Story 6--Chapter VIII.

Story 6--Chapter VIII.The sun had risen twice upon the world, and again set, and now the moon was casting her silvery beams upon the dancing waves, when the Princess Serena went forth, on the sea-shore, to search for the brave Alonzo, for he returned not as he promised. Long she wandered up and down, and with anxious gaze watched the shining ocean, but still he came not.She listened for his voice, but no sound was heard, only the low murmur of the rippling water upon the yellow sand. Her heart sank with fear, and grief, hitherto a stranger to her, took possession of her bosom. At length she climbed to the summit of a high rock which overhung the sea. There she stood, with straining eyes and arms stretched over the ocean, calling in a tone of anguish on Alonzo to return to her. As she uttered his name, a form, vast, shadowy, and majestic, appeared beneath the moonlight, and a voice, so soft it seemed a note of sweet music, pronounced her name. The Princess listened with eagerness and astonishment. Again, from afar, came that low and sweetly solemn voice. “Serena, Serena, Serena!” it said. Well did the Princess know the voice. It was Alonzo’s. Though he was not seen, she felt that he was near her; nor did the vast form on the ocean bring any terror to her bosom.“Serena, Serena!” repeated the voice.“Serena, dearest, haste to me,And I will bear thee o’er the sea,To halls so rich, so bright, so fair,Sparkling with every jewel rare,Where you, beloved, in peace shall reign,The gentle guardian of the main.Then, sweet Serena, come to me,And I will bear thee o’er the sea.”“Yes, beloved one, I will go to thee,” she exclaimed, and fearlessly she sprang towards the bright ocean which slumbered below.The waters sparkled as she fell, a joyous voice again uttered her name, and a form, though it was Borasco’s, no longer hideous in her sight, received her in his arms.The maidens of the Princess, when they saw the vast form of Borasco floating on the water, were horrified; but when they observed her throw herself off the rock, and watched her carried away in the arms of the seeming monster, they fled terrified to the palace, and reported what had occurred. At first there was some doubt thrown on the matter, and when the stranger Alonzo did not return, people went so far as to say that the unhappy Princess had, in a fit of madness, thrown herself into the sea for love of him. The enemies of Alonzo, who had heard the pirates claim as a friend, said that he was a pirate himself, and that he had carried off the Princess. At all events, the poor King was overwhelmed with grief at the loss of his daughter, and called his chiefs together, to consult as to what could have become of her, or if means could be taken to recover her.The sages differed for some time in their opinions. One said, “If she had jumped into the sea and was drowned, they could not expect her to return.” Another observed that, if she had been carried away by a pirate, it was to be hoped that the pirate would bring her back again; while a third sagaciously remarked that, in order to recover her, not knowing where she was, it would be necessary to look for her.At length one of the very oldest of the sages remembered the prophecy about which the King had dreamed on the night of the storm, when Alonzo came to the island. “There can be no doubt,” he observed, “that the first part referred to the stranger who had rendered such signal service to the state, for which service he received, as guerdon great, the hand of the Princess.”‘But a sea-monster shall preyOn his reward that day,’“Means, evidently, that a sea-monster will carry off and prey upon the Princess, who was his reward.”The King and all his councillors acknowledged, with deep grief, that they saw the true interpretation of the prophecy, and from that time forth no one in the Island of Gracia doubted that the Princess had been carried off by a sea-monster.

The sun had risen twice upon the world, and again set, and now the moon was casting her silvery beams upon the dancing waves, when the Princess Serena went forth, on the sea-shore, to search for the brave Alonzo, for he returned not as he promised. Long she wandered up and down, and with anxious gaze watched the shining ocean, but still he came not.

She listened for his voice, but no sound was heard, only the low murmur of the rippling water upon the yellow sand. Her heart sank with fear, and grief, hitherto a stranger to her, took possession of her bosom. At length she climbed to the summit of a high rock which overhung the sea. There she stood, with straining eyes and arms stretched over the ocean, calling in a tone of anguish on Alonzo to return to her. As she uttered his name, a form, vast, shadowy, and majestic, appeared beneath the moonlight, and a voice, so soft it seemed a note of sweet music, pronounced her name. The Princess listened with eagerness and astonishment. Again, from afar, came that low and sweetly solemn voice. “Serena, Serena, Serena!” it said. Well did the Princess know the voice. It was Alonzo’s. Though he was not seen, she felt that he was near her; nor did the vast form on the ocean bring any terror to her bosom.

“Serena, Serena!” repeated the voice.

“Serena, dearest, haste to me,And I will bear thee o’er the sea,To halls so rich, so bright, so fair,Sparkling with every jewel rare,Where you, beloved, in peace shall reign,The gentle guardian of the main.Then, sweet Serena, come to me,And I will bear thee o’er the sea.”

“Yes, beloved one, I will go to thee,” she exclaimed, and fearlessly she sprang towards the bright ocean which slumbered below.

The waters sparkled as she fell, a joyous voice again uttered her name, and a form, though it was Borasco’s, no longer hideous in her sight, received her in his arms.

The maidens of the Princess, when they saw the vast form of Borasco floating on the water, were horrified; but when they observed her throw herself off the rock, and watched her carried away in the arms of the seeming monster, they fled terrified to the palace, and reported what had occurred. At first there was some doubt thrown on the matter, and when the stranger Alonzo did not return, people went so far as to say that the unhappy Princess had, in a fit of madness, thrown herself into the sea for love of him. The enemies of Alonzo, who had heard the pirates claim as a friend, said that he was a pirate himself, and that he had carried off the Princess. At all events, the poor King was overwhelmed with grief at the loss of his daughter, and called his chiefs together, to consult as to what could have become of her, or if means could be taken to recover her.

The sages differed for some time in their opinions. One said, “If she had jumped into the sea and was drowned, they could not expect her to return.” Another observed that, if she had been carried away by a pirate, it was to be hoped that the pirate would bring her back again; while a third sagaciously remarked that, in order to recover her, not knowing where she was, it would be necessary to look for her.

At length one of the very oldest of the sages remembered the prophecy about which the King had dreamed on the night of the storm, when Alonzo came to the island. “There can be no doubt,” he observed, “that the first part referred to the stranger who had rendered such signal service to the state, for which service he received, as guerdon great, the hand of the Princess.

”‘But a sea-monster shall preyOn his reward that day,’

“Means, evidently, that a sea-monster will carry off and prey upon the Princess, who was his reward.”

The King and all his councillors acknowledged, with deep grief, that they saw the true interpretation of the prophecy, and from that time forth no one in the Island of Gracia doubted that the Princess had been carried off by a sea-monster.

Story 6--Chapter IX.The mighty Spirit of the Storm bore in his arms the gentle Serena rapidly across the ocean, till at length they arrived in front of a palace of crystal, which stood so completely at the very edge of the sea, that the walls which were reflected on its tranquil surface seemed to rise directly out of it. No words can describe the beauty and elegance of its architecture, the gracefulness of its delicate pillars, and the light tracery-work of its innumerable arches, all of the same pure, glistening substance, extending on either side, in a succession of airy colonnades, as far as the eye could reach, and, arch above arch, rising almost, it seemed, to the skies. No mortal workmen could have raised that wonderful edifice.The portals flew wide open as Borasco and the Princess approached, and placing her on the crystal steps which led down beneath the water, he conducted her forward through a hall, which surpassed in beauty and magnificence even the exterior of the building, so light and airy, so richly adorned at the same time was it with polished coral and delicate tinted shells, and emeralds, and precious stones of every description.It far surpassed in beauty anything which Serena ever in her most romantic imaginings had conceived to exist in the world. Wonderful and strange as all appeared, no fear or misgivings of any description entered her bosom; for, although she saw that the shape beside her was wild and hideous, yet well she knew that the spirit which animated it was that which dwelt in the form of Alonzo, to which she had given her heart, her best, her deepest affections. A soft light radiated through the hall, and gentle music floated in the air, while forms of every graceful shape and hue appeared before them, and made obeisance as they passed. They advanced slowly among lines of aerial beings towards a superb throne at the further end of the hall, the canopy over which appeared as if formed of a fountain of glittering water thrown upwards, and petrified before it could again reach the earth. Serena remained mute with astonishment, till by degrees she found words to express herself. “Is what I see around me the work of enchantment, and do I tread on fairy ground?” she exclaimed. “And you, my Alonzo, why have you led me hither, and why are you so strangely disguised?”“You tread, my Serena, the halls of my crystal palace, the home I have prepared for you,” answered Borasco. “Those bright gems are the same for which men toil and deem themselves happy if they gain a few, yet all you see and many more are yours.”“Oh, I care not for those sparkling gems. It is your love, Alonzo, I prize above all,” said Serena, turning on him a look full of deep affection. “But why hide from me those features on which I fondly used to gaze?—Why envelop thus strangely your noble form?”Borasco did not answer till he had placed her on the throne; then throwing himself before her on his knees, he told her of his plot to win her, and of all that had occurred, and implored her forgiveness. As he knelt, the thousands of Spirits who filled the hall followed his example. She answered in a gentle voice, that she had nothing to forgive; as she could scarcely find fault with him for falling in love with her.“But who are the bright beings who fill these halls, and pay me so much respect?” she asked, as the graceful Spirits continued kneeling round her.“They are,” replied Borasco, “the Spirits of the summer air, the guardians of the moon-lit waves, the utterers of murmuring sounds, when the calm sea is hushed to rest. Each light and easy duty is confided to their care. They are the Spirits which obey my will, and you, my beloved one, shall from henceforth ride over them. See also the mighty Monarch of the Ocean comes to kneel before your throne.”As he spoke, a flourish of conch shells was heard, and Neptune, in a superb car, followed by an innumerable band of Tritons, glided into the hall. Descending from his car, he knelt before the Princess, and exclaimed:—“Welcome, fair Lady! since you comeTo these bright realms, my watery home;When I the happy tidings knew,I clave the limpid billow through,And hasten’d here to kneel beforeThe Lady whom all hearts adore:For know, we rovers of the Sea,Are truly famed for gallantry,And when a beauteous Lady deignsTo visit thus our broad domains,The sons of Ocean strive to showThe pride with which their bosoms glow.Then, Lady, deign our Queen to be,And we will serve thee loyally.This crown marine in token wear,That Ocean’s realms confess thy care,And to no other would I yieldThe trident sceptre which I wield.Now then let all with loud acclaimAnd joy, our Ocean Queen proclaim!”Neptune having presented a crown and sceptre to the Princess, the Tritons and Sea Spirits broke forth with a loud chorus:—“Oh! welcome to these coral halls,Fair Lady of the radiant brow,Thy beauty every heart enthralls,Thy virtues claim our willing vow.The trident sceptre of the main,Oh! long, sweet Lady, may’st thou sway,And far as spreads yon liquid plain,Let every realm thy power obey.”Serena then answered in a sweet thrilling voice:—“Thanks, thanks, Great Neptune, we will strive to prove,How much we prize our loyal subjects’ love;And long as o’er these noble realms we reign,Will ever be the Guardian of the main.”Neptune then again approached the throne, and bowing, said—“Fair Queen, your brother sovereign hear;I once more to your throne draw near,And what I say will not displeaseThe gentle guardian of the Seas,We made a law some time ago,To which e’en you will gladly bow,That those who in our realms remain,Can ne’er their former name retain.We’ll change the one you bore above—Victoria, is the name we love,That name shall through our realms resound,And echo far the Ocean round,And she beloved will ever beBy Neptune’s sons the bold and free.”Once more the Tritons broke into an enthusiastic chorus—“Oh! long may’st thou reign, fair Queen of the Ocean,The blue waves are dancing in gladness and sheen,We thy Empire proclaim with joyful devotion,And repeat in glad chorus, Long life to our Queen.The echoes are telling the tidings around,And joy on her brow gives bliss to the scene.And long may the realms of old Ocean resound,That wish of our hearts, Long life to the Queen?”

