him to bed, 
 and myself prepared to spend the night alone 
 with the dying man. 
 
 When I entered the bedroom, Clennel's con- 
 dition continued unchanged. Only once so far, 
 at the moment when we were laying him in the 
 bed — roused perhaps by the movement, he had 
 appeared to regain consciousness, and even to 
 recognise his surroundings. For the room was 
 familiar to him, being the same which he had 
 been used to occupy in former days, when a 
 frequent visitor at Harbottle. At that time 
 he and I had been close friends. Indeed, so 
 reserved was my nature that I may say that, 
 of all my neighbours, he was the only one with 
 whom I had ever really been on terms of perfect
 
 272 THE NFAV BORDER TALES. 
 
 confidence and affectionate intimacy. Doubtless 
 my affection for him was the stronger upon that 
 account. And probably, too, the friendship was 
 most on my side ; for he was happy, and there- 
 fore popular, and had many friends. For the 
 only people whom we really love are those who 
 are happier than ourselves. In any case, no 
 younger brother could have coiled himself more 
 closely round an elder's heart than Binny had 
 coiled himself round mine. But, excepting 
 sorrow, nothing in this world remains un- 
 changed ; and thus, after the shattering of my 
 hopes, a gradual estrangement had somehow 
 seemed to spring up between us. We had 
 had no shadow of a disagreement ; but Clen- 
 nel, by degrees, had ceased to frequent my 
 house. I could not wonder at it ; for, in my 
 altered mood, I was certainly no suitable com- 
 panion for a man of his joyous and ardent 
 nature. His companionship might, indeed, 
 have helped to cheer my gloom ; but as I had 
 no wish to trammel him with the fetters of 
 friendship, I had acquiesced in his secession, and 
 we had ended by scarcely seeing each other 
 at all. 
 
 Yet, as I looked on him now — lying in one 
 hour struck down in the full flush and hey-day 
 of his manhood — I knew from the keenness of 
 my grief that my old affection for him still lived 
 unaltered in my heart His beauty — 'tis the
 
 A DEATH-BED VIGIL. 273 
 
 only word — seemed as yet untouched by the 
 approach of death. Where his shirt had come 
 unfastened, appeared the wide, virile, chest of 
 a Meleager. The massive throat, the features 
 broadly and simply moulded, the well-built-up 
 brow, had lost none of their apparent grace, — 
 though I knew that one half of the body was 
 already paralysed, and that the spirit animating 
 that fair clay now slumbered — in all likelihood 
 to wake no more on earth. So, as I gazed 
 on this masterpiece of Nature's handiwork, so 
 rudely marred and broken, the cry of Othello 
 rose involuntarily to my lips. But there were 
 pains other than the mourner's to be endured 
 before the night was done. 
 
 After moistening the lips of the unconscious 
 man with a few drops of brandy, I trimmed the 
 solitary shaded lamp, which, by shedding a dim 
 light over the heavy, dark, old-fashioned furni- 
 ture of the room, and by half-revealing its outlines, 
 served to stimulate the imagination with a sug- 
 gestion of things unseen. I then returned to 
 my seat The room and the house were now as 
 still as death. But not so the world without. 
 Neither rain, nor thunder, as I had expected, 
 had arrived in the wake of the vast clouds which 
 I had watched at eventide ; but, toward the 
 darkening, the wind had risen, and it was now 
 blowing boisterously. The old ash-trees round 
 the house increased the turmoil by the resistance 
 
 18
 
 274 THE NEW BORDER TALES. 
 
 which they offered; and, now and then, a gust of 
 air from without found its way, by some sht or 
 cranny, into the lofty chamber where I sat, and 
 stirred the dusky hangings. My head sunk 
 upon my breast. I listened to the shrieking of 
 the wind outside, and fell into a dark train of 
 thought. 
 
 Presently my eyelids must have closed. My 
 thoughts wandered. The incidents of the day 
 were strangely blended with fantastic imagery 
 of the night ; and the solid realities of the 
 Biddlestone Hunt became merged in vividly- 
 seen, rapidly-changing visions of a Wild Hunts- 
 man passing on the wind, of Gabriel Hounds, 
 and at last — as the howling without grew more 
 persistent — of a cry of fiends let loose from hell. 
 