The mighty Spirit of the Storm bore in his arms the gentle Serena rapidly across the ocean, till at length they arrived in front of a palace of crystal, which stood so completely at the very edge of the sea, that the walls which were reflected on its tranquil surface seemed to rise directly out of it. No words can describe the beauty and elegance of its architecture, the gracefulness of its delicate pillars, and the light tracery-work of its innumerable arches, all of the same pure, glistening substance, extending on either side, in a succession of airy colonnades, as far as the eye could reach, and, arch above arch, rising almost, it seemed, to the skies. No mortal workmen could have raised that wonderful edifice.

The portals flew wide open as Borasco and the Princess approached, and placing her on the crystal steps which led down beneath the water, he conducted her forward through a hall, which surpassed in beauty and magnificence even the exterior of the building, so light and airy, so richly adorned at the same time was it with polished coral and delicate tinted shells, and emeralds, and precious stones of every description.

It far surpassed in beauty anything which Serena ever in her most romantic imaginings had conceived to exist in the world. Wonderful and strange as all appeared, no fear or misgivings of any description entered her bosom; for, although she saw that the shape beside her was wild and hideous, yet well she knew that the spirit which animated it was that which dwelt in the form of Alonzo, to which she had given her heart, her best, her deepest affections. A soft light radiated through the hall, and gentle music floated in the air, while forms of every graceful shape and hue appeared before them, and made obeisance as they passed. They advanced slowly among lines of aerial beings towards a superb throne at the further end of the hall, the canopy over which appeared as if formed of a fountain of glittering water thrown upwards, and petrified before it could again reach the earth. Serena remained mute with astonishment, till by degrees she found words to express herself. “Is what I see around me the work of enchantment, and do I tread on fairy ground?” she exclaimed. “And you, my Alonzo, why have you led me hither, and why are you so strangely disguised?”

“You tread, my Serena, the halls of my crystal palace, the home I have prepared for you,” answered Borasco. “Those bright gems are the same for which men toil and deem themselves happy if they gain a few, yet all you see and many more are yours.”

“Oh, I care not for those sparkling gems. It is your love, Alonzo, I prize above all,” said Serena, turning on him a look full of deep affection. “But why hide from me those features on which I fondly used to gaze?—Why envelop thus strangely your noble form?”

Borasco did not answer till he had placed her on the throne; then throwing himself before her on his knees, he told her of his plot to win her, and of all that had occurred, and implored her forgiveness. As he knelt, the thousands of Spirits who filled the hall followed his example. She answered in a gentle voice, that she had nothing to forgive; as she could scarcely find fault with him for falling in love with her.

“But who are the bright beings who fill these halls, and pay me so much respect?” she asked, as the graceful Spirits continued kneeling round her.

“They are,” replied Borasco, “the Spirits of the summer air, the guardians of the moon-lit waves, the utterers of murmuring sounds, when the calm sea is hushed to rest. Each light and easy duty is confided to their care. They are the Spirits which obey my will, and you, my beloved one, shall from henceforth ride over them. See also the mighty Monarch of the Ocean comes to kneel before your throne.”

As he spoke, a flourish of conch shells was heard, and Neptune, in a superb car, followed by an innumerable band of Tritons, glided into the hall. Descending from his car, he knelt before the Princess, and exclaimed:—

“Welcome, fair Lady! since you comeTo these bright realms, my watery home;When I the happy tidings knew,I clave the limpid billow through,And hasten’d here to kneel beforeThe Lady whom all hearts adore:For know, we rovers of the Sea,Are truly famed for gallantry,And when a beauteous Lady deignsTo visit thus our broad domains,The sons of Ocean strive to showThe pride with which their bosoms glow.Then, Lady, deign our Queen to be,And we will serve thee loyally.This crown marine in token wear,That Ocean’s realms confess thy care,And to no other would I yieldThe trident sceptre which I wield.Now then let all with loud acclaimAnd joy, our Ocean Queen proclaim!”

Neptune having presented a crown and sceptre to the Princess, the Tritons and Sea Spirits broke forth with a loud chorus:—

“Oh! welcome to these coral halls,Fair Lady of the radiant brow,Thy beauty every heart enthralls,Thy virtues claim our willing vow.The trident sceptre of the main,Oh! long, sweet Lady, may’st thou sway,And far as spreads yon liquid plain,Let every realm thy power obey.”

Serena then answered in a sweet thrilling voice:—

“Thanks, thanks, Great Neptune, we will strive to prove,How much we prize our loyal subjects’ love;And long as o’er these noble realms we reign,Will ever be the Guardian of the main.”

Neptune then again approached the throne, and bowing, said—

“Fair Queen, your brother sovereign hear;I once more to your throne draw near,And what I say will not displeaseThe gentle guardian of the Seas,We made a law some time ago,To which e’en you will gladly bow,That those who in our realms remain,Can ne’er their former name retain.We’ll change the one you bore above—Victoria, is the name we love,That name shall through our realms resound,And echo far the Ocean round,And she beloved will ever beBy Neptune’s sons the bold and free.”

Once more the Tritons broke into an enthusiastic chorus—

“Oh! long may’st thou reign, fair Queen of the Ocean,The blue waves are dancing in gladness and sheen,We thy Empire proclaim with joyful devotion,And repeat in glad chorus, Long life to our Queen.The echoes are telling the tidings around,And joy on her brow gives bliss to the scene.And long may the realms of old Ocean resound,That wish of our hearts, Long life to the Queen?”

Story 7--Chapter I.STORY SEVEN—The Bogies of Glen Bogie.A gaily-painted canal boat was gliding smoothly and swiftly through the still waters of the Crinan Canal, which intersects the Mull of Cantire in Argyleshire. A steep bank of overhanging wood lay on one side, and on the other an open view stretched toward distant hills.The day had been showery; drops sparkled upon the leaves, and pattered down on the boat as she passed beneath the hanging boughs; light clouds were speeding across the clear blue heavens, and as the sun shone out a fairy-like rainbow lay along the hill-side.With a rustling sound the boat cut through the placid water, and for a time none other broke the silence; the exquisite peace and beauty of the scene cast a spell upon the party who were passengers on board, and, different as were the various tones of mind, one feeling seemed now to pervade the group. During this pause, let us examine the figures composing it.That active well-formed man, with good sense and merriment in his clear kindly eye, and about his firm mouth, is Arthur Hardy. His early life of laborious self-denial, in support of dependent young brothers and sisters, has been rewarded with success and present prosperity.The graceful lounging figure beside him, whose handsome features are clouded by such a look of inward dissatisfaction, is Edmund Bayntun, the luxurious and self-indulgent course of whose days lacks the stimulus of any object to rouse his faculties, brighten his eye, and dispel the dreamy gloom now habitual to his manner.He and Hardy were school-fellows, and have unexpectedly met, to their great mutual pleasure. Edmund has just been introduced to Mrs Arthur Hardy and her pretty and rather romantic little sister, Helen Grey, and has been persuaded to join them in a visit they are about to pay to a hospitable Highland friend, instead of continuing his languid solitary wanderings.He and Hardy were soon agreeably engaged in talking over early recollections and subsequent events; and the genuine kindness and lively good sense of the whole party tended considerably to overcome Bayntun’s moody feelings, and dissipate the somewhat peevish melancholy in which he usually indulged.Towards evening Hardy announced that they must prepare to go on shore, as they had reached the nearest available landing-place to Glennaclach, the residence of Mr Stewart. The mountain mists were tinged with glowing gold, and under the shadow of the dark hill-sides the waters of the loch looked grey and cold, when the party stepped into the little boat which came out to meet them. A few passengers of an inferior rank accompanied them, and were heartily welcomed by the men in the boat in their wild Gaelic. Suddenly they all seemed to remember that there were strangers amongst them, and, with a courteousness which might put to the blush many more cultivated societies, continued their conversation in English; and addressing Hardy, as the evident head of the party, volunteered any assistance or information they could give. His plan had been at once to obtain some vehicle to convey them to his friend’s house in Glennaclach, but this he found to be impossible, as the distance was considerable, and part of the road liable to be overflowed by the tide. The only arrangement to be made, therefore, was to pass the night at the little inn near the landing-place, and proceed the following day on their visit. So Edmund Bayntun was condemned to spend the evening in an uncarpeted room, redolent of whisky and tobacco, the fumes of which ascended from the kitchen, where, as their usual rendezvous was occupied, the frequenters of the inn were holding their evening carousal; but the moon shone in a spreading path of silver upon the waters of the loch as the tide came rippling softly and steadily in, and he gazed upon it, and actually felt enjoyment. Soon from the party below rose and swelled a wild and melodious chorus, then a single voice sang alone, and again the chorus joined in, till it was suddenly hushed, and, after a little consultation, the landlord came up to ask, in the peculiarly delicate tone in which the Western Highlanders speak English, whether the ladies were annoyed by the noise below, as it should cease immediately if they wished it. Softened as it was, the effect of the music added much to their enjoyment, and they begged it might not be checked on their account.Early the next day, in high spirits, and perfectly refreshed, though their accommodation had certainly been of the roughest description, the little party set off up Glennaclach, the gentlemen on foot and the ladies and carpet-bags in a cart full of straw, drawn by a rough wild-eyed pony, led by a Highlander equally so.“Donald’s but a daft lad, but he knows the road and will guide ye safely, so ye’ll no be troubled with that,” said the mistress of the inn, as she shook up the straw in the cart so as to form cushions for the two ladies.Donald was at first sight what would, in England, be called a lad, till, on closer inspection, his thick loose curls were perceived to be mingled, not sparingly, with grey. These he shook down over his wild light-blue eyes whenever he spoke, but, as he heard the mistress’s remark, he signified his appreciation of her confidence by throwing his head backwards, and, taking an inverted view of his charge, he opened his wide mouth and uttered the exclamation “Hech!” with a prolonged guttural aspiration. Then he addressed himself volubly to the pony in English and Gaelic indifferently, and not a word would he utter except for the information of this, his chosen friend and companion, in answer to any questions put to him.Merrily they travelled, for the roads in Argyleshire are excellent, and the jolting of the cart, consequently, much less than they had ventured to anticipate; so that there was nothing to interrupt their enjoyment of the varied, always lovely, scenery through which their road lay. Now they crossed an elevated ridge, where heath and grey rock were mingled in rich though subdued tints; then they descended through a wood of fairy birches, whose light foliage quivered against the pure blue sky, to the margin of the loch, which glistened in the morning sunlight, on one hand, and the steep grey rock formed a wall on the other, over which, amongst pines and stunted oaks, the broad heads and short wide horns of the Highland cattle would occasionally appear. As they ascended the glen new hills came into view, some apparently of smooth velvet surface, descending with an easy slope towards the waterside, where a fringe of varied wood was reflected so clearly that it was difficult to distinguish it from the reality; others, dark and rugged, refusing to smile even under the joyous rays of the young day. Bayntun was less obdurate in his gloom, but he seemed to check himself whenever he yielded to the enlivening influences of place and circumstances; while Hardy gave himself up so entirely to the pure pleasure of the moment, that his chest heaved, and his eyes filled with tears, and he could have thrown himself down upon the heather in an ecstasy of joy.“How dark and gloomy that glen looks between the steep mountain and the round smooth hill on the opposite side of the lake!” exclaimed Helen Grey.“What is that glen called, Donald?” asked Mr Hardy.“Ye ken the name as weel as any other word ye speak, Sandie, so come away and dinna be wasting your breath with asking idle questions,” said Donald, addressing the pony. Then, giving a leer at Helen from behind his grizzly locks, he began singing a few words of a Gaelic song; next he addressed some sentences in the same language to the pony, accompanied by a chuckling laugh; after which, he tossed back his head to take another inverted view of the party, and then giving a jerk to the short bridle by which he led the pony, he nodded to him in a patronising manner, saying, “Your memory’s short, Sandie; but we should ay pity folks that’s weak in mind, and so I’ll answer ye. Yon’s Glen Bogie, Sandie,” he continued almost in a whisper; “but ye shouldna go there in the full of the moon, Sandie, for there’s sights and sounds in Glen Bogie that would make a wise man quake and loosen his teeth in his head, much more a poor daft lad like you, Sandie. Dinnayegang there, Sandie, to hear the Campbells come down the glen to cry the coronach over their dead, and them dead and gone themselves these hundred years. Ha! ha! Sandie. I heard it once mysel’ when the wind soughed in the trees and the burn roared amongst the stones; and I heard the rustle of their tartans, and when the moon shone out I saw them. Hush, Sandie! Whisht, my bonnie man! The sun shines now, and we’re no going to Glen Bogie.”The convulsive jerks he had given to the bridle here made the pony so restive, that Donald’s whole attention was required to quiet him.“That all sounds very delightful,” said Helen, still gazing at the dark glen which branched off from the wider one up which they were proceeding.“Have you a fancy for spectral coronachs, Helen?” asked Hardy, smiling.“I must go to Glen Bogie,” she replied in a very decided tone.“And what says the little wife?” continued Arthur.“Oh, by all means give Helen an opportunity of making friends with real bogies, and in Glen Bogie they must be genuine,” answered Mrs Hardy. “Besides, I cannot help thinking that there really was some ghastly tragedy enacted about here in which the Campbells were concerned. Glen Bogie may be the very spot.”“Oh, I hope so,” exclaimed Helen, turning quite pale.Suddenly Donald checked the pony’s pace, and his own half-dancing ambling steps, as, after passing a few thatched cottages roughly built of stone, they came in sight of a moderately-sized house, with wings added apparently as they were required; out-buildings and farm-house, surrounded by stately beech and spreading gene or wild cherry-trees. Immediately in front of the house, which, like most Highland mansions, was slated and white-washed, a lawn, shaded by fine trees, sloped towards the lake, where two boats were moored close to a boat-house; while the adjoining portion of the slope was laid out in a garden, now basking in the sunshine.“Tread lightly, Sandie; there’s sorrow and pain at hand,” said Donald, in a tone so mournful and different from the wild, half-scoffing manner he had before adopted, that a thrill of apprehension ran through the whole party. “There’s sorrow yonder in the house of Glennaclach, and no cheering welcome for the Sassenach strangers.” His keen wandering glance had discovered one of the boats now moored to the shore, rowed hastily across the loch a few minutes before, and two figures hurrying up from it to the house. One of these he knew to be the only doctor in the glen. There were other signs of alarm and confusion; servants hastening to and fro, cottagers meeting and pausing as if to ask questions; and with all his wildness, half of which was but assumed to excite an interest which flattered his weak intellect, poor Donald was an acute observer, and sincerely attached to the family of the laird of Glennaclach, so that he readily took alarm. To the travellers, not perceiving the tokens by which he formed his suggestion, it had all the effect of the supernatural.“Go you forward alone, Misther Hardy,” said Donald, addressing him for the first time; “and if there’s a welcome for you, come back and fetch the ladies, and,”—here he designated Bayntun by a certain contemptuous turn of the chin towards him.“But why should you doubt it, Donald?” asked Hardy.“Go you forward, Misther Hardy, or I maun go myself,” repeated Donald impatiently, and holding the pony firmly, as if determined that he at least should not proceed.To humour him, Hardy followed his directions, but as he neared the house, a sound fell upon his ear which alarmed him; a boyish voice uttered a suppressed moan of intense suffering, repeated, yet apparently controlled by an effort. Seeing him pause, one of the group of people who stood with grief and terror in their countenances outside the door came towards him.“Make haste, sir, if you are a doctor and can do him any good. He is not dead, though I never thought to hear the sound of his voice again when the tree gave way with him, and I saw the bonnie lad go down over the crags like a stane.”“What has happened?” inquired Hardy. “I am no doctor, but I will gladly give any help I can.”Then followed a voluble explanation in Gaelic from the whole group, interspersed with a few words in English, from which Hardy learned that one of the laird’s younger brothers, in climbing along the crags by the side of a waterfall, had trusted his weight to a slight tree which gave way with him, precipitating him into the rocky bed of the foaming torrent. The doctor was now examining the injuries he had received. While the women were speaking, a young man appeared at the door and said a few words to them in a kind but determined tone, which had the effect of instantly silencing and dispersing them; and he then perceived Hardy.“Hardy, is this your promised visit? Alone, and at this unfortunate moment? Not that you are the less welcome,” he added, shaking him warmly by the hand, and leading him into the house.The gleam of reason which had dictated Donald’s suggestion vanished as soon as Hardy followed it, and he began indulging in crazy merriment at having produced the excitement and alarm so visible in the faces of the three remaining strangers. Though Bayntun would not have confessed it, his imagination was strangely excited, and his nerves shaken, when Hardy and the young laird came together from the house.“I am sorry to say that Donald’s conjecture was but too correct,” said Arthur; after introducing his friend; “and I have succeeded in convincing Glennaclach, much against his hospitable inclination, that he would distress us all by receiving us under such circumstances.” He then briefly explained what had happened, and his own proposition that they should proceed to Glen Bogie.“Since you will positively not remain with me, it is some satisfaction to know that at Glen Bogie, notwithstanding the ill-omened connection it has with my house, you will meet with a more hospitable reception, if you do not fear it for its reputation of being haunted,” said the young man. “My boats are at your service to take you there; and I am vexed at not having the pleasure of myself introducing you to the scenery of the Glen; but in my mother’s present anxiety respecting my brother, I cannot leave her even for a few hours. His hurts are not dangerous, however, and I hope to-morrow to be able to bring you all back to my house.”As he spoke, he carefully assisted the ladies to alight from the cart, returning Donald’s reverential salutation kindly, and desiring him to convey what Donald called thethravellingbags down to the boat. Helen thought of Fergus McIvor, of course, though nothing could be more dissimilar from the hero of Waverley than the frank, simple-mannered young Highlander, who, with kind quiet courtesy, was handing Mrs Hardy down the sloping lawn. Two men were ready in the boat, which was carefully spread with plaids, and Mr Stewart, or Glennaclach, as he was called in a district where the name Stewart is so frequent that it is absolutely necessary to distinguish the proprietors by the names of their estates, having given his orders to the men in their native language, and placed his intended guests comfortably, gave the boat a shove off from the shore, and lifted his bonnet as a parting salute.“Now you have seen a real live Highland laird, Helen,” said Mrs Hardy, smiling.As the men plied their square-handled oars, the young laird called out something to them in Gaelic, which made them look shy and shake their heads.“I want them to sing to you,” said he in English; and after some hesitation, one of them struck up a wild song, which, in spite of the nasal sound he gave it, was full of beauty. So they glided over the still waters of the loch, which was—“All of the dazzling sheen,Like magic mirror, where slumbering layThe sun and the sky and the cloudlet grey;Which heaved and trembled and gently swung;On every shore they seemed to be hung;For there they were seen on their downward plainA thousand times and a thousand again;In winding lake and placid firth,Little peaceful heavens in the bosom of earth.”“Where did you learn that, Alice?” inquired Hardy gently, as his wife concluded these lines, which she murmured rather than pronounced, as she leaned back in the boat looking down into the water, and rippling it with her delicate fingers.“It is in Hogg’s ‘Kilmeny,’” she answered. “You don’t know the poem, Arthur, but we will read it some day. Kilmeny was taken away to the spirit-land, and allowed to revisit her native Scotland, to show what a woman can be and what she can do.”“And did she take you with her, Alice?” said her husband.Mrs Hardy’s cheek glowed at the implied compliment.Soon they entered the little stream which Mr Stewart had pointed out to them, and truly it was a lovely scene. Although evidently deep, the water was so transparently clear that each pebble and fibre of weed was distinctly seen. Trees arched overhead, hanging at times so far across the stream that it was difficult to manage the oars. Where it widened, little islands, covered with trees, ferns, and wild-flowers, broke it into still narrower channels, forming leafy vistas, occasionally terminating in the blue hills.“Oh, what is that?” exclaimed Helen, as a large bird rose with heavy flight from a point of land which they were approaching.“Hech! yon’s ta bhird,” commenced one of the rowers, with great animation; then, checked by the consciousness that, however well he might be supplied with information regarding the bird, he could not communicate it in English, he continued in a more subdued tone, “Yon’s ta bhird ye may often see nigh ta wather.”The heron, for such it was, continued to precede them up the stream, resting on a point of land till they came close to it, and then majestically and gloomily rising, to alight again. In about an hour the boat touched a sandy beach, surrounded with magnificent chestnut trees, amongst which the stream still ran, but so shallow and rocky a’s to be unnavigable.“And, now, are we in Glen Bogie?” asked Helen.“Ay, ye may say that,” said the man who had before spoken.With some difficulty they followed him by the brink of the stream, as, with their bags on his arm, he led the way. The glen became darker and narrower; gloomy firs, through which the summer wind moaned sadly, replaced the varied wood; a lofty mountain interposed its precipitous rocky side between the stream and the sun, which seemed never to shine on its troubled waters. As if placed as far as possible within the dark ravine, stood the house of Glen Bogie, and immediately behind it rose a grove of firs.“What a beautiful sketch this would make!” said Helen, as they came suddenly upon a foaming torrent, which, descending the hill-side, emerged from the rocks, heather, and stunted trees, and fell into the stream by which they were guided.“We must have it, Bayntun,” said Hardy. “The stream is swollen by yesterday’s rain, and by to-morrow would appear to less advantage.”“I shall gladly attempt to render it justice,” answered Bayntun, “but it must be a work of time.”“If you do not mind remaining, I will take Mrs Hardy and my sister on to the house and return to guide you, for I am sure they must be tired,” said Hardy.Both ladies owned to considerable fatigue, notwithstanding their enjoyment. In answer to Bayntun’s inquiries, their guide assured him that he would have no difficulty in finding his way to the house alone, which he preferred.Hardy and the two ladies then climbed the rocks from which the waterfall issued, and crossed by an old stone bridge; then again descending to the stream they had left, they followed it till they arrived opposite to the house, when they were greeted by furious barking from a number of dogs which simultaneously rushed from every angle of the building, ranging savagely up and down the waterside.They were soon hushed by the appearance of a stout middle-aged woman, dressed in a gown of dark blue linsey-woolsey and a snow-white cap, who came out to see what had caused their noise.“Yon’s Mrs Cameron,” said the guide; and in answer to her greeting, which was in Gaelic, and shouted with the full force of her strong vocal organs, he apparently told her who her guests were, and the cause of their coming.