 Out of this somnolent condition I was startled 
 by a sound which came from the bed. The sick 
 man had spoken inarticulately. Gathering my 
 scattered wits as best I might, I returned to the 
 bedside, and bending over him addressed him 
 softly by name. His eyes opened, and for a 
 moment I felt almost sure that he recognised 
 me. But it was for a moment only. When that 
 was past, it became obvious that his unconscious- 
 ness was as blank as before. As I bent over 
 him, however, I became aware that a change 
 had taken place in his physical condition. A 
 faint flush had overspread his face, and his 
 temperature was mounting rapidly. Against
 
 A DEATH-BED VIGIL. 275 
 
 our expectation, a reaction had set in, and an 
 inflammatory process had begun. A moment 
 later he startled me by suddenly flinging his 
 right arm across the bed. Then he began again 
 to speak without words. 
 
 I endeavoured to soothe him by the touch and 
 by the voice. I applied vinegar and water to his 
 brow from a bowl which stood by the bed-head. 
 It was to no purpose — he still rambled on. At 
 last, in despair of quieting him, I returned to 
 my place in another part of the room. The 
 minutes then crept by with leaden feet, whilst 
 I still listened to the weary, incomprehensible, 
 interminable, harangue. 
 
 All at once, I was sensible that a change 
 had come over the spirit of the sick man's 
 ravings. He had begun to speak intelligibly. 
 The words fell suddenly and in quick succession 
 from his lips, like the first pattering drops of a 
 shower. 
 
 "... Did I startle you ? Ha, ha ! pray don't 
 be afraid — it's only me. I am riding in your 
 direction — I'll see you home if you'll let me. 
 The road is lonesome. . . . Well ! to tell the 
 honest truth, I'd a notion you would pass this 
 way." 
 
 The voice of the delirious man was rich and 
 expressive as of old. In his present circum- 
 stances, there was a terrible irony in the lightness 
 and gaiety of the tones in which he spoke. I
 
 276 THE NEW BORDER TALES. 
 
 noticed, also, that those tones v/ere modulated to 
 the particular soft pitch used by men who are 
 "impressionable" when they address a pretty 
 woman. I was surprised to hear my own name 
 next 
 
 " Hedley . . . ? Ah ! what a lucky fellow he 
 is ! And he doesn't know his luck,— that's the 
 bitter part of it. 'Tis a matter of course to 
 him. God knows there are some men who 
 would bear themselves right differently in his 
 shoes. . . . Well, well! what's that to me? But 
 it is something to me ! " (The last words were 
 pronounced with extraordinary warmth and 
 petulance. Binny's widowed mother had spoiled 
 him. Ah, how well I knew the accent of the 
 spoiled boy!) Then the speaker broke off 
 abruptly, and continued, "There, there! I've 
 said too much. Forgive me. Good-night, good- 
 bye. God bless you ! " 
 
 In any other circumstances, the monologue 
 to which I was now called upon to listen would 
 have been nothing less than a dramatic treat. 
 The tones of the speaker's voice were animated, 
 expressive, "to the life," to a degree which 
 positively astounded me. Thus the blessing 
 had been spoken in accents of such strange and 
 winning tenderness, as I could fancy might well 
 seem music to a listening woman's ear. They 
 were accents which, as it struck me now, my 
 own voice had never acquired. However, I was
 
 A DEATH-BED VIGIL. 277 
 
 more than merely astounded by the vivacity 
 of the declamation. It was evident that the 
 sick man was living over again in his delirium 
 some tender episode of his past life. I felt 
 interested more than I can say in what I heard. 
 Was I taking a dishonourable advantage in 
 listening ? Perhaps I was. I was dimly con- 
 scious of scruples on this ground at the 
 time. But, without staying to analyse my 
 sensations, being desirous — I scarce knew why 
 — not to miss a word, I drew nearer to the 
 bed. There was a pause, which was filled 
 in by the shrieking of the wind. Why had 
 such a feeling of impatience to hear more 
 arisen within my breast ? Well, I had not long 
 to wait. 
 
 " Oh, 'tis a cruel fate, if ever there was one, 
 and I pity you from my soul ! Love, marriage, — 
 they are either the best things on earth, or the 
 direst woe. There's no third alternative." 
 
 This time the speaker's words were pregnant 
 and oracular. I had never known him to hold 
 forth in this strain before. Then he grew 
 incoherent again. Straining my ear so as to 
 lose nothing, I vainly strove to put a mean- 
 ing to the sounds he uttered. But they were 
 absolutely unintelligible ; and at last, my 
 patience being wearied out, I sank back into my 
 seat once more. Hardly had I done so, how- 
 ever, when it became evident that the heaven 
 
 I8*
 
 278 THE NEW BORDER TALES. 
 
 of the sick man's mind had partially cleared 
 again. He was speaking articulately once more. 
 We were now, as it seemed, in the midst of a 
 scene half-reproachful, half-impassioned. 
 
 "... You asked me not to come here again ? 
 I know you did. Well, there are not many 
 things in the world I would not do for you. . . . 
 My word ! You do look pretty to-night. And, 
 now you blush, the rose grows pale. You must 
 give me that rose, darling — as a remembrance. 
 I'll keep it — wear it next my heart. . . . Little 
 hand ! 'Tis a-cold ; and mine is fevered. No, I 
 will not let it go. You grudge me all things 
 — you've no kindness for me at all. And yet I 
 am his friend." 
 
 I started. Then I listened on. 
 
 " There's only one thing in the world I wish — 
 that you liked me just a little better. I've no 
 sister. My poor mother's gone. . . . No, I'm 
 sure you don't like me as you say you do. If 
 you did, ah, if you did. . . . But that's enough." 
 
 In this madness I was beginning to discover 
 a method with a vengeance. 
 
 " One sweet kiss — I won't ask for any more. 
 The old cold-blooded monster ! why, how is 
 he to know anything about it? He'll never 
 suspect. Isn't all fair in love and war? He 
 thinks he's conferring an honour by making you 
 his wife, but I can tell you there are men, his 
 equals, who would think the other way."
 
 A DEATH-BED VIGIL. 279 
 
 During all this time I had been creepm^ ever 
 closer to the bed, till I now sat with my knees 
 touching it And, as I crept closer, so an 
 appalling suspicion grew ever stronger and 
 stronger within me. But, up to this point, sus- 
 picion, however powerful, yet lacked confirma- 
 tion. The next word confirmed it beyond any 
 doubt. 
 
 " Phillis ! " 
 
 The name was pronounced in a low, earnest, 
 tone, the accent of which I shall remember to 
 my dying day. 
 
 " Phillis I The one thing that makes life worth 
 living — will you forfeit it, of your free will, with 
 your eyes open ? " 
 
 So much I heard. Then a rush of blood 
 mounted to my brain, I gasped for breath, I 
 fell forward on the bed. Instinctively my hands 
 clutched for Binny's throat. But, as they touched 
 him, I remembered. To all intents and purposes 
 the man whose life I coveted was already a 
 dead man. I was powerless. I could do 
 nothing. Even the bitter consolation of ven- 
 geance upon his treachery was denied me. He 
 had wrecked my life, and now he mocked 
 me from the security of the confines of the 
 grave. I gathered myself up from the bed once 
 more, and resumed my sitting posture. And 
 then there began for me such an ordeal as few 
 men, I hope, have been called upon to bear.
 
 28o THE NEW BORDER TALES. 
 
 With my ears open, my eyes closed, I sat on, 
 and listened to the sick man's ravings. And, 
 so listening, I heard — nay, I saw, for I was 
 transported where the bounds of sense no longer 
 confine us, — I saw the girl whom I had wor- 
 shipped shamefully won from me by the man 
 whom I had called my friend. And I well knew 
 all the time that my ordeal was self-inflicted. 
 I might have closed my ears. There was no 
 reason why I should subject myself to this 
 long-drawn-out, unheard-of, refinement of jealous 
 torture. Why did I do it ? Why, indeed ? 
 Except that Jealousy is hungry as the grave, 
 self-torturing as the scorpion, and at whatever 
 cost must know the worst. 
 
 And, as I sat on and listened, I was conscious 
 that, by an unique refinement of Fate's irony, 
 the treachery of my friend cast its blight not 
 only on the present, but on the supposed-un- 
 alterable past, — showing me all of love and 
 friendship that I had ever believed myself to 
 enjoy shrivelled up and turned to dust and 
 ashes, as it were, before my eyes. I realised 
 this, and then — whilst the tempest screamed and 
 clamoured round about us — a strange interchange 
 of character and attributes took place between 
 the healthy and the dying man ; for, whilst / 
 groaned aloud in a heaviness of spirit worse 
 than death, his light and volatile soul found a 
 singularly gracious and tender tone in which to
 
 s 
 
 A DEATH-BED VIGIL 281 
 
 rehearse once more its bygone happiness. Binny 
 was arranging over again in his dreams the 
 details of his elopement with Phillis. 
 