“Any from Glennaclach are welcome to my roof,” said she in English, surveying them for a few minutes with her head on one side and her arms folded across her portly person. “Go you round to the bridge, and I will meet you; the lads are all away, but they’ll be at home the night, and meantime I will make you as welcome as a lone wife may.”Still shouting to them across the stream, she stepped out firmly over the loose stones and met them on a high arched stone bridge, bestowing on each a hearty shake of the hand, and on Hardy a hearty thump on the shoulders, accompanied by the compliment—“You’ve a right honest face, my lad.”She then spoke with respectful interest of the family at Glennaclach.“There’s no race like the Stewarts, meet them when and where you will,” added she.Passing by several out-buildings, from which all the dogs rushed forth again, she led the way to the principal entrance of what was once a Highland gentleman’s mansion, gloomy and desolate as it now looked.“My daughters are all married and away, and none of the lads has brought home a bride to take their place,” she said, rather sadly, and then bursting into a loud laugh, she continued—“But I am more than wife to all of them; look here,” and opening a large chest, she drew forth pieces of cloth and linen of all descriptions. “Spun it all with these hands, and there’s plenty of work in them yet; and see there,” she said, triumphantly pointing to dozens of woollen hose which hung in the wide chimney of the kitchen, to which she now led the way.Then remembering that her guests must be tired and hungry, she placed upon the table oat-cake, milk, and whisky in abundance, heartily inviting them to partake of them.The task which Bayntun had undertaken was longer than he had anticipated. While engaged upon it, his mind recurred more than once to the hints he had heard of the place he was now in. Donald’s apparently prophetic announcement of the sorrow which had befallen the family they had intended to visit had also taken a strange hold upon his fancy. Moreover he was tired and hungry, and whatever ascetics may say to the contrary, the mind cannot work so healthfully in conjunction with a feeble body, as with one in such comfortable condition that none of the reasoning faculties are needed to master its sufferings. In fact, he was neither more nor less than nervous. The spot in which he was left was calculated to increase these feelings, so totally lonely and silent, except the sad music of the breeze in the fir-trees, and the stream gurgling and rushing down the rocks. Just below him—for, although far beneath the level of the top of the waterfall, he was some feet above its base—was a smooth grassy nook, protected from the water by a wall of black rock, in which was a shallow cave overhung by a weeping birch.Bayntun had noticed this when he first began his sketch, but as his sight grew rather dazzled from watching the constant play of the water, and the sun sank behind the towering mountain, he lost sight of it altogether. As he concluded his work and prepared to follow his friends, his steps were arrested by a harsh chuckle unlike any human voice, but which seemed equally unlike the sound of bird or beast. It proceeded from the cave in the grassy nook, and so excited Bayntun’s curiosity that he could not refrain from investigating its origin. With some difficulty he lowered himself down the face of the rock by means of the large ferns and bushes, and as he neared the cave the sound became louder and harsher, and expressive of terror. Just as he reached the spot and extended his hand to hold back the branches which overhung it, there was a shriek, and a violent rustle from within; and a form sprang out, passed him, and climbing the rock with the agility of a monkey, by clutching the boughs with its long lean arms and hands, fled away, continuing its wild chuckle.Edmund stood paralysed. It must be something human or supernatural, but how it came there, and whether its glaring eyes had been fixed upon him as he sat there believing himself alone, he could not guess. Resolved not to give way to the strange fears which came crowding into his mind, he climbed up the rock again, and crossing the bridge, followed, as he thought, the path described by the Highlander. Instead, however, of soon finding himself at the farm-house, he lost all view of that or any other habitation; and pausing for a moment to peer amongst the trees for signs of a path, he heard again that unnatural chuckle at no great distance from him.“Absurd folly!” said he to himself; “it must either be a poor maniac or some mischievous young mountaineer;” so he turned towards the sound, pushing his way through the underwood till he perceived an opening in the wood. There, on the shadowy hill-side, in a magic circle of mossy grey stones and whins, or furze, he witnessed a ghastly dance of pallid forms tossing their arms wildly above their heads, and, in the midst of them, the hobgoblin being which had just escaped from him, its grey garment fluttering, and its limbs jerking frantically as it bounded from one to the other of its spectral partners. Edmund paused in bewilderment.“This is fearful,” he mentally ejaculated. “I confess I don’t half like it.”He then endeavoured to retrace his steps towards the stream, which he should have followed as a guide towards the house, and at length discovered it by the sound of its murmuring waters. Hastening on, he had almost reached the old stone bridge on which Mrs Cameron had received her guests, when he perceived, as he thought, a tall Highlander, kilted, plaided, and bonneted, leaning against a tree a little to the right of the path, in an easy attitude, with one foot crossed over the other, one hand on his side, and the other supporting his head. His face was ghastly in its whiteness, and not less so were his hands and knees, and Bayntun’s first impulse was to hasten to his assistance, believing him to be ill. Greatly was he startled to find, on reaching the tree against which the figure had leaned so immovably, that he was gone. Not a trace or sound of him, and in the spot he had occupied was a twisted thorn, from which some branches had been lopped off. In Bayntun’s excited state of imagination he never suspected the truth, that these twisted branches, with the light shining through them, and the white wood showing where boughs had been removed, had formed the figure he had seen. More than ever impressed with the idea that the place was haunted, or his own brain affected, he sprang upon the bridge, and in a few minutes was heartily welcomed into the kitchen of Glen Bogie, where Mrs Cameron and a stout Highland girl were busily preparing a substantial and savoury supper.Soon afterwards voices were heard outside, and home came the “lads,” as Mrs Cameron called her sons.“Gude Lochaber stock, the whole of them,” said she, giving each a hearty slap on his shoulders as he came in.And they certainly all did credit to Lochaber, from the eldest, who was a thoughtful-browed Highlander, to Dugald the youngest, a slight active lad of nineteen, with mirth and daring in his eye.The supper was laid out in what had once been the dining-room of the Campbells of Glen Bogie. When it was concluded, a short consultation between the mother and sons was carried on in Gaelic, the result of which was, that the eldest Cameron invited “Misther Hardy and his friend to take their pipes and whisky in the kitchen along with the rest of us.”“Might we not come too?” whispered Mrs Hardy, who felt rather oppressed with the idea of entertaining their hostess, who was rather deaf, in the dreary parlour.To the kitchen they all adjourned, where a bright peat-fire glowed on the ground, in the centre of the wide chimney. Some of the dogs had crept in actually behind it, and lay dozing with one ear always on the alert. Wooden settles were placed in the ingle-nook for the young men, and the guests were accommodated with heavy high-backed chairs. Mrs Cameron drew her spinning-wheel towards her, and for a few minutes there were no sounds but its busy hum, and the roaring of the wind down the chimney, and amongst the old trees, and the ceaseless voice of the burn chafing in its rocky bed.“Was there not some sad story of a quarrel between the Campbells and the Stewarts of this neighbourhood?” asked Helen of the company in general, very much afraid of hearing her own voice, but still more afraid of losing the delight of hearing the story, whatever it might be, on the very spot where the events took place.“Neighbourhood!” repeated Mrs Cameron, “a neighbourhood should be a place where neighbours meet as friends, and the Campbells and Stewarts never can be friends. Did not I see a bonnie bride of the house of Stewart leave her father’s house with a Campbell for her husband, and was not blood shed even on the threshold? for, as the horses started off with their white cockades, one of the lads that rode them fell from the saddle in a fit, and was trampled to death under their feet, and sickness and Borrow waited on the bride till she was at rest in her grave. There’s no peace not friendship between the Campbells and Stewarts, and they should not be called neighbours.”“But, mother, the young lady was asking you about the quarrel,” said Dugald, “and not wishing to mend it.”“The young lady is not angered with a foolish old wife,” answered his mother, bursting into her loudest, harshest laugh, and laying her hand kindly on Helen’s. “She will pardon me, for I was born a Stewart, and I cannot hear with patience when any talk of the natural enemies of my family. Do you tell how it fell out, Ian, for your English is better than mine,” said she, addressing her eldest son.It should be remembered, that Gaelic being so universally spoken in the Western Highlands, English is only acquired in a degree to be spoken fluently by people of some education, and is pronounced by them with a softness and delicacy amounting to an appearance of affectation. Ian Cameron related his story deliberately, and in choice language, giving each word and idea time to take effect before it was succeeded by another.“You will have heard that when the royal house of Stuart lost the day, the lands of many who had fought for the right were confiscated, and bestowed as rewards upon the Campbells and others who stood up for might rather than right. This estate of Glen Bogie was one of them, and with it the Campbell to whom it was given received favours and authority, which he used as you would expect from a man that was not born to it, and had got it by ill means. They that would rule over a Highlander must find their way to the heart, and must trust him as one honest man trusts another. Campbell never did that. He knew that he was not loved, nor welcome, but still there was not a man—from a Stewart to a McCall—that would have raised a hand against him, except it were in open fight.“You will have seen the rocky peak of Skuliahams, which shuts in the head of Glennaclach, as you came up the Toberdhu; that is the stream which we call the Blackwater. Just to the right of that peak there is a pass over the hill, and for eight miles the way is rough and dreary. Often have I travelled that road by night and day, and with the snow drifting in my face I have thought never to see my own fireside again. Campbell had gone by that pass to collect rents, but he did not return when they expected him. His wife grew alarmed, for she knew the hearts of the tenants were not with him; so she sent first one, then another, of his people, and lastly she went herself to watch for them on the hill-side, whence she could see far up the glen. Singly the people crossed the hill, but they all returned together, and amongst them they carried the corpse of Campbell, who had been shot dead in the wood beyond the hills, which was on the property of a Stewart. The widow went out to meet them; but she shed no tears nor spoke a word. Some say she had beenwarned.“They brought him across the meadow yonder, and carried him up into the room overhead, and the Campbells came from far and near, and vowed vengeance upon the Stewarts; and it is said that as they hung up the dead man’s plaid, all stiff with his blood, so they swore to hang up a Stewart on the spot where Campbell was found dead. There was a show of law, too; for having fixed their suspicions upon a tenant-farmer like myself, a man named Stewart, they tried him by a jury—all of Campbells—and in the wood they hanged him, within sight of six residences of Stewarts; and watch was kept, day and night, lest the body should be removed. Vengeance and law they called it, but it was murder; for before the bones of their victim had whitened on the gibbet, it was discovered that Campbell had been shot by a foreign soldier who had some private quarrel with him. Can the Stewarts and Campbells be friends after that?”There was a pause, and the young Highlanders sat looking sternly into the glowing fire. Tramp, tramp, came, heavy steps overhead, as of several persons moving some heavy burden. Bayntun felt his heart beat faster. He would not for worlds have let any one suspect it. Even Mrs Hardy, drew involuntarily nearer to her husband, and Helen’s eyes opened wider, while the most ghastly spectre would not have burst upon her sight unexpected.“The lassies are putting the Doctor’s room in order for your friend, Misther Hardy. Maybe he is not used to rough lodging, and it is well for him that, the Doctor being at the house of Glennaclach to-night, I can give him the room,” said Mrs Cameron.Dugald made some remark in Gaelic, with a mischievous glance towards Bayntun, but was sternly checked by his mother. Nevertheless, Bayntun perceived it, and determined more resolutely than ever not to divulge the strange sights and fancies which had haunted him.Night had fairly closed in, and the reflection of the lights in the room mingled on the window-panes with the other objects outside, just lighted by a crescent moon, when, as Bayntun glanced towards the window, he perceived close to it the face of the hideous goblin which had haunted him in the day, and at the same moment came that fearful chuckle.“Poor Marie Vhan,” said Mrs Cameron, rising and going to the door; “where has the wild creature been straying?”“Marie has been naughty to-day,” said Dugald, speaking in English from fear of another rebuke from his mother: “she has been tossing and tearing the fleeces which were left to dry upon the whins.”“Poor body,” rejoined Mrs Cameron. “It is a poor daft lassie. Her father is one of our shepherds, and it is a sad trouble to a poor man to have a feckless child that can do naught for herself, so she bides with me when she likes, and I give her food and shelter; but she will not stay long in any place.”As she spoke, one of the servant girls opened another door, and began scolding the child in no gentle terms for the mischief she had done, which was serious in its way, for the fleeces had been prepared for spinning in long loose bands, and were required for her mistress’s immediate use. Instantly the wild creature fled chuckling into the wood, and up the dark dreary glen.“It is an evil deed you have done, Lizzie, to drive the poor body from the door with your angry tongue,” said the mistress, as she resumed her place at the wheel.Lizzie was out of hearing, and could not have understood had she been in the room, but the expression of disapprobation relieved Mrs Cameron’s indignant feelings.Bayntun’s cheek glowed in the firelight at the solution of the terrific goblin dance which had so shaken his nerves. Fortified by a good sapper, and cheered by the sound of many voices, he now felt himself proof against bogies of all kinds, and at an early hour the party dispersed for the night. The home-made tallow candle which lighted Edmund’s spacious and gloomy apartment rendered the outlines of the dark, heavy furniture more massive and unshapely than they really were. It had been the state-room of the mansion, and was now let to a doctor, who, though possessed of considerable skill, had so lost his reputation by his intemperate habits, that he was driven to conceal his disgrace in this unfrequented glen, where his services were valued and repaid, and his failings easily overlooked. In a large closet adjoining were kept the phials and jars containing his supplies of drugs, etc, and from this closet was a narrow staircase, with a door by which the Doctor could come in and go out without disturbing the family.“It was in this room that the Campbells cried the coronach over their dead, and here the jury sat to try poor Stewart, and the dead man’s plaid was hung in that closet, and by that staircase they brought Stewart in—the false-hearted murderers!” exclaimed Dugald Cameron; and having courteously begged the guest to ask for anything that was wanting for his comfort and repose, he left him to rest.Completely yet healthfully fatigued, Edmund soon fell asleep. How long he slept, or whether he was still dreaming, he knew not, but distinct to his vision appeared the figure of a man leaning against the doorway of the closet adjoining his bedroom, from which shone a quivering spectral light. His plaid hung heavily, as if steeped in moisture, round his tall gaunt form. His bonnet was pressed down upon his brows, and under its shade his face looked pale and distorted by pain or sorrow, as he stood motionless, gazing intently upon the sleeper.“This is a dream. The mysterious figure in the wood is haunting my memory. I will not give way to these fancies,” said Bayntun, mentally. “It is a very uncomfortable dream, too,” continued he, as the figure, still keeping its glazy eyes fixed upon his face, moved slowly towards him. The old floor creaked under his steps. “Dreams are often suggested by some real sound associating itself with the previous train of our thoughts. If I could but rouse myself, this phantom would be dissipated.” Yet his eyes felt perfectly wide open, and there was none of the painful sense of oppression on the eyelids and restraint upon the tongue which usually attends an unpleasant dream. Nearer and nearer came that pale, haggard face, till the sound of his breathing became audible. “That is myself breathing quick, and no wonder,” thought he. “Edmund Bayntun, why don’t you rouse yourself? What a fool you are!” and uttering the last sentence with the full strength of his voice, Edmund started up, and at the same moment the spectre staggered back, exclaiming—“Ay, sirs! That is not a civil way to speak to a gentleman, more especially finding himself turned out of his own bed when he comes home to it, wet and tired.”More and more perplexed, Bayntun stammered out, “Really, sir, I beg your pardon, but I thought—I took you—that is to say, I fancied that I was dreaming, and I don’t feel quite sure whether I am awake now.”“Waking or dreaming, my man, you should always use civil language. When I saw you lying so comfortably in my bed, I was just thinking I would leave you there, and go down myself to the kitchen fire; but really, your uncivil speech!—Ha! ha! it is a good joke, too, to be mistaken for a dream. So, good night to you, young man, and I will not disturb you again.”The next morning the Doctor was found fast asleep in the kitchen. His young patient at the house of Glennaclach not needing his assistance so much as another sick person in the Glen, he had left him early in the evening, and preferred coming home to Glen Bogie rather than returning late at night to disturb the household of Mr Stewart. Early in the day the young laird arrived, with a pressing invitation to the four English strangers to come and stay at his house. They willingly accepted it, and whether they enjoyed the visit is a question to be best answered by those who have found themselves the guests of a Highland family, amongst their own beautiful glens, and mountains, and woods, and waterfalls, after passing months and years in cities, and amidst “the hum, the buzz, the crush of men.”Bayntun spent much time after this in the society of his friend Hardy, and, yielding to his advice and example, adopted a more stirring, healthful, vigorous course of thought and life, and his favourite motto was—“Let us, then, be up and doing,With a heart for any fate.”

A gaily-painted canal boat was gliding smoothly and swiftly through the still waters of the Crinan Canal, which intersects the Mull of Cantire in Argyleshire. A steep bank of overhanging wood lay on one side, and on the other an open view stretched toward distant hills.

The day had been showery; drops sparkled upon the leaves, and pattered down on the boat as she passed beneath the hanging boughs; light clouds were speeding across the clear blue heavens, and as the sun shone out a fairy-like rainbow lay along the hill-side.

With a rustling sound the boat cut through the placid water, and for a time none other broke the silence; the exquisite peace and beauty of the scene cast a spell upon the party who were passengers on board, and, different as were the various tones of mind, one feeling seemed now to pervade the group. During this pause, let us examine the figures composing it.

That active well-formed man, with good sense and merriment in his clear kindly eye, and about his firm mouth, is Arthur Hardy. His early life of laborious self-denial, in support of dependent young brothers and sisters, has been rewarded with success and present prosperity.

The graceful lounging figure beside him, whose handsome features are clouded by such a look of inward dissatisfaction, is Edmund Bayntun, the luxurious and self-indulgent course of whose days lacks the stimulus of any object to rouse his faculties, brighten his eye, and dispel the dreamy gloom now habitual to his manner.

He and Hardy were school-fellows, and have unexpectedly met, to their great mutual pleasure. Edmund has just been introduced to Mrs Arthur Hardy and her pretty and rather romantic little sister, Helen Grey, and has been persuaded to join them in a visit they are about to pay to a hospitable Highland friend, instead of continuing his languid solitary wanderings.

He and Hardy were soon agreeably engaged in talking over early recollections and subsequent events; and the genuine kindness and lively good sense of the whole party tended considerably to overcome Bayntun’s moody feelings, and dissipate the somewhat peevish melancholy in which he usually indulged.