 " Dear one, with what a tragic bitterness you 
 pronounced those words just now! 'I am not 
 afraid of sin, I am only afraid of punishment and 
 of detection.' A .voman, ever>' inch of you! 
 Well, I'll tell you how detection, at least, may be 
 avoided. You must dress yourself up as a boy, 
 dear. I'll get you the clothes, and will hide 
 them in the old place, near your father's barn. 
 Then, when you change your dress in the barn, 
 you can make a bundle of your own clothes and 
 bring them with you. ... A pair of moleskins 
 — ha, ha, ha ! But mind you wrap the muffler 
 close about you, for if any one sees how round 
 and smooth that little chin is, our game is up. 
 . . . I will be waiting in the dog-cart at the 
 usual place. We'll pass through Hexham un- 
 noticed at dead of night, and be married at 
 Carlisle in the morning." 
 
 So the sick man raved on. But, after this, my 
 senses flagged and grew duller. Worn out with 
 the anguish of the disclosure, the gnawing tor- 
 tures of a retrospective jealousy, I felt at last 
 that I had heard all that I had any need to hear; 
 and the story of a mock marriage and a deser- 
 tion was borne in upon me only in vague 
 and general terms. Meantime the wind still 
 howled without, and the night wore on. I
 
 282 THE NEW BORDER TALES. 
 
 suppose I was exhausted ; for at last, strange, 
 incredible, as it may seem, I fell into a doze. I 
 was roused from it by a painful and peculiar 
 sound. The dying man was drawing his breath 
 with alarming difficulty. Seizing upon the 
 readiest means of affording him relief, I started 
 up and drew back the window-curtains. I must 
 have slept for some time, for the storm was now 
 over, and it was later than I should have sup- 
 posed possible. Indeed, the day had already 
 broken, and a brilliant sun was in the act of 
 rising — its level beams striking dazzlingly upon 
 the rain-drops pendent from the window-frame. 
 Outside, the ground was strewn with a debris of 
 broken trees. I flung up the sash, and the 
 sweet morning air invaded the drug-sickened 
 atmosphere of the room. It revived the dying 
 man, and he called to me by name. I flew to 
 his side. 
 
 " Tom . . . Tom ! Oh ! lift me, lift me. ... I 
 am choking." 
 
 It was the last flicker. I saw that the end 
 had come ; and I felt that, though to have 
 raised the patient sooner would have been to 
 murder him, to do so now would be to ease his 
 final moments. I lifted him gently in my arms. 
 Then he breathed more freely, and spoke once 
 more. I bent down to catch his last words. 
 But his mind had wandered back to old days. 
 
 " Give me my cloak and hat," he said, and
 
 A DEATH-BED VIGIL. 283 
 
 endeavoured to make the motion of wrapping 
 himself up, " I must hap myself warm to-night, 
 for I've a long, long way to ride . . . over the 
 moors, through the storm, alone ... a long . . . 
 long . . . way. . . ." 
 
 The voice failed. Then came a succession of 
 sighing respirations, and the head fell forward. 
 Binny was dead. 
 
 An hour later I re-entered the death-chamber, 
 accompanied by Hodgeon. We both looked 
 long on the features of the dead man who had 
 been our friend, and presently Frank spoke. 
 
 " How calmly and peacefully he lies there ! 
 And, do you observe, Tom, what a happy smile 
 lights up his face? It's like the face of a sleep- 
 ing child. His life was short ; but it was 
 merry. After all, 1 count him happy. For we 
 may feel assured that he dies at peace with all 
 men, and is gone to a better place — having 
 wrought no evil, having wronged no man." 
 
 I said nothing.
 
 EPILOGUE. 
 
 Hoffmann I to you. — My wasted candles wink, 
 Ere their bright eyne they close. And deep I 
 
 drink — 
 Crowning with ichor a skull-carven bowl — 
 To Hoffmann, and his twin fantastic soul, 
 DeatJUs Jester, whose hyperbole sublime 
 Shall thrill, with Tamburlaine's, the pulse of 
 
 lime ! 
 
 Hofftnann, you led a strange and motley crew 
 Of puppets shaped in wood — I folloiv you : 
 To Beddoes is most fittingly addressed 
 The night-side of my fancy, here expressed ; 
 Churchyards he loved — the gibbet and the pall, 
 The charnel-house, and midtiight funeral. 
 
 . . . I hear — unheard by day — the voice of floods; 
 The ceaseless, low, night-murm2tr of the woods : 
 An owl, my fellow -watcher, o'er the park 
 Sends out her voice — her soul — into the dark. 
 The book is finislid, and the ink is dried ; 
 I lay the ink-stand, pen, and scroll aside. 
 Thou tender-beaming Star, der yonder crest ! 
 Now light the darkling author to his rest.
 
 
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 UC SOUTHERN RFGIONAL LIBRARY FACILITY 
 
 II I III I 
 
 AA 000 589 554 5 
 
 I