Towards evening Hardy announced that they must prepare to go on shore, as they had reached the nearest available landing-place to Glennaclach, the residence of Mr Stewart. The mountain mists were tinged with glowing gold, and under the shadow of the dark hill-sides the waters of the loch looked grey and cold, when the party stepped into the little boat which came out to meet them. A few passengers of an inferior rank accompanied them, and were heartily welcomed by the men in the boat in their wild Gaelic. Suddenly they all seemed to remember that there were strangers amongst them, and, with a courteousness which might put to the blush many more cultivated societies, continued their conversation in English; and addressing Hardy, as the evident head of the party, volunteered any assistance or information they could give. His plan had been at once to obtain some vehicle to convey them to his friend’s house in Glennaclach, but this he found to be impossible, as the distance was considerable, and part of the road liable to be overflowed by the tide. The only arrangement to be made, therefore, was to pass the night at the little inn near the landing-place, and proceed the following day on their visit. So Edmund Bayntun was condemned to spend the evening in an uncarpeted room, redolent of whisky and tobacco, the fumes of which ascended from the kitchen, where, as their usual rendezvous was occupied, the frequenters of the inn were holding their evening carousal; but the moon shone in a spreading path of silver upon the waters of the loch as the tide came rippling softly and steadily in, and he gazed upon it, and actually felt enjoyment. Soon from the party below rose and swelled a wild and melodious chorus, then a single voice sang alone, and again the chorus joined in, till it was suddenly hushed, and, after a little consultation, the landlord came up to ask, in the peculiarly delicate tone in which the Western Highlanders speak English, whether the ladies were annoyed by the noise below, as it should cease immediately if they wished it. Softened as it was, the effect of the music added much to their enjoyment, and they begged it might not be checked on their account.

Early the next day, in high spirits, and perfectly refreshed, though their accommodation had certainly been of the roughest description, the little party set off up Glennaclach, the gentlemen on foot and the ladies and carpet-bags in a cart full of straw, drawn by a rough wild-eyed pony, led by a Highlander equally so.

“Donald’s but a daft lad, but he knows the road and will guide ye safely, so ye’ll no be troubled with that,” said the mistress of the inn, as she shook up the straw in the cart so as to form cushions for the two ladies.

Donald was at first sight what would, in England, be called a lad, till, on closer inspection, his thick loose curls were perceived to be mingled, not sparingly, with grey. These he shook down over his wild light-blue eyes whenever he spoke, but, as he heard the mistress’s remark, he signified his appreciation of her confidence by throwing his head backwards, and, taking an inverted view of his charge, he opened his wide mouth and uttered the exclamation “Hech!” with a prolonged guttural aspiration. Then he addressed himself volubly to the pony in English and Gaelic indifferently, and not a word would he utter except for the information of this, his chosen friend and companion, in answer to any questions put to him.

Merrily they travelled, for the roads in Argyleshire are excellent, and the jolting of the cart, consequently, much less than they had ventured to anticipate; so that there was nothing to interrupt their enjoyment of the varied, always lovely, scenery through which their road lay. Now they crossed an elevated ridge, where heath and grey rock were mingled in rich though subdued tints; then they descended through a wood of fairy birches, whose light foliage quivered against the pure blue sky, to the margin of the loch, which glistened in the morning sunlight, on one hand, and the steep grey rock formed a wall on the other, over which, amongst pines and stunted oaks, the broad heads and short wide horns of the Highland cattle would occasionally appear. As they ascended the glen new hills came into view, some apparently of smooth velvet surface, descending with an easy slope towards the waterside, where a fringe of varied wood was reflected so clearly that it was difficult to distinguish it from the reality; others, dark and rugged, refusing to smile even under the joyous rays of the young day. Bayntun was less obdurate in his gloom, but he seemed to check himself whenever he yielded to the enlivening influences of place and circumstances; while Hardy gave himself up so entirely to the pure pleasure of the moment, that his chest heaved, and his eyes filled with tears, and he could have thrown himself down upon the heather in an ecstasy of joy.

“How dark and gloomy that glen looks between the steep mountain and the round smooth hill on the opposite side of the lake!” exclaimed Helen Grey.

“What is that glen called, Donald?” asked Mr Hardy.

“Ye ken the name as weel as any other word ye speak, Sandie, so come away and dinna be wasting your breath with asking idle questions,” said Donald, addressing the pony. Then, giving a leer at Helen from behind his grizzly locks, he began singing a few words of a Gaelic song; next he addressed some sentences in the same language to the pony, accompanied by a chuckling laugh; after which, he tossed back his head to take another inverted view of the party, and then giving a jerk to the short bridle by which he led the pony, he nodded to him in a patronising manner, saying, “Your memory’s short, Sandie; but we should ay pity folks that’s weak in mind, and so I’ll answer ye. Yon’s Glen Bogie, Sandie,” he continued almost in a whisper; “but ye shouldna go there in the full of the moon, Sandie, for there’s sights and sounds in Glen Bogie that would make a wise man quake and loosen his teeth in his head, much more a poor daft lad like you, Sandie. Dinnayegang there, Sandie, to hear the Campbells come down the glen to cry the coronach over their dead, and them dead and gone themselves these hundred years. Ha! ha! Sandie. I heard it once mysel’ when the wind soughed in the trees and the burn roared amongst the stones; and I heard the rustle of their tartans, and when the moon shone out I saw them. Hush, Sandie! Whisht, my bonnie man! The sun shines now, and we’re no going to Glen Bogie.”

The convulsive jerks he had given to the bridle here made the pony so restive, that Donald’s whole attention was required to quiet him.

“That all sounds very delightful,” said Helen, still gazing at the dark glen which branched off from the wider one up which they were proceeding.

“Have you a fancy for spectral coronachs, Helen?” asked Hardy, smiling.

“I must go to Glen Bogie,” she replied in a very decided tone.

“And what says the little wife?” continued Arthur.

“Oh, by all means give Helen an opportunity of making friends with real bogies, and in Glen Bogie they must be genuine,” answered Mrs Hardy. “Besides, I cannot help thinking that there really was some ghastly tragedy enacted about here in which the Campbells were concerned. Glen Bogie may be the very spot.”

“Oh, I hope so,” exclaimed Helen, turning quite pale.

Suddenly Donald checked the pony’s pace, and his own half-dancing ambling steps, as, after passing a few thatched cottages roughly built of stone, they came in sight of a moderately-sized house, with wings added apparently as they were required; out-buildings and farm-house, surrounded by stately beech and spreading gene or wild cherry-trees. Immediately in front of the house, which, like most Highland mansions, was slated and white-washed, a lawn, shaded by fine trees, sloped towards the lake, where two boats were moored close to a boat-house; while the adjoining portion of the slope was laid out in a garden, now basking in the sunshine.

“Tread lightly, Sandie; there’s sorrow and pain at hand,” said Donald, in a tone so mournful and different from the wild, half-scoffing manner he had before adopted, that a thrill of apprehension ran through the whole party. “There’s sorrow yonder in the house of Glennaclach, and no cheering welcome for the Sassenach strangers.” His keen wandering glance had discovered one of the boats now moored to the shore, rowed hastily across the loch a few minutes before, and two figures hurrying up from it to the house. One of these he knew to be the only doctor in the glen. There were other signs of alarm and confusion; servants hastening to and fro, cottagers meeting and pausing as if to ask questions; and with all his wildness, half of which was but assumed to excite an interest which flattered his weak intellect, poor Donald was an acute observer, and sincerely attached to the family of the laird of Glennaclach, so that he readily took alarm. To the travellers, not perceiving the tokens by which he formed his suggestion, it had all the effect of the supernatural.

“Go you forward alone, Misther Hardy,” said Donald, addressing him for the first time; “and if there’s a welcome for you, come back and fetch the ladies, and,”—here he designated Bayntun by a certain contemptuous turn of the chin towards him.

“But why should you doubt it, Donald?” asked Hardy.

“Go you forward, Misther Hardy, or I maun go myself,” repeated Donald impatiently, and holding the pony firmly, as if determined that he at least should not proceed.

To humour him, Hardy followed his directions, but as he neared the house, a sound fell upon his ear which alarmed him; a boyish voice uttered a suppressed moan of intense suffering, repeated, yet apparently controlled by an effort. Seeing him pause, one of the group of people who stood with grief and terror in their countenances outside the door came towards him.

“Make haste, sir, if you are a doctor and can do him any good. He is not dead, though I never thought to hear the sound of his voice again when the tree gave way with him, and I saw the bonnie lad go down over the crags like a stane.”

“What has happened?” inquired Hardy. “I am no doctor, but I will gladly give any help I can.”

Then followed a voluble explanation in Gaelic from the whole group, interspersed with a few words in English, from which Hardy learned that one of the laird’s younger brothers, in climbing along the crags by the side of a waterfall, had trusted his weight to a slight tree which gave way with him, precipitating him into the rocky bed of the foaming torrent. The doctor was now examining the injuries he had received. While the women were speaking, a young man appeared at the door and said a few words to them in a kind but determined tone, which had the effect of instantly silencing and dispersing them; and he then perceived Hardy.

“Hardy, is this your promised visit? Alone, and at this unfortunate moment? Not that you are the less welcome,” he added, shaking him warmly by the hand, and leading him into the house.

The gleam of reason which had dictated Donald’s suggestion vanished as soon as Hardy followed it, and he began indulging in crazy merriment at having produced the excitement and alarm so visible in the faces of the three remaining strangers. Though Bayntun would not have confessed it, his imagination was strangely excited, and his nerves shaken, when Hardy and the young laird came together from the house.

“I am sorry to say that Donald’s conjecture was but too correct,” said Arthur; after introducing his friend; “and I have succeeded in convincing Glennaclach, much against his hospitable inclination, that he would distress us all by receiving us under such circumstances.” He then briefly explained what had happened, and his own proposition that they should proceed to Glen Bogie.

“Since you will positively not remain with me, it is some satisfaction to know that at Glen Bogie, notwithstanding the ill-omened connection it has with my house, you will meet with a more hospitable reception, if you do not fear it for its reputation of being haunted,” said the young man. “My boats are at your service to take you there; and I am vexed at not having the pleasure of myself introducing you to the scenery of the Glen; but in my mother’s present anxiety respecting my brother, I cannot leave her even for a few hours. His hurts are not dangerous, however, and I hope to-morrow to be able to bring you all back to my house.”

As he spoke, he carefully assisted the ladies to alight from the cart, returning Donald’s reverential salutation kindly, and desiring him to convey what Donald called thethravellingbags down to the boat. Helen thought of Fergus McIvor, of course, though nothing could be more dissimilar from the hero of Waverley than the frank, simple-mannered young Highlander, who, with kind quiet courtesy, was handing Mrs Hardy down the sloping lawn. Two men were ready in the boat, which was carefully spread with plaids, and Mr Stewart, or Glennaclach, as he was called in a district where the name Stewart is so frequent that it is absolutely necessary to distinguish the proprietors by the names of their estates, having given his orders to the men in their native language, and placed his intended guests comfortably, gave the boat a shove off from the shore, and lifted his bonnet as a parting salute.

“Now you have seen a real live Highland laird, Helen,” said Mrs Hardy, smiling.

As the men plied their square-handled oars, the young laird called out something to them in Gaelic, which made them look shy and shake their heads.

“I want them to sing to you,” said he in English; and after some hesitation, one of them struck up a wild song, which, in spite of the nasal sound he gave it, was full of beauty. So they glided over the still waters of the loch, which was—

“All of the dazzling sheen,Like magic mirror, where slumbering layThe sun and the sky and the cloudlet grey;Which heaved and trembled and gently swung;On every shore they seemed to be hung;For there they were seen on their downward plainA thousand times and a thousand again;In winding lake and placid firth,Little peaceful heavens in the bosom of earth.”

“Where did you learn that, Alice?” inquired Hardy gently, as his wife concluded these lines, which she murmured rather than pronounced, as she leaned back in the boat looking down into the water, and rippling it with her delicate fingers.

“It is in Hogg’s ‘Kilmeny,’” she answered. “You don’t know the poem, Arthur, but we will read it some day. Kilmeny was taken away to the spirit-land, and allowed to revisit her native Scotland, to show what a woman can be and what she can do.”

“And did she take you with her, Alice?” said her husband.

Mrs Hardy’s cheek glowed at the implied compliment.

Soon they entered the little stream which Mr Stewart had pointed out to them, and truly it was a lovely scene. Although evidently deep, the water was so transparently clear that each pebble and fibre of weed was distinctly seen. Trees arched overhead, hanging at times so far across the stream that it was difficult to manage the oars. Where it widened, little islands, covered with trees, ferns, and wild-flowers, broke it into still narrower channels, forming leafy vistas, occasionally terminating in the blue hills.

“Oh, what is that?” exclaimed Helen, as a large bird rose with heavy flight from a point of land which they were approaching.

“Hech! yon’s ta bhird,” commenced one of the rowers, with great animation; then, checked by the consciousness that, however well he might be supplied with information regarding the bird, he could not communicate it in English, he continued in a more subdued tone, “Yon’s ta bhird ye may often see nigh ta wather.”

The heron, for such it was, continued to precede them up the stream, resting on a point of land till they came close to it, and then majestically and gloomily rising, to alight again. In about an hour the boat touched a sandy beach, surrounded with magnificent chestnut trees, amongst which the stream still ran, but so shallow and rocky a’s to be unnavigable.

“And, now, are we in Glen Bogie?” asked Helen.

“Ay, ye may say that,” said the man who had before spoken.

With some difficulty they followed him by the brink of the stream, as, with their bags on his arm, he led the way. The glen became darker and narrower; gloomy firs, through which the summer wind moaned sadly, replaced the varied wood; a lofty mountain interposed its precipitous rocky side between the stream and the sun, which seemed never to shine on its troubled waters. As if placed as far as possible within the dark ravine, stood the house of Glen Bogie, and immediately behind it rose a grove of firs.

“What a beautiful sketch this would make!” said Helen, as they came suddenly upon a foaming torrent, which, descending the hill-side, emerged from the rocks, heather, and stunted trees, and fell into the stream by which they were guided.

“We must have it, Bayntun,” said Hardy. “The stream is swollen by yesterday’s rain, and by to-morrow would appear to less advantage.”

“I shall gladly attempt to render it justice,” answered Bayntun, “but it must be a work of time.”

“If you do not mind remaining, I will take Mrs Hardy and my sister on to the house and return to guide you, for I am sure they must be tired,” said Hardy.

Both ladies owned to considerable fatigue, notwithstanding their enjoyment. In answer to Bayntun’s inquiries, their guide assured him that he would have no difficulty in finding his way to the house alone, which he preferred.

Hardy and the two ladies then climbed the rocks from which the waterfall issued, and crossed by an old stone bridge; then again descending to the stream they had left, they followed it till they arrived opposite to the house, when they were greeted by furious barking from a number of dogs which simultaneously rushed from every angle of the building, ranging savagely up and down the waterside.

They were soon hushed by the appearance of a stout middle-aged woman, dressed in a gown of dark blue linsey-woolsey and a snow-white cap, who came out to see what had caused their noise.

“Yon’s Mrs Cameron,” said the guide; and in answer to her greeting, which was in Gaelic, and shouted with the full force of her strong vocal organs, he apparently told her who her guests were, and the cause of their coming.

“Any from Glennaclach are welcome to my roof,” said she in English, surveying them for a few minutes with her head on one side and her arms folded across her portly person. “Go you round to the bridge, and I will meet you; the lads are all away, but they’ll be at home the night, and meantime I will make you as welcome as a lone wife may.”

Still shouting to them across the stream, she stepped out firmly over the loose stones and met them on a high arched stone bridge, bestowing on each a hearty shake of the hand, and on Hardy a hearty thump on the shoulders, accompanied by the compliment—

“You’ve a right honest face, my lad.”

She then spoke with respectful interest of the family at Glennaclach.

“There’s no race like the Stewarts, meet them when and where you will,” added she.

Passing by several out-buildings, from which all the dogs rushed forth again, she led the way to the principal entrance of what was once a Highland gentleman’s mansion, gloomy and desolate as it now looked.

“My daughters are all married and away, and none of the lads has brought home a bride to take their place,” she said, rather sadly, and then bursting into a loud laugh, she continued—“But I am more than wife to all of them; look here,” and opening a large chest, she drew forth pieces of cloth and linen of all descriptions. “Spun it all with these hands, and there’s plenty of work in them yet; and see there,” she said, triumphantly pointing to dozens of woollen hose which hung in the wide chimney of the kitchen, to which she now led the way.

Then remembering that her guests must be tired and hungry, she placed upon the table oat-cake, milk, and whisky in abundance, heartily inviting them to partake of them.

The task which Bayntun had undertaken was longer than he had anticipated. While engaged upon it, his mind recurred more than once to the hints he had heard of the place he was now in. Donald’s apparently prophetic announcement of the sorrow which had befallen the family they had intended to visit had also taken a strange hold upon his fancy. Moreover he was tired and hungry, and whatever ascetics may say to the contrary, the mind cannot work so healthfully in conjunction with a feeble body, as with one in such comfortable condition that none of the reasoning faculties are needed to master its sufferings. In fact, he was neither more nor less than nervous. The spot in which he was left was calculated to increase these feelings, so totally lonely and silent, except the sad music of the breeze in the fir-trees, and the stream gurgling and rushing down the rocks. Just below him—for, although far beneath the level of the top of the waterfall, he was some feet above its base—was a smooth grassy nook, protected from the water by a wall of black rock, in which was a shallow cave overhung by a weeping birch.

Bayntun had noticed this when he first began his sketch, but as his sight grew rather dazzled from watching the constant play of the water, and the sun sank behind the towering mountain, he lost sight of it altogether. As he concluded his work and prepared to follow his friends, his steps were arrested by a harsh chuckle unlike any human voice, but which seemed equally unlike the sound of bird or beast. It proceeded from the cave in the grassy nook, and so excited Bayntun’s curiosity that he could not refrain from investigating its origin. With some difficulty he lowered himself down the face of the rock by means of the large ferns and bushes, and as he neared the cave the sound became louder and harsher, and expressive of terror. Just as he reached the spot and extended his hand to hold back the branches which overhung it, there was a shriek, and a violent rustle from within; and a form sprang out, passed him, and climbing the rock with the agility of a monkey, by clutching the boughs with its long lean arms and hands, fled away, continuing its wild chuckle.

Edmund stood paralysed. It must be something human or supernatural, but how it came there, and whether its glaring eyes had been fixed upon him as he sat there believing himself alone, he could not guess. Resolved not to give way to the strange fears which came crowding into his mind, he climbed up the rock again, and crossing the bridge, followed, as he thought, the path described by the Highlander. Instead, however, of soon finding himself at the farm-house, he lost all view of that or any other habitation; and pausing for a moment to peer amongst the trees for signs of a path, he heard again that unnatural chuckle at no great distance from him.

“Absurd folly!” said he to himself; “it must either be a poor maniac or some mischievous young mountaineer;” so he turned towards the sound, pushing his way through the underwood till he perceived an opening in the wood. There, on the shadowy hill-side, in a magic circle of mossy grey stones and whins, or furze, he witnessed a ghastly dance of pallid forms tossing their arms wildly above their heads, and, in the midst of them, the hobgoblin being which had just escaped from him, its grey garment fluttering, and its limbs jerking frantically as it bounded from one to the other of its spectral partners. Edmund paused in bewilderment.

“This is fearful,” he mentally ejaculated. “I confess I don’t half like it.”

He then endeavoured to retrace his steps towards the stream, which he should have followed as a guide towards the house, and at length discovered it by the sound of its murmuring waters. Hastening on, he had almost reached the old stone bridge on which Mrs Cameron had received her guests, when he perceived, as he thought, a tall Highlander, kilted, plaided, and bonneted, leaning against a tree a little to the right of the path, in an easy attitude, with one foot crossed over the other, one hand on his side, and the other supporting his head. His face was ghastly in its whiteness, and not less so were his hands and knees, and Bayntun’s first impulse was to hasten to his assistance, believing him to be ill. Greatly was he startled to find, on reaching the tree against which the figure had leaned so immovably, that he was gone. Not a trace or sound of him, and in the spot he had occupied was a twisted thorn, from which some branches had been lopped off. In Bayntun’s excited state of imagination he never suspected the truth, that these twisted branches, with the light shining through them, and the white wood showing where boughs had been removed, had formed the figure he had seen. More than ever impressed with the idea that the place was haunted, or his own brain affected, he sprang upon the bridge, and in a few minutes was heartily welcomed into the kitchen of Glen Bogie, where Mrs Cameron and a stout Highland girl were busily preparing a substantial and savoury supper.

Soon afterwards voices were heard outside, and home came the “lads,” as Mrs Cameron called her sons.

“Gude Lochaber stock, the whole of them,” said she, giving each a hearty slap on his shoulders as he came in.

And they certainly all did credit to Lochaber, from the eldest, who was a thoughtful-browed Highlander, to Dugald the youngest, a slight active lad of nineteen, with mirth and daring in his eye.

The supper was laid out in what had once been the dining-room of the Campbells of Glen Bogie. When it was concluded, a short consultation between the mother and sons was carried on in Gaelic, the result of which was, that the eldest Cameron invited “Misther Hardy and his friend to take their pipes and whisky in the kitchen along with the rest of us.”

“Might we not come too?” whispered Mrs Hardy, who felt rather oppressed with the idea of entertaining their hostess, who was rather deaf, in the dreary parlour.

To the kitchen they all adjourned, where a bright peat-fire glowed on the ground, in the centre of the wide chimney. Some of the dogs had crept in actually behind it, and lay dozing with one ear always on the alert. Wooden settles were placed in the ingle-nook for the young men, and the guests were accommodated with heavy high-backed chairs. Mrs Cameron drew her spinning-wheel towards her, and for a few minutes there were no sounds but its busy hum, and the roaring of the wind down the chimney, and amongst the old trees, and the ceaseless voice of the burn chafing in its rocky bed.

“Was there not some sad story of a quarrel between the Campbells and the Stewarts of this neighbourhood?” asked Helen of the company in general, very much afraid of hearing her own voice, but still more afraid of losing the delight of hearing the story, whatever it might be, on the very spot where the events took place.

“Neighbourhood!” repeated Mrs Cameron, “a neighbourhood should be a place where neighbours meet as friends, and the Campbells and Stewarts never can be friends. Did not I see a bonnie bride of the house of Stewart leave her father’s house with a Campbell for her husband, and was not blood shed even on the threshold? for, as the horses started off with their white cockades, one of the lads that rode them fell from the saddle in a fit, and was trampled to death under their feet, and sickness and Borrow waited on the bride till she was at rest in her grave. There’s no peace not friendship between the Campbells and Stewarts, and they should not be called neighbours.”

“But, mother, the young lady was asking you about the quarrel,” said Dugald, “and not wishing to mend it.”

“The young lady is not angered with a foolish old wife,” answered his mother, bursting into her loudest, harshest laugh, and laying her hand kindly on Helen’s. “She will pardon me, for I was born a Stewart, and I cannot hear with patience when any talk of the natural enemies of my family. Do you tell how it fell out, Ian, for your English is better than mine,” said she, addressing her eldest son.

It should be remembered, that Gaelic being so universally spoken in the Western Highlands, English is only acquired in a degree to be spoken fluently by people of some education, and is pronounced by them with a softness and delicacy amounting to an appearance of affectation. Ian Cameron related his story deliberately, and in choice language, giving each word and idea time to take effect before it was succeeded by another.

“You will have heard that when the royal house of Stuart lost the day, the lands of many who had fought for the right were confiscated, and bestowed as rewards upon the Campbells and others who stood up for might rather than right. This estate of Glen Bogie was one of them, and with it the Campbell to whom it was given received favours and authority, which he used as you would expect from a man that was not born to it, and had got it by ill means. They that would rule over a Highlander must find their way to the heart, and must trust him as one honest man trusts another. Campbell never did that. He knew that he was not loved, nor welcome, but still there was not a man—from a Stewart to a McCall—that would have raised a hand against him, except it were in open fight.

“You will have seen the rocky peak of Skuliahams, which shuts in the head of Glennaclach, as you came up the Toberdhu; that is the stream which we call the Blackwater. Just to the right of that peak there is a pass over the hill, and for eight miles the way is rough and dreary. Often have I travelled that road by night and day, and with the snow drifting in my face I have thought never to see my own fireside again. Campbell had gone by that pass to collect rents, but he did not return when they expected him. His wife grew alarmed, for she knew the hearts of the tenants were not with him; so she sent first one, then another, of his people, and lastly she went herself to watch for them on the hill-side, whence she could see far up the glen. Singly the people crossed the hill, but they all returned together, and amongst them they carried the corpse of Campbell, who had been shot dead in the wood beyond the hills, which was on the property of a Stewart. The widow went out to meet them; but she shed no tears nor spoke a word. Some say she had beenwarned.

“They brought him across the meadow yonder, and carried him up into the room overhead, and the Campbells came from far and near, and vowed vengeance upon the Stewarts; and it is said that as they hung up the dead man’s plaid, all stiff with his blood, so they swore to hang up a Stewart on the spot where Campbell was found dead. There was a show of law, too; for having fixed their suspicions upon a tenant-farmer like myself, a man named Stewart, they tried him by a jury—all of Campbells—and in the wood they hanged him, within sight of six residences of Stewarts; and watch was kept, day and night, lest the body should be removed. Vengeance and law they called it, but it was murder; for before the bones of their victim had whitened on the gibbet, it was discovered that Campbell had been shot by a foreign soldier who had some private quarrel with him. Can the Stewarts and Campbells be friends after that?”

There was a pause, and the young Highlanders sat looking sternly into the glowing fire. Tramp, tramp, came, heavy steps overhead, as of several persons moving some heavy burden. Bayntun felt his heart beat faster. He would not for worlds have let any one suspect it. Even Mrs Hardy, drew involuntarily nearer to her husband, and Helen’s eyes opened wider, while the most ghastly spectre would not have burst upon her sight unexpected.

“The lassies are putting the Doctor’s room in order for your friend, Misther Hardy. Maybe he is not used to rough lodging, and it is well for him that, the Doctor being at the house of Glennaclach to-night, I can give him the room,” said Mrs Cameron.

Dugald made some remark in Gaelic, with a mischievous glance towards Bayntun, but was sternly checked by his mother. Nevertheless, Bayntun perceived it, and determined more resolutely than ever not to divulge the strange sights and fancies which had haunted him.

Night had fairly closed in, and the reflection of the lights in the room mingled on the window-panes with the other objects outside, just lighted by a crescent moon, when, as Bayntun glanced towards the window, he perceived close to it the face of the hideous goblin which had haunted him in the day, and at the same moment came that fearful chuckle.

“Poor Marie Vhan,” said Mrs Cameron, rising and going to the door; “where has the wild creature been straying?”

“Marie has been naughty to-day,” said Dugald, speaking in English from fear of another rebuke from his mother: “she has been tossing and tearing the fleeces which were left to dry upon the whins.”

“Poor body,” rejoined Mrs Cameron. “It is a poor daft lassie. Her father is one of our shepherds, and it is a sad trouble to a poor man to have a feckless child that can do naught for herself, so she bides with me when she likes, and I give her food and shelter; but she will not stay long in any place.”

As she spoke, one of the servant girls opened another door, and began scolding the child in no gentle terms for the mischief she had done, which was serious in its way, for the fleeces had been prepared for spinning in long loose bands, and were required for her mistress’s immediate use. Instantly the wild creature fled chuckling into the wood, and up the dark dreary glen.

“It is an evil deed you have done, Lizzie, to drive the poor body from the door with your angry tongue,” said the mistress, as she resumed her place at the wheel.

Lizzie was out of hearing, and could not have understood had she been in the room, but the expression of disapprobation relieved Mrs Cameron’s indignant feelings.

Bayntun’s cheek glowed in the firelight at the solution of the terrific goblin dance which had so shaken his nerves. Fortified by a good sapper, and cheered by the sound of many voices, he now felt himself proof against bogies of all kinds, and at an early hour the party dispersed for the night. The home-made tallow candle which lighted Edmund’s spacious and gloomy apartment rendered the outlines of the dark, heavy furniture more massive and unshapely than they really were. It had been the state-room of the mansion, and was now let to a doctor, who, though possessed of considerable skill, had so lost his reputation by his intemperate habits, that he was driven to conceal his disgrace in this unfrequented glen, where his services were valued and repaid, and his failings easily overlooked. In a large closet adjoining were kept the phials and jars containing his supplies of drugs, etc, and from this closet was a narrow staircase, with a door by which the Doctor could come in and go out without disturbing the family.

“It was in this room that the Campbells cried the coronach over their dead, and here the jury sat to try poor Stewart, and the dead man’s plaid was hung in that closet, and by that staircase they brought Stewart in—the false-hearted murderers!” exclaimed Dugald Cameron; and having courteously begged the guest to ask for anything that was wanting for his comfort and repose, he left him to rest.

Completely yet healthfully fatigued, Edmund soon fell asleep. How long he slept, or whether he was still dreaming, he knew not, but distinct to his vision appeared the figure of a man leaning against the doorway of the closet adjoining his bedroom, from which shone a quivering spectral light. His plaid hung heavily, as if steeped in moisture, round his tall gaunt form. His bonnet was pressed down upon his brows, and under its shade his face looked pale and distorted by pain or sorrow, as he stood motionless, gazing intently upon the sleeper.

“This is a dream. The mysterious figure in the wood is haunting my memory. I will not give way to these fancies,” said Bayntun, mentally. “It is a very uncomfortable dream, too,” continued he, as the figure, still keeping its glazy eyes fixed upon his face, moved slowly towards him. The old floor creaked under his steps. “Dreams are often suggested by some real sound associating itself with the previous train of our thoughts. If I could but rouse myself, this phantom would be dissipated.” Yet his eyes felt perfectly wide open, and there was none of the painful sense of oppression on the eyelids and restraint upon the tongue which usually attends an unpleasant dream. Nearer and nearer came that pale, haggard face, till the sound of his breathing became audible. “That is myself breathing quick, and no wonder,” thought he. “Edmund Bayntun, why don’t you rouse yourself? What a fool you are!” and uttering the last sentence with the full strength of his voice, Edmund started up, and at the same moment the spectre staggered back, exclaiming—

“Ay, sirs! That is not a civil way to speak to a gentleman, more especially finding himself turned out of his own bed when he comes home to it, wet and tired.”

More and more perplexed, Bayntun stammered out, “Really, sir, I beg your pardon, but I thought—I took you—that is to say, I fancied that I was dreaming, and I don’t feel quite sure whether I am awake now.”

“Waking or dreaming, my man, you should always use civil language. When I saw you lying so comfortably in my bed, I was just thinking I would leave you there, and go down myself to the kitchen fire; but really, your uncivil speech!—Ha! ha! it is a good joke, too, to be mistaken for a dream. So, good night to you, young man, and I will not disturb you again.”

The next morning the Doctor was found fast asleep in the kitchen. His young patient at the house of Glennaclach not needing his assistance so much as another sick person in the Glen, he had left him early in the evening, and preferred coming home to Glen Bogie rather than returning late at night to disturb the household of Mr Stewart. Early in the day the young laird arrived, with a pressing invitation to the four English strangers to come and stay at his house. They willingly accepted it, and whether they enjoyed the visit is a question to be best answered by those who have found themselves the guests of a Highland family, amongst their own beautiful glens, and mountains, and woods, and waterfalls, after passing months and years in cities, and amidst “the hum, the buzz, the crush of men.”

Bayntun spent much time after this in the society of his friend Hardy, and, yielding to his advice and example, adopted a more stirring, healthful, vigorous course of thought and life, and his favourite motto was—

“Let us, then, be up and doing,With a heart for any fate.”